Economics Not paying income tax timely leads to significant financial losses for the governments. What design changes could be made to tax collection policy to minimize these delays? Aryan Midha One Planet, One Oklahoma: Exploring a Framework for Assessing the Feasibility of Localized Energy Transitions in the United States Anna Hyslop The Pay Gap Among Academic Faculty for Higher Education in the U.S. Yucheng Wang Economics Archives Vol. IV | Issue II Against the Mainstream How Modern Monetary Theory and the Myth of Millionaire Tax Flight Challenge Conventional Wisdom Justin Lee The relationship between education and welfare dependency Aiden Cliff Vol. IV | Issue I The Black Bourgeoisie The Chief Propagators of “Buy Black” and Black Capitalism Noah Tesfaye God Save the Fish The Abyss of Electoral Politics in Trade Talks––a Brexit Case Study Eleanor Ruscitti Breaking Big Ag Examining the Non-Consolidation of China’s Farms Noah Cohen Vol. III | Issue II Federal 5g innovation policy Technological Competition between the US and China Will Matheson A "Shot" Heard around the WOrld The Fed made a deliberate choice to let Lehman fail Sydney Bowen UK Government Commitment to Sustainable Development Goals Good for the economy and business in general? Brooklyn Han, Patrick Leitloff, Sally Yang, Eddy Zou "Victorian Holocausts" The Long-Term Consequences of Famine in British India Adithya V. Raajkumar Vol. III | Issue I State-Owned Banks and the Promise of an Equitable Financial Sector Elias van Emmerick No Place like Home Extending the Equity Home Bias Theory to Foreign Portfolio Investment in Emerging Markets Qiyuan Zheng Vol. II | Issue II John Taylor and Ben Bernanke on the Great Recession Who Was Right About What Went Wrong? Mikael Hemlin Financial Literacy, Credit Access and Financial Stress of Micro-Firms Evidence from Chile Lucas Rosso Fones Vol. II | Issue I A Fair Free Lunch? Reconciling Freedom and Reciprocity in the Context of Universal Basic Income Olivia Martin Enhancing Value or Stifling Innovation Examining the Effects of Shareholder Activism and Its Impact on American Capitalism Andrew Kutscher and Doug Saper The Individual Unfreedom of the Proletarian Cal Fawell Vol. I | Issue II Public Funds, Private Interest The Role of Private Companies in Shaping US Cybersecurity Policy Justin Katz Vermont Act 46 Implications for School Choice Quinn Bornstein Vol. I | Issue I Cannabis Latent Effects of Cannabis Legalization: Racial Disproportionality and Disparity in Washington State Drug Convictions, 2000-2015 Kaid Ray-Tipton Energy Embracing Renewable Energy for Sustainable Job Growth in West Virginia Jingpeng Shao

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The Captain and the Doctor: On the Enchantment of Modern Men George LeMieux Author Alexander Gerasimchuk Fatima Avila Editors Though we be on the far side of the world, this ship is our home. This ship is England. Introduction Modern man is lost. He is not home to himself. He lacks the longings that great men once had. While Nietzsche, Rousseau, or Burke might better articulate or explore this problem, I intend to explore how it might be remedied, a possible antidote to our modern poison. From the Western canon, I have identified three such antidotes or rather three figures who might re-enchant the modern man, the man of the democratic age. They are the vanguard of Marx, the conqueror of Nietzsche, and the disciple, which is first constituted Biblically but later in Toqueville among others. I shall conduct this search through the metaphor of a ship’s captain, in this case, Captain Jack Aubrey as depicted in the celebrated series and film Master and Commander , which I will briefly outline. Before that outline is given, I will first justify this metaphor by the virtue of captaincy itself (despite the fact I would shoehorn this favorite film of mine into anything). Then in the aftermath, I will examine these three figures as our “captains.” In this examination, I hope to reveal that modern man may only be enchanted, or at least enchanted to humanity’s benefit, by a disciple. For our captain, only the disciple offers a path that does not self-destruct and looks beyond worldly motivation. A Metaphor Since there is a long and storied history of philosophers making use of the ship and other nautical nomenclature as metaphor for their sophisticated views on man, government, and what other nonsense comes to their minds, I see no reason to deviate from the tradition. For what is better than a ship with captain and crew? She, like her nation, must suffer through trial and tribulation, storm and battle. She must adjust her sails so that she catches the wind but not let loose so much as to rip her masts apart. She must have a rigid hull built to withstand cannon and carronade, but she must also have flexibility, lest the changing temperatures and humidity crack her hull. She must be led by a captain, strong and decisive in his command. Yet he must not be a tyrant. He must court the hearts of his men so that he may win their will. If not, his men will mutiny. The uninspired crew would have no other reason to entertain the otherwise insufferable conditions of life at sea. Indeed, I do think this will be a fitting metaphor. The Captain Captain Jack Aubrey of His Majesty's Royal Navy is a man caught between two worlds, between two times. Behind him is the aristocracy of old: kings, queens, lords, ladies, and government by the few for the many, at least ideally. In front of him stands modernity: merchants, naturalists, revolutions, counter-revolutions, Napoleon, the new world, America, and democracy. Such is the world of Captain Aubrey as depicted in Patrick O'Brian's novel and Peter Weir’s film Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. Jack is a man of tradition. He respects the Crown. He reads his scripture. He loves his country. Jack’s hero is none other than Duke and Admiral Horatio Nelson, a brave and sturdy man who dies defending his love of king and country. And yet Jack sees his idols, his pillars crumbling. He has witnessed the chaos of the revolutions in France. He holds the Burkean sentiment that it is the modern radicals that “despise experience as the wisdom of unlettered men; [...] they have wrought underground a mine that will blow up, at one grand explosion, all examples of antiquity, all precedents, charters, and acts of parliament. They have ‘the rights of men.’” It is this modern threat with its rights and revolutionaries that is epitomized by the two foils of the film. The first foil is the Acheron —the ship of the modern age. She is at the forefront of naval technological advancement. Her hull is braced by three layers of live oak and white oak, making her near impenetrable for any ship of her class. She is the largest of any frigate built, able to carry more guns, yet also more aerodynamic, “heavier, but faster spite it” (Weir, Collee). In every way, she outclasses the H.M.S Surprise , Jack’s nimble but aging frigate. And where is the Acheron built? Boston. While Peter Weir had the financial sensibility to make the antagonist of the film French, i.e. Acheron , Patrick O’Brian’s ship was called U.S.S Norfolk . It is with this name that the dichotomy O’Brian intended is much clearer. It is the new world and the old world, His Majesty and Mr. President. And the new world is winning. The second foil is not a figure of oak and iron but of flesh and bone. Doctor Stephen Maturin is the ship’s surgeon and a savant of a surgeon he is. He is also a naturist, collecting, diagraming, and recording the various species he encounters on the ship’s voyages. Upon the ship’s travel to the Galapagos Islands, the parallels to the young Darwin are evident. More important, however, than any of this, he is Jack’s best friend. Despite sharing little common interest, much less a common worldview, Jack confides in Stephen what he confides in no one else. Stephen, in turn, voices his dissent to Jack, when no crew member nor officer would otherwise dare. He is both his greatest ally and greatest challenger. He is the check to Jack’s ambition and the prosecutor of his reason. He is the liberal to Jack’s conservatism. He echoes the voices of democracy, of the social contract, and the danger of tyrants. His respect for Jack comes not from his title or station but from how he leads, how he governs. It is Stephen who most quickly becomes the radical, the revolutionary, when Jack steps out of line. The Jack we see at the film’s beginning is willing to die on the hill of order and naval tradition. He is unable to see anything but the objective of his mission. Stephen and even the other officers are unable to go as far. To Jack’s credit, it is his daring and force of will, despite insurmountable odds, that makes him a great captain. In his pursuit of the Acheron , Jack takes risks that make his moves unpredictable and effective; his crew calls him Lucky Jack for a reason. But those risks do not come without their costs, even if Jack is lucky more often than he is not. Eventually, Jack carelessly pursues the Acheron into a storm and loses a man and a mast in the process. Still, Jack does not turn tail, despite Stephen’s pleas. He refits and refocuses. Only by the film's end does Jack reform and he does so not through reasoning but out of his friendship with Stephen. When Stephen is injured in an accident on board (a marine shoots him while aiming for a bird), Jack sends his ship ashore to one of the Galapagos islands instead of continuing his pursuit, likely to his detriment. This act of compassion, as it turns out, is the saving grace of the Surprise. Not only is the Acheron spotted on the far side of the island, but Stephen inspires Jack on how to capture her. While Jack's act of compassion does not separate him from his ideology, it reveals a complexity in his nature. In not letting his warrior-like nature subjugate the other parts of his conscience, Jack demonstrates his command of self, making him a good captain in more ways than one. His compassion for Stephen, despite their differences, allows him to occupy a middle ground between old and the new, between those of high and low station, between those conservative and radical. Despite their differences, Jack and Stephen end their days together with music, with a duet, playing the cello and violin as the Surprise sails into the sunset. Looking at this time and this day, in this new world, one must wonder if such bonding, such good feeling, such balance between the conservative and the liberal is possible. Every day the position of the radical, of the accelerationist, becomes more compelling even to the conservative. In America, the rigging and line that once held hull and sail together have frayed and torn, not in the harshest winds but in their daily use. The physical lines that once held men together are now virtual, connections in the cloud and the internet. These lines between men were once tangible things; now, there are few of these left. The conservative now must ask himself what he intends to conserve and if he is capable of such conservation. With conservatives far to the right, liberals far to the left, and a confused chasm in between, can those old ropes hold society together any longer? Perhaps, it is time to cut the rope. Perhaps, it is time for both right and left to become radical. Or, perhaps, there is faith to be had in those old ropes. Perhaps, there could be a man to renew their strength, reorganize them, and apply a fresh coat of tar to protect them. Perhaps, there might be a man who could tie new ropes without cutting away the old. Is there such a captain for this ship of modernity? Is there a Jack who can reason with the moderns, take heed of their desires but not be dragged off course? What does such a captain look like? The Captain’s Virtue Before one can talk of any mystical quality a good captain must have, one must first talk about his primary obligation, his duty, his vocation. For if this station is not sound in virtue, the metaphor is not fit for its goal. A captain, such as Jack, is the leader of a warship and of its crew. He would not be a good captain if he could not sail, navigate, or command the ship in battle. He must understand every part of his command and responsibility. It was for such reasons that those men who became captains most often started their time at sea from their early teens as Midshipmen, who were responsible for commanding gun crews of sailors twice their age. It is this good practice, of physical strain and tangible purpose, that makes the vocation virtuous. Virtue is not found in sophistry or the professing of morality but in good works and deeds. Both Rousseau and Marx recognized that the “sensible” men of the world are not the magistrates but the “workers” and the “people.” In this way, the captain is a unique station. It is a position that reaches downward to the grit and servitude that is required but reaches up toward order and inspiration. On one hand, a captain must stand amongst his sailors and with his marines facing the enemy, taking with them every shot fired, equally as likely to be impaled by shrapnel and splinter, equally as likely to take grapeshot from a swivel gun, equally as likely to take a cannonball straight through his gut. On the other hand, a captain must reach upward. He must engage in strategy, diplomacy, and negotiation. He takes his orders from admirals, parliament, and the King. He must, with his officers, stand apart and govern the crew, making sure he does not fraternize with them or become too social. He must whip those who are insubordinate. And it is he who gives the parting sermon after his men die in battle. The captain is both above and below, a man who mediates between king and country, between God and his men. Vanguard For Marx, the nature of our captain is clear. He must be a vanguard, a man who can reach from the high to the low, from bourgeois to proletariat, a man who has the means to lead the proletariat to “acquire political supremacy” and “ constitute itself the nation” (Marx 488). The vanguard can not be of the lower classes as they do not hold the means of production or own sufficient property. The vanguard will not be the bourgeois socialist who wants “all the advantages of modern social conditions without the struggles and dangers necessarily resulting from them.” That man would not lead nor fight in the “impending bloody conflicts” that the revolution requires. But the captain might. He, by virtue of his practice, gains access to the epistemic standpoint of the working man. He can call his men into battle because he will be in that battle himself, because he will stand in front, with pistol and cutlass in hand, because he knows their plight and their struggle. Yes, the captain might be the perfect vanguard, if he had the disposition and the courage required to lead the revolution. But no vanguard will heal or reinspire the whole nation. He will take the radicals he agrees with and burn the rest. The ideal vanguard may be the captain, the general, or some other man of higher but not so noble station, that comes down to act on behalf of the proletariat. But the unifying captain is, in the root of his position, opposed to such a severing. More fit, would be the treasonous first officer who leads a mutiny against the captain and the remaining loyal officers. To be a vanguard is to be a “slash and burn” farmer who wreaks devastation on the present vegetation so that the soil may be made fertile again. There will be no healing, under the vanguard. Conqueror Then perhaps the captain, who must fight to re-enchant our new world, must be a conqueror. The conqueror does not require a revolution, or at least not an ideological one, for the conqueror has no need for the traditional radical who operates on moral principles. He is not the vanguard who cries out to the poor that they must liberate themselves. The conqueror only asks for good men, inspired to fight for their home and fatherland, inspired to make something more of what they have been given. The conqueror rises in rank and comes to lead a nation because of his proven success on the battlefield. This captain inspires not because of his pleasant sailing or wise words but because he sinks ships. Nietzsche asks “[m]ust the ancient fire not some day flare up [...] More: must one not desire it with all its might.” Is it not blood that would surely wake the modern man from his slumber, wake the animal instinct inside of him? Perhaps the true conservative can only believe that “antiquity incarnate” arises through a conqueror, a superman, a Napoleon. And yet one must ask of Nietzsche, what is to happen after the conquest? What is to happen after one has conquered all he can or has been defeated? What was Napoleon to do, having failed in Russia? What was Alexander to do when he lay sick and dying in his bed? What is left to hold a nation together when the expansion has stopped and the wars have come to an end? How is a conqueror to at last govern his people? If the measure of man’s vitality is only to be strength and victory, then there will be no man who finds purpose in times of peace. When the soldier again becomes the carpenter after his service is done, he must now aspire to be the superman of carpentry. He must strike down all other table builders and door makers in his path if he is to achieve vitality. He will feel not for his fellow man, now that he does not need him to protect his flank or cover his advance. He will be a frustrated and lonely man, who, in his attempted rationalization to maximize his will and vitality, will frantically look around every corner to become the carpenter of all carpenters, betraying every man who gets in his path. Nietzsche might retort that one should not care for the carpenter, for all carpenters are weak men who failed to rise to a higher station. But if one is to build a society, does one not need the carpenter? Would it not be better to be his friend so that he may more willingly and caringly craft one’s furniture? Perhaps Nietzsche thinks that forcing the carpenter to build a chair would be better to maximize the will than to engage in normal transaction or to politely ask him. Society needs carpenters; a ship needs sailors. Neither will run well if every request is made out of threat or a difference in power. Sure power may be unequally distributed among men, and men will surely wield that power to their advantage, but every interaction need not be a Melian Dialogue . No unification of society, no mending of wounds, could ever take place in such a one-dimensional existence. Even if, for but a fleeting moment, conservative and liberal may be united by the fires of war, such a state is only temporary. While the ancient fires may rise again, they may just as quickly die. For all Napoleon was, how many more revolutions and fragile republics followed? There was no remnant of antiquity to build upon. Instead, it was democratic man who, upon the rubble of Europe, raised his new throne. In his time, Tocqueville correctly surmised that democracy would be here to stay: “I think that in the long run, government by democracy shall increase the real strength of society.” While “slave” in its morality, democracy is dominant in its presence. Its practitioners are no longer just the carpenters or even the priests; they are the captains, the generals, the senators themselves. While European antiquity lay unaware, the strength and size of America, of democratic power, grew. “Something that passed unnoticed a century ago now strikes the attention of all.” Now, antiquity not only lacks the popular momentum to overcome the democratic age, but it lacks the strength. If there is to be a man who rekindles the flame of the West, he will not be a conqueror who slays democratic man. He will be a democratic man himself. And What for God? Purposely absent from the mind of Marx’s vanguard and Nietzsche’s superman is the Kingdom of God. Nietzsche and Marx are the archetypes of, as John Courtney Murray would categorize them, “the postmodern atheist”. The post-moderns not only leave God out of their government, philosophy, and science as the moderns do; they actively strike Him out, act against Him, and demonstrate how He cannot exist. The postmodern is offended that a God could exist and (in Marx’s case) allow for so much scarcity, so much evil, or (in Nietzsche’s case) deprive man of his freedom, the will, that makes man human. God, if he exists, is either a tormenter, imprisoner, or both. Nietzsche further declares that the morality man claims to have derived from God, the morality of the Christian and the Jew is the greatest perversion of the natural order: strength and weakness. Good and evil, concepts of vengeful weaklings, invert the true “morality” by which man once lived and should live again. Of Marx’s and Nietzsche’s cases, Nietzsche’s is the stronger. When one eliminates God from the worldly equation, one must also eliminate the morality that came with Him. Marx may claim scarcity is the great evil, but this concept of evil only comes through sympathy for the suffering of others. What is the evil of inequality or greed or a dominant bourgeois class if there is no concern for fellow man? From where does the humanist goodness, ascribed by Marx to the elimination of suffering, originate? Without an order, ordained above and outside by divine authority, there can be no objective good. No worldly cosmodicy is sufficient to prove an objective good. If one’s ultimate goal is “good” for the nation, one cannot look to Nietzsche for a cure; the concept of good is, in fact, part of the disease. But if one looks to Marx, one cannot find a source of good. Therein, the postmoderns are fruitless. And democratic man seems to agree. The true moral plague is that democratic man is not looking for goodness but instead assumes it. The modern atheist does not kill God but walks away from Him. In His absence, he does not search for truth or morality but merely replicates the idea of good that was passed down to him. He imitates, but his imitations, as they are not rooted in the source, are imperfect: bastardized (Murray and Nietzsche agree). He might even hold some personal religious sentiment but will not act on religious conviction. He does not mix the personal with the external world. He will work, govern, and wage war but will never do so in the name of God. He lives as if God does not exist. This … breed says in effect that, since he cannot know what God is, he will refuse to affirm that God is. But this stupidity, one may well think, surpasses that of the idolater. It is not merely an implicit refusal of God; it is an explicit denial of intelligence. The essence of God does indeed lie beyond the scope of intelligence, but his existence does not. It is this modern man—the man who does not deny God but shoves him aside—that has become commonplace. This modern man feels neither the warm light of heaven nor the scorching hellfire below. He wanders in a cold fog, blind, deaf and dumb. He lingers in the cave only seeing shadows of the truth. Because he does not see the source of the light, he assumes there is no source and does not search for it. It is this modern man who must be re-enchanted. Disciple So how is our captain to deal with the moderns, with the Dr. Maturins that now sail aboard every ship? What is he to do with those who synthesize values of democracy and the equality of man but do not acknowledge the creator who created them equally? Thankfully, the modern agnostic, despite his lack of reason in comparison to the Nietzschean, has not yet thrown off his moral yoke. In some ways, he still feels a connection to the world beyond the material. There are yet some embers left to kindle. There are yet men left to kindle them. There is hardly any human action, however private it may be, which does not result from some very general conception men have of God, of His relations with the human race, of the nature of their souls, and the duties to their fellows. Nothing can prevent such ideas from being the common spring from which all else originates. If man is to truly be re-enchanted—to be inspired and given lasting direction—he must look to that only thing which is transcendent, that is not merely of time and matter. If there is ever again to be unity amongst men, there must be unity with their creator. There must be disciples to show us the way. When man has been enchanted, even democratic man, it has been with and through religious spirit, fostered by disciples and prophets. These men once walked among us. These were the men in between God and humanity, Heaven and Earth, men who heard His voice and acted on His will. They were Moses and Abraham and David and Paul and Peter. God even revealed Himself to man in mortal form, in and through man’s pain and flesh. And yet, despite all of these, man’s faith remains weak. The disciples' task is never finished. He may never stop, for if he does, man is quick to forget and quick to lose his way. He will lose himself in the desert, and never find the promised land, his true home, his self. The disciple must be an ever-present and ever-constant reminder of God. The captain, disciple in his most righteous form, has some divine spark, some glint in his eye, some Promethean fire in his bosom that animates bravery and fortitude. The captain calls his men to voyage into the unknown, across the far side of the world. He calls his men to fight for a home that long disappeared behind a horizon last seen thousands of miles ago. He brings together those born across the empire, those who share little, and those who resent much. The duty the captain must call his men to cannot be incentivized with the stuff of the earth. He can promise them no amount of riches or glory among men to keep them steadfast. There is something the captain must awaken in his men that moves their spirits, their souls, guiding them toward something not here attainable. Only manna sent down from upon high can quell a spiritual hunger. And so the Captain must be like Moses, the interlocutor between man and God—newly the interlocular between conservative and liberal. He does not make the manna nor the law in the heavens, but he does transmit them. He walks down from Sinai to deliver to those below. He understands the plight of his crew, the doctor, and the common man, but he does not let them build golden calves. He has ambition but he does not raise towers of Babble; he does not push onward without cause. Where have these disciples gone? Where is Moses to be seen? Who upholds the commandments given from on high? Might it not be the lack of disciples but man who is the problem? Have there been one too many golden calves built in town squares, one too many towers of Babylon raised to the mockery of Heaven? Are there enough ears today willing to hear a sermon, enough lips willing to say a prayer? I contend there are. While the world may not be presently enchanted, there have been moments, glimpses, of enchantment. There was Reagan who stood in the way of the communist threat with his quick wit but mild manner. There was Dr. King who appealed to the heavens, preached to the masses, and marched hand in hand with the persecuted. There was Churchill who looked the devil right in the eye and spat back at him. There was Lincoln who looked over a battlefield and made a promise those men would not die in vain. There was Washington who led his soldiers, served his time, and ceded his throne. It was these disciples that reminded man of himself, of his nature, of his longings. They called upon God, evoked a higher duty, and bound men to each other. They knew that “[r]eligion [...] imposes on each man [...] obligations toward mankind, to be performed in common [...] and so draws him away from thinking about himself.” Like a captain, those disciples, who were fit to suffer, suffered in common with their men when they could have stood afar. Dr. King marched with his men, was imprisoned for them, and died for them. Reagan too took a bullet for his nation, although he fortunately survived. Lincoln, in his service and his stress, aged himself twenty years in the span of four and was assassinated shortly thereafter, giving the last full measure of his devotion. Washington lost battles for months on end in the bitter cold until he found success in a Christmas night attack. Oh, the joy nations will feel when leaders acquire such courage again when they call upon the heavens as they did not so long ago. Oh, they will know that feeling that gathered hundreds of thousands on the National Mall, that mustered the men who crossed the Delaware, that had black and white Union soldiers singing “Glory, Glory, Hallelujah” as they marched surely to their deaths at Fort Wagner. Only then can man come home to himself. Conclusion Who is our captain to be? What direction would we have him take our ship? Must he not be both a man of the people and a man of the elite, a democratic man who still has a touch, a memory in him, of that antiquity, that nobility, that honor of old? Still, he is not the vanguard of the proletariat, for the vanguard is a mutineer hellbent on revolution, not a captain. Neither is he the conqueror, for the captain must govern his ship beyond the rush of battle. He must lead his crew through those many times at sea which are dull and mundane. He must care for his men beyond their use in warfare. He must be selfless because that is what God calls him to be in times of struggle, a disciple who looks upward before he looks onward. But if those fires are ever to rise again, if the trumpet must once again cry its song of battle, the captain must be ready. He must again be simply a man of his trade, a good seaman and a good officer. He must dexterously maneuver his ship, out-sail, and outsmart his opponents. And when he must call for cannon fire, he must know what to cry to his men. He must have their best, not just for him, but for their God, their nation, and their fellow man. JACK - Want to see a guillotine in Piccadilly? CREW- No! JACK- Do you want to call Napoleon your king? CREW- No! JACK- Want your children to sing The Marseillaise? CREW- No! JACK- Mr. Mowett, Mr. Pullings, starboard battery! References Burke, Edmund, et al. Select Works of Edmund Burke: A New Imprint of the Payne Edition. Liberty Fund, 1999. Marx, Karl, et al. The Marx-Engels Reader. Norton, 1978. Murray, John Courtney. “The Problem of God Yesterday and Today.” Georgetown University Library, 1963, library.georgetown.edu/woodstock/murray/1964c. Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm. On the Genealogy of Morals. Translated by Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale, Vintage Books, 1989. Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. The Major Political Writings of Jean-Jacques Rousseau: The Two Discourses and the Social Contract. Translated by John T. Scott, The University of Chicago Press, 2014. Tocqueville, Alexis De, et al. Democracy in America. Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2006. Weir, Peter, and John Collee. Master and Commander: Far Side of the World. Twentieth Century Fox, Aug. 2001.

In the Augenblick, Not the Moment: A Heideggerian Critique of Temporal Inauthenticity Lukas Bacho Author Gabriel Gonzalez Alexander Gerasimchuk Matthew Wong Editors “Be in the moment!” In our chronically online and attention-deficient age, this admonition is a constant refrain. It usually means: “Focus on neither the past nor the future, but rather the present—what is happening right now. ” A favorite instruction of guided meditations, it may also be heard as a protest against the impulse to sully a beautiful view with a photo shoot. Too often, our minds are clouded by remorse for past events or anxiety about future events that we are unable to appreciate the present for what it is. Clearly, there is some truth to this. However, the normative force of “Be in the moment!” relies on the misleading descriptive claim that we are only ever in the moment (so why try to exist outside it?). This, in turn, rests on a conception of time as a series of punctual moments, as on a timeline, that seem linked only because we perceive them as such. Martin Heidegger had a name for this understanding: “now-time,” or the “ordinary” (Vulgär ) conception of time. I seek to argue, with Heidegger’s help, that the admonition to “be in the moment” obscures essential features of our temporality, thereby diminishing our potential for authentic living. My primary aim is to reconstruct Heidegger’s accounts of now-time, world-time, originary temporality, and the authentic mode of relating to all of these. What emerges is the foundation for a more authentic way of relating to time whose explanatory priority lies not in one’s present situation but in one’s future possibilities. Now-time (Jetzt-Zeit ) is the most proximal conception of time according to which we humans, as Dasein , live our lives. On this understanding, Heidegger writes, “time shows itself as a sequence of nows which are constantly ‘present-at-hand,’ simultaneously passing away and coming along. Time is understood as a succession, as a ‘flowing stream’ of nows, as the ‘course of time.’” The language of “sequence” and “succession” indicates that time is here understood as a series of discrete moments so short that their continual coming and going seems to constitute a flow, but in fact does not. Each moment, or “now,” is “present-at-hand” in the sense that it has an objective (and thus constant) duration. One can quibble about how long exactly the “now” is, but most would say a fraction of a second. Heidegger calls this conception “now-time” because it views time as nothing but these infinitesimally short “nows,” linked by nothing but one another; for “the sequence of nows is uninterrupted and has no gaps.” Now-time resembles a popular position in contemporary philosophy known as the cinematic or snapshot view of time, which holds that “neither our awareness itself nor its contents have temporal extension.” But now-time is also the idea we live by in our everyday lives, most obviously in our use of clocks. The convention of designating the current “now” with clock-time reflects our conception of time as a series of discrete moments: 4:17 comes after 4:16, the fourth second of a minute comes after the third, and so on. Heidegger emphasizes that now-time existed far before the invention of clocks, for Dasein has always measured its time, whether by the sun or some other means; the only difference is that the units of measurement have changed. If time were divided into sufficiently short instants, the logic goes, there would be nothing between them. Indeed, now-time is so integral to our everyday existence that it is hard to imagine any other way to conceive of time. Now-time is implicit in our telling someone to “be in the moment.” To show how, let us begin by acknowledging that the imperative asks one to exist in the present, at the exclusion of both the past and the future. What is the present? Although the word “moment” seems to leave the present’s length ambiguous—it could be a split second, or the multi-hour duration of an activity—the statement’s exclusion of the past and future actually requires that the “moment” be infinitesimally short. If one were to “be” in the next minute or even the next second—that is, anticipate or worry about what will happen then—one could not claim to be in the moment. Thus, the perception of time as a succession of constantly fleeting nows underlies “be in the moment.” But that is not all: the insistence upon the singularity of the moment betrays the idea that there is only ever one moment to be in. In fact, the moment has no duration: like the instants of now-time, the moment is a point . Thus, “be in the moment,” as a statement of now-time, objectifies the present in such a way that there is nothing significant about it except the fact that it is the present. Why should we be in the present? Because it is the present—because it is all that is. Heidegger complicates this picture by introducing the notion of world-time (Weltzeit ). If now-time is responsible for our sense of the present’s punctuality, world-time is responsible for our sense of the present’s universality, and is thus explanatorily prior to our conception of now-time. As Heidegger puts it, world-time is “that time ‘wherein’ entities within-the-world are encountered.” In other words, it is the kind of time that enables us to encounter things in the world. We can clarify what world-time is by examining its four constitutive aspects in turn: publicness, datability, spannedness, and worldhood. The most accessible of world-time’s four aspects is publicness (Öffentlichkeit ). Indeed, Heidegger often calls world-time “public time.” Publicness is the characteristic of world-time whereby we take ourselves to be in the same “now” as one another at any given time. Publicness allows me to say to another person, “Now it is twelve o’clock,” knowing that if they are in the same time zone, it is now twelve o’clock for them, too. If they are not in my time zone—if we are talking on the phone, for instance—I still understand that while it is currently another time for them, we are fundamentally in the same now . And publicness extends beyond the now: only because we understand time as public, as shared, as out there in the world, can we say that we “use,” “buy,” or “borrow” time. Publicness is perhaps the aspect of world-time that is least concealed in now-time, since the measurement of time with clocks and timeliness obviously presupposes that any quantified time will be intelligible as the same “now” by everyone. Still, the fact that we take ourselves to be in the same now remains hidden in now-time. We take for granted that “now” is simply now —that when one person says “be in the moment,” the other will know what time they mean. A second aspect of world-time is datability (Datierbarkeit ), the structure by which Dasein assigns a temporal structure to its experience. In practice, datability refers to our assignment of times to events and events to times, even “before” we impose the numerical values of now-time (like “November 8” or “9:15 a.m.”) on those events. For example, when we say “It is cold,” we mean “It is cold now ,” just as when we say “It was cold,” we mean “It was cold formerly .” Conversely, time has content for us, for “When we say ‘now,’ we always understand a ‘now that so and so.’” Although datability includes the word “date,” it has nothing to do with numerical dates. Instead, datability simply means that all that happens is happening at a time, and every time is a time when something is happening. Clearly, datability enables the conception of now-time, since interpreting time as a sequence of nows makes sense only if Dasein has an intuitive idea of its existence within a structure of past, present, and future. If Dasein could not date itself, time could not seem to be a “flowing stream,” since Dasein would not be fixed in relation to it. In this admittedly murky way, now-time reveals datability as a feature of world-time. Mostly, however, now-time covers up datability, for the now of now-time is not understood to be “now, when x ,” but rather simply “now.” This is especially glaring in “Be in the moment!” In the moment when you are doing what? The admonition suggests that the moment is a space where you need not do anything, when in fact every moment is always a moment when you are doing something. The aspect of world-time which may be most obscured by now-time is spannedness (Spanne ), which affords every “now” the property of duration. Heidegger introduces the concept of spannedness by observing that we understand there to be a length of time—not just a series of nows—between any “now” and a future “then.” This liminal length is itself datable with expressions like “during” and “meanwhile,” which shows that we can conceive of a future “now” (and by extension, any past or present now) with a duration we ourselves have determined. Spannedness accounts for how I can simultaneously say “Now I am writing,” “Now I am a student,” and “Now I am alive,” even though these nows are of vastly different lengths. In fact, no now to which we refer is ever punctual; every now is temporally extended. Even the clock, our paradigmatic instrument of now-time, reveals the spanned nature of world-time by designating as an hour an arbitrary number of minutes and as minute an arbitrary number of seconds. Seconds may be in turn divided into milliseconds, nanoseconds, and so on—there are infinite nows between one second and the next—though the clock does not show this directly. Assigning numbers to time requires that we pin down the now as if it were punctual, when in fact it is spanned. Much like a clock obscures the spannedness of seconds, the statement “be in the moment”—in its exclusion of anything that might be called past or future—obscures the spannedness of said moment, despite the fact that “moments” are by definition variable in length. The fourth aspect of world-time is worldhood (Weltlichkeit ), which situates every time in a normative structure of significance. As Heidegger explains, “The time which is interpreted in concern is already understood as a time for something. The current ‘now that so and so…’ is as such either appropriate or inappropriate .” He returns to the sun for a primitive example: depending on the context, the now of dawn is understood implicitly as the time for waking up or the time for going to work. The clock, as an instrument of now-time, obscures this aspect of world-time by seeming to give every “now” equal status. But it is in light of the worldhood of time that clocks are useful to us: 8:00, for example, is not just a string of numbers—“the time it is now”—but “the time for waking up,” or whatever the case may be. Moreover, the design of a clock—which assigns the hour and half-hour to the extreme points of its vertical axis, and the fifteen-minute intervals between these to its leftmost and rightmost points—reflects our taking certain numerical times to be more appropriate than others as times for anything. For instance, 9:00 is a more “appropriate” time than 9:03 or 9:10 not by itself, but rather for setting an alarm to wake up, holding a meeting, etc. The statement “be in the moment” similarly covers up the worldhood of time by suggesting that the moment is not “for” anything but itself. When someone leading a meditation says it, they want the one hearing to “forget” that they have made the moment significant as a moment for meditating. When a photo-averse person says it, it is because they have designated the moment as a moment for enjoying the scenery, not a moment for taking photos. The worldhood of time entails that by doing anything, I am implicitly asserting that now is the right time to do it. As we have seen, the admonition to “be in the moment” covers up all four aspects of the kind of time (world-time) from which we derive our ordinary conception of time (now-time). Yet Heidegger shows us that world-time is in turn explicable only by an even more basic kind of time, originary or primordial (ursprünglich ) time. Primordial time is the kind of time that Heidegger has been working to uncover throughout Being and Time ; it is “the condition which makes the everyday experience of time both possible and necessary.” In Division II, Chapter 6, he gets primordial time into view by observing that Dasein is not just Being-towards-the-end (i.e., death), but also Being-towards-the-beginning (i.e., birth). To see this, we need not look further than Dasein’s characteristic activity of thrown projection, by which Dasein claims the circumstances it has been thrown into from birth , even as it reinterprets them by projecting its own possibilities until death. Because of the bidirectional gaze of thrown projection, “Dasein does not exist as the sum of the momentary actualities of Experiences which come along successively and disappear.” In other words, Dasein does not exist exclusively in now-time, for Dasein is not just the sum of its experiences at a series of present-at-hand nows. Rather, Dasein is also its past circumstances and future possibilities. As Heidegger puts it, Dasein “is stretched along and stretches itself along ” primordial time via its own activity. The scope of primordial time is Dasein’s entire lifetime, without which the four aspects of world-time could not exist. The now could not be public, datable, spanned, or worldly without the finite being that discloses the now as public, dates the now, relates the now to the broadest now of its own life, and renders the now a time for something in light of its finitude. Therefore, primordial time is the kind of time that makes Dasein a whole and undergirds its Being as care (cf. ). Encouraging someone to “be in the moment” obfuscates primordial time, thereby exemplifying an inauthentic relation to time that Heidegger calls “making-present” (gegenwärtigen ). Making-present describes a state of “falling into the ‘world’ of one’s concern”—the everyday realm where Dasein’s perspective is confined to the objects it encounters as equipment for fulfilling immediate ends. In making-present, Dasein’s attention becomes myopic: it seems to forget its Being as thrown projection, which is to say it forgets that it goes about all its everyday tasks in the context of broader priorities. Of course, the most global context Dasein forgets in making-present is its own finitude, in virtue of which all its priorities matter. The imperative to “be in the moment” epitomizes making-present because it disallows making sense of what one is doing now in light of anything futural; thus, it stands opposed to the maxim “live every day as if it were your last,” even though similar sentiments may motivate the two statements. To “be in the moment” is to forget not only that one has priorities, but also that everything one does is an implicit articulation of those priorities. Consequently, one’s experience of time becomes “an inauthentic awaiting of ‘moments’—an awaiting in which these are already forgotten as they glide by.” Time seems never to arise, but only to pass away; one conceives of oneself not as stretching oneself along time, but rather passively lost in its flow. What making-present makes present, then, is primordial time itself, whose past and futural aspects are subjugated to the cult of the present “moment.” Heidegger reveals our potential for a more authentic relation to primordial time and world-time by contrasting making-present with his concept of the Augenblick , in which Dasein recognizes its past, present, and future as inseparable aspects of its own wholeness. The Augenblick is “the resolute rapture with which Dasein is carried away to whatever possibilities and circumstances are encountered in the Situation as possible objects of concern.” Bearing in mind both its possibilities (projection) and its circumstances (thrownness), Dasein does not lose sight of its priorities amid the world of its concern, but sees those priorities themselves as objects of concern to be constantly actualized and reevaluated. In the Augenblick, Dasein understands its Being as care and itself as finite, but not in such a way that it is afraid of its own death; its rapture is resolute , at once unflinching in its acknowledgment of mortality and steadfast in its commitment to living. The Augenblick is an “ecstasis” in the sense that it allows Dasein to stand outside the world of its concern—outside the punctual present of now-time—and grasp world-time and primordial time, if only implicitly, as the grounds of its temporal experience. Crucially, the Augenblick does not mean an escape from the present—where all experience occurs—but rather expands the present to include one’s whole life. If we translate it as “moment,” we had better bear in mind the English word’s other meaning of “importance,” from which we get “momentous.” The Augenblick renders the present important—i.e., consequential—precisely by being the “gaze of the eye,” for it is in the present (both right this second and during one’s life ) that one judges practically what is worth attending to by focusing on certain things rather than others. The Augenblick, then, could not be more different from the “moment” of “be in the moment,” for while the former imbues the now with momentous stakes by maximally dilating it, the latter deflates the stakes of the now by maximally contracting it. Even the English word “moment” obscures the essential relation between Dasein and time, whereas the German word Augenblick identifies Dasein’s caring activity—its gaze—as the precondition for temporal experience and Dasein’s sense of continuity from one moment to the next. It is an inevitable consequence of the Augenblick’s expansion of the now that the future acquires explanatory priority over the present in the question of Dasein’s Being. While the inauthentic understanding of one’s potentiality-for-Being “temporalizes itself in terms of making present,” Heidegger observes, the Augenblick does so “in terms of the authentic future.” This means that while making-present confines the implications of one’s activity to the punctual now of now-time, the Augenblick discloses those implications as primarily futural. Thus, the Augenblick is explicable not in terms of the vulgar “now” (dem Jetzt ), but in terms of future possibilities: as the “gaze of the eye,” it “permits us to encounter for the first time what can be ‘in a time’ as ready-to-hand or present-at-hand.” In the Augenblick, Dasein discovers itself in the equipment that constitutes the world of its concern, which in turn leads it to recognize that it is the one responsible for stretching oneself along and projecting itself toward certain possibilities rather than others. The worldhood of time becomes particularly apparent, for the current “moment” no longer seems trivial; every “now” becomes significant in terms of what it is a time for , which is to say in terms of its bearing on the future. So while “be in the moment” suggests that the present is all that matters, the Augenblick insists that the present matters only because the future does. In Heidegger’s categories of inauthenticity and authenticity we find the foundation I promised for a more authentic way of relating to time. “Be in the moment” exemplifies an inauthentic mode of relating to time—i.e., making-present—that obscures world-time and primordial time as the fundamental structures of our experience. To be in the Augenblick, on the other hand, is to relate to the now authentically : it means to own up to the present as datable, public, spanned, and worldly; and to understand it as inseparable from the past and future. In the inauthentic mode, one is lost in one’s immediate concerns rather than seeing the “big picture,” and passively awaits the future rather than owning it as the ground of one’s priorities. Thus, although “be in the moment” seems to inflate the status of the present, it actually diminishes the present into a kind of hollow shell. But in the authentic mode, one owns up to both the past and future—stretching back to one’s birth and forward to one’s death—as constitutive of who one is and what one does. Heidegger’s authenticity is proto-ethical in that it denotes appropriation of one’s own temporality as the ground of one’s reasons for doing this rather than that in any given case. Yet authenticity is not fully ethical, for while it describes a relation to one’s reasons (the “subjective ought”), it fails to prescribe specific actions (the “objective ought”). The extent to which one could derive the latter from the former is doubtful, at least within the framework of Being and Time. Yet authenticity, if proto-ethical, is far from irrelevant. We could retort that relating authentically to time is further than most people get in life—never mind living ethically. By saying things like “be in the moment,” we evacuate ourselves from the now, only to reinsert ourselves in it as passengers. We say that time is a flowing stream, forgetting that we are the ones stretching ourselves along. At worst, we pretend indifference, when in fact—as being in the Augenblick reminds me—there is nothing more fundamental to our experience than that we care. References Hägglund, Martin. “Lecture 25: Now-Time, World-Time, and Originary Temporality.” Lecture. PHIL 402: Being and Time, Yale University, 24 April 2024. Heidegger, Martin. Being and Time . 1927. Translated by John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson, Harper Perennial, 2008. Phillips, Ian, editor. The Routledge Handbook of Philosophy of Temporal Experience . Routledge, 2017.

Noah Cohen Breaking Big Ag: Examining the Non-Consolidation of China's Farms Noah Cohen Abstract Over the past two decades, China’s policymakers have implemented numerous reforms intended to promote the emergence of scale farming enterprises. Nonetheless, contrary to demographic predictions, China’s farm economy remains dominated by smallholders (小农/小型农场) and virtually untouched by “big ag” (大农/大规模农场) as evidenced by a mean farm size of 0.6-0.7 hectares. This paper seeks to explain why China has not significantly transitioned to scale farming despite market liberalization. Using empirical evidence derived from data on land rental markets before and after the implementation of the 2011 Land Certificate Program 《中华人民共和国土地管理法实施条例》, I find that land tenure insecurity has not been solely responsible for limiting scale farming. Rather, China’s farm sizes have likely been constrained partly by unique policy conditions that lead to smallholders renting out their land to other smallholders, who subsequently do not further scale up due to other distortions that disincentivize mechanization, including labor surplus and plot fragmentation. These findings may have wide-ranging implications for the future efficacy of China’s efforts to optimize its rural land policy strategy. Introduction Over recent decades, the issue of farm size has loomed large for the world’s policymakers and the environmental movement alike. To many economists, large- scale farming is an emblem of market efficiency, enabling millions of rural workers to move out of agriculture into higher-growth sectors. For others, enormous mechanized farms are emblematic of the unstoppable encroachment of “big ag” on the farm economy; they connote lost rural jobs, decimated communities, monocultural commodity dependence, and ecological ruin. In countries like China, where land tenure systems are being continuously invented and reinvented ad hoc to support economic and social objectives, the clash between these two conflicting narratives of scale farming is more than just an ideological battle between family farmers and big business. Rather, it is a surrogate of a broader set of political questions about social optimality that have come into particularly stark relief for China as globalization has forced the nation to strike a balance between economic competitiveness and self-sufficiency. The stakes are nothing less than how daily life is lived for hundreds of millions of people. Partly as a result of both centuries of traditional labor-intensive land-use practices and decades of land policy designed to build a self-sufficient food system, China’s farms are today among the world’s smallest, at an average of roughly 0.6 hectares (1). As of 2010, 70 percent of China’s farmland was occupied by “small- holder farms” (<2 ha) (小型农场) (2), compared to 30 percent for East Asia and below 5 percent for upper-middle-income countries globally (3). These average farm sizes continually decreased until at least 2007 (4). They have since stabilized and begun to slightly increase, but to this day there are no indications of “a systemic shift toward large-scale farming for the typical farming household” (5). While decreasing farm size is unusual for middle-income developing countries, it is especially extraordinary for countries with China’s demographics. Countries typically begin to rapidly adopt scale farming once they reach the turning point’ where the agricultural labor force begins to decrease due to the increasing availability of off-farm jobs (6). With rapid urbanization and a low total fertility rate (7), China has long since reached this turning point: its rural population has decreased by roughly 36 percent since 1992 (8), while its number of “rural employed persons” (农村劳动人口) has been decreasing since 1997 (9). Meanwhile, census data shows cultivated land decreased only 0.2 percent over five years, debunking the popular narrative that farm sizes have contracted due to farmland being lost to urban development projects (10-11). This appears, at first glance, to be a contradiction. If the same amount of land is being cultivated, but the number of farmers is decreasing, how can this not ipso facto imply farm consolidation? Perhaps the most striking thing about China’s farm size trends is that they have persisted through several rounds of rural land tenure reforms that eliminated nearly all direct policy barriers to land transactions and consolidation. A robust debate continues among scholars about the ideal scale of farms in a Chinese topographic and economic context, with many arguing that land rights provide critical social insurance to rural residents and that traditional “dual-intensive” smallholder farming practices (小规模畜-禽-鱼饲养和菜-果种植家庭农场) are well-suited to modern China’s need for both land-efficient farming and crop diversification (12). Nonetheless, China’s top policymakers appear to see farm non-consolidation as a major labor efficiency issue that threatens to inhibit economic growth (13). To attempt to solve this issue, the government has implemented a series of reforms, including the 2011 Land Certificate Program, to make it easier to transfer land rights. While past studies have indicated that these reforms have increased household-level land renting, it remains unclear whether these increases have translated into any large-scale land consolidation (14). Globally, land economists have noted the potential impact of several factors on farm sizes, with significant literature dedicated to the relationships between land documentation (15), mechanization (16), and off-farm employment (17). For China specifically, few studies have investigated the causes of farmland non-consolidation beyond the household responsibility system (HRS 家庭联产承包责任制). The HRS is a policy instrument that equitably distributes land to every rural household, and, until recently, allowed for the periodic “redistribution” of land to preserve this equity; as such, many have assumed it sufficiently explains land remaining unconsolidated (18). While the HRS helps explain why Chinese farms have generally tended to be small, it cannot explain why farms have barely even begun to scale up several decades into land tenure liberalization. Indeed, the HRS makes China an ideal case study for how rural land markets develop when starting from a condition of de facto complete land equality. Structure This paper proposes one model to explain how China’s farmland remains unusually unconsolidated despite land market liberalization. Specifically, I theorize the HRS as a policy instrument that enforced an initial market condition of there being no scale farms. I then propose that given that initial condition, existing models of scale farming development can be deconstructed into two functions: (1) whether people enter the land rental market and (2) the land rental behavior (e.g. total quantity of land rented) of those who do enter the land rental market. Based on this model, I find that while policies that improved land tenure security led to more people entering the land rental market, there is no evidence that they caused those who rented land to rent more land. This finding suggests that tenure insecurity has not been solely responsible for non-consolidation. Rather, although the number of land transactions is increasing, most land continues to be transferred locally from smallholder to smallholder rather than to outside large companies, due to irregular market forces caused by China’s unique land policies. Further, most farms remain non-mechanized, likely due to both farm labor surpluses and plot fragmentation. This non-mechanization disincentivizes smallholder renters from scaling their operations up into scale farms, which constrains consolidation. To examine both the context and global relevance of China’s experience with land markets, I begin with a historical land policy overview. Then, I examine several hypotheses for China’s land non-consolidation, which I organize into three broad categories: (1) barriers to land rental market participation, (2) relative incentives to smallholder-to-smallholder transfers (or disincentives to smallholder-to-company transfers), and (3) disincentives to smallholder land renters scaling up. I then test how variation of each factor correlates with land rental behavior, using data on households from villages that either had completed or had not yet started, implementing the 2011 Land Certificate Program (LCP 《中华人民共和国土地管理法实施条例》) as of 2015 (19). Finally, I discuss the possible implications of my findings for China’s land policy strategy. Institutional background Land tenure in China: a historical overview China has a unique and complex history of land tenure that often goes unappreciated by Western observers. This history has been shaped by two defining characteristics of modern China: a rapidly growing population and a sharply limited amount of arable land. These characteristics necessitated an agricultural strategy that prioritized ‘land efficiency’ (maximizing output per land) over ‘labor efficiency’ (maximizing output per labor). Indeed, as the population began to grow faster than urbanization could keep up, labor-intensive agriculture emerged as a useful way to “absorb” surplus labor (20). As agricultural technology improved, Chinese farmers began to adopt a “dual-intensive” farming strategy: technology was used not to reduce labor, but to increase output per land (21). This strategy has been credited with facilitating China’s world-class agricultural yields, which remain among the world’s highest by output per acre of arable land (22). Under agricultural collectivization during the Mao era, dual-intensive agriculture largely continued despite the removal of boundaries between plots, surprising economists who had expected economies of scale to emerge (23). China’s rural reforms in 1978 revolutionized the land tenure paradigm, but preserved incentives for dual-intensive farming. The right to work (collectively owned) land became the right to operate land. Crucially, however, the village committee remained the legal proprietor of all the land, and households’ right to retain it was conditional on meeting agricultural production quotas. Under this household responsibility system (HRS), the village contracts several non-contiguous parcels of land out to each of its households, equitably distributed by household population, for a given renewable term, currently 30 years (24, 25). When the term expires, the village can “redistribute” the land to correct for changing household sizes over the contract term, and, until recently, could take land away from a household that was leaving it idle (26). Households retain their own agricultural income, except for taxes paid back to the collective. This system ensures that all of China’s limited farmland continues to be used efficiently, and that land distribution remains equitable, with all households having the right to retain any land they can use for farming. While the HRS provides an invaluable social safety net for a rapidly growing population and facilitates the maximization of domestic agricultural output, it poses significant obstacles to China’s new goal of maximizing national labor productivity (27). On the most basic level, limitations on land rights impose obvious limitations on land transfers, making it difficult for farmers who could make more money off-farm to leave agriculture (28). Given that villagers cannot fully own their land, they cannot sell their land; they can only rent it out or subcontract it for the remainder of their lease term (29). Village government proprietorship of land has given rise to further frictions. Until recently, village governments had to sign off on transfers (30), giving village leaders significant power over what kinds of transfers could occur and to whom. Many villages regularly violated the prescribed contract terms by conducting “reallocations” of villagers’ land even within the con- tract period (31). These reallocations made farmers hesitant to rent out their land, the fear being that doing so would signal the land was no longer needed (32). Finally, until 2011, most land contracts were not formally certificated; the resulting limited land tenure security discouraged renting out to strangers, with whom no informal social contracts existed to motivate contract compliance (33). To resolve such problems, the central government has introduced several reforms to improve tenure security and liberalize the land market. Two especially noteworthy programs stand out. The first, the 2002 Rural Land Contracting Law 《中华人民共和国农村土地承包法》, clarified that villagers had the right to transfer their contract land either by renting out (出租) or by “subcontracting” (转包) the remainder of their contract term, while explicitly banning most reallocations (34). Subsequently, the 2011 Land Certificate Program (LCP) reasserted commitment to the 2002 regulations while introducing formal land documentation for every rural household. Some contended that large-scale land consolidation was only a matter of time as a result of these reforms (35). However, the fact that farms have not meaningfully consolidated decades later suggests otherwise. Potential constraints on consolidation: Several hypotheses 1. Structural barriers to entering the land rental market 1.1 Land tenure insecurity Perhaps the most common explanation of China’s farmland’s non-consolidation is that persistent land tenure insecurity continues to discourage land transfers (36). This explanation would suggest that, while recent reforms have improved the conditions for consolidation, rental markets remain constrained largely because the new policies have not yet been universally implemented or enforced. Despite the central government’s obsessive efforts to recalibrate land policy, this explanation is plausible, as village governments’ compliance with national land laws vary (37). This pervasive noncompliance is evidenced by the significant number of reallocations that have continued to occur well into the 2010s despite reallocations having been essentially outlawed by the 2002 Rural Land Contracting Law (38). Despite these implementation lags, each round of reform has demonstrably had some impact. When the pilot of the LCP had extended to roughly half of China, farmers from villages where the LCP had been decreed were more likely to rent land (39). However, it remains unclear whether reforms’ impact has been to increase scale renting or just to spur lots of non-scale renting. If tenure insecurity were solely responsible for non-consolidation, we would expect the local implementation of reforms to positively correlate not only with rental participation but also with rental scale. Thus, a more granular assessment of how land reform implementation has affected rental market dynamics may elucidate the extent to which tenure insecurity has constrained scale farming. 1.2 Hukou system 户籍制度: Emigration without land renunciation The Hukou System, which splits the Chinese population into “urban” and “rural” residents, is another widely theorized source of non-consolidation. Over recent years, an unprecedented number of rural Chinese residents have migrated to the cities (40). Yet many of these migrant workers cannot get their rural hukou registrations (农村户口) changed to receive social benefits from their new municipalities, nor do employers typically offer them basic social protections (41). Only 22 percent of migrant workers have “basic pension insurance” (低保), while just 17 percent have un-employment insurance (42). Thus, most migrants choose to keep their land rights as a fallback (43). To some theorists, this trend is the end of the mystery of China’s farm sizes: these retained landholdings simply remain idle, perhaps being casually tended by an aging family member (44). Thus, it is possible that while the rural population is decreasing, the number of rural landholders is not, precluding consolidation. Indeed, this seems to be the popular conception both outside and within China (45). However, evidence suggests this is unlikely to be happening en masse. For instance, China’s land is remarkably productive given how much of it is barely arable. The country’s average cereal yields per hectare regularly rank among the top-few G20 countries–including those with far more prime farmland–and far exceeds most of its regional peers (46). If most of the thirty percent of China’s farmland contracted to migrant households were near-idle, the remaining farmland would be by far the most productive land on the planet, which is implausible (47). Moreover, output has not decreased with the emergence of migration since the 1990s; rather, it has increased comparably to or more rapidly than that of peer countries, again making it improbable that idle land is massively increasing (48). Finally, the persistence of reallocations, which Krusekopf finds most often occur where village demographics have recently changed, indicates that migrants typically cannot leave land idle without it being redistributed (49). Thus, it is incredibly unlikely that land abandonment alone can account for farm non-consolidation. Yet the question remains: what, then, happens to migrant households’ land when they leave the village but do not renounce their land? 2. Relative disincentives to land rentals to outside scale farming companies 2.1 Cheap rent prices reduce barriers for local renters The data suggest that for most of China’s migrant households, renting their land out is the solution of choice. For migrant families to fully allocate their labor capital off-farm while keeping their land rights for social insurance, they must somehow keep their land under cultivation to meet HRS quotas, lest they risk the village government reallocating their land (50). This need can essentially only be fulfilled by renting; thus, it is unsurprising that households with more migrant workers tend to rent out greater proportions of their land (51). Given China’s remarkable recent rates of rural emigration and non-agricultural job growth, the expected result of this dynamic is an extremely high supply of land for rent, likely leading to unusually low land rental prices. Wang’s data confirms this conjecture: 62 percent of land “rentals” (农村地租), including 53% of those to non-relatives, were rent-free (52). While rent-charged rather than rent-free transactions slightly increased from 2000 to 2008, the mean yearly rent charged when rent was charged decreased over the same period, from 272 to 222 yuan/mu (53). Even with these low prices, supply of land for rent continued to outstrip demand. While 25 percent of households expressed “willingness to rent out” land for a below-market 200 yuan/mu, a dramatically lower proportion of households actually found takers (54). The result of this “buyer’s market” is that Chinese smallholders, unlike most of the world’s smallholders, can afford to rent—which many do. Due to still-inconsistent land tenure security, Chinese farmers typically prefer to rent to their neighbors, with whom informal social relations may provide recourse if land disputes occur, rather than to companies or to strangers from outside the village (55, 56). Thus, the feasibility of local smallholder-to-smallholder renting leads to such transactions dominating the rental market: as of 2008, 85 percent of rented out land was rented to farmers within the contract holder’s own village (57). This tendency toward local renting has persisted even with rental market expansion and reform. From 2000 to 2008, a period over which renting participation nearly doubled, the percentage of rental contracts that were informal rather than written decreased from 96 percent to 89 percent (58). However, over the same period, the proportion of rentals to “non-kin” (非亲) rather than “kin” (亲) did not change (59). Given that it is unlikely that many people would choose to rent their land out to outside companies with no formal contract, this likely indicates that it was not rentals to outside companies, but formal rentals to close social relations, that increased most substantially with the recent expansion of land rental markets. 2.2 Disincentives for scale farming companies to rent or subcontract land Even when farmers transfer their land rights for the remainder of their lease term, they most often transfer to other nearby farmers. As of 2013, 58 percent of full-lease-term transferred farmland by area—and the overwhelming majority of such transfers by count—was transferred to other farmers rather than to companies, cooperatives, or others (60). Only 9.6 percent of transferred farmland was transferred to companies.61 Because farmers who transfer their land rights permanently presumably do not care what happens to their land once they sell it, the predominance of smallholder-to-smallholder transactions indicates the presence of not just supply-side, but demand-side barriers to scale transfers. Smallholder farmers entering the transfer market cannot singlehandedly explain why farmers who permanently transfer their land do not choose to transfer it to scale farming companies (which could presumably pay more than smallholders), given that, for such transfers, trusting the recipient is no longer a factor. This implies that scale farming companies must be choosing not to rent land, or, equivalently, that Chi- na’s land economy precludes many scale farming companies from penetrating the Chinese market. One likely demand-side contributor to the dearth of outside-scale renters is that it is simply not worthwhile for companies to rent or subcontract land given China’s policy conditions. Given that land is merely leased rather than owned, the long-term returns for non-residents to establish scale farming operations may not be worth the considerable fixed costs. Moreover, renting 0.1 hectares of detached land may be gainful for smallholder renters, but is unlikely to be very useful to most scale farming companies. Due to the non-contiguous plot distribution under the HRS, one cannot rent corporate-scale stretches of contiguous land without contracting with dozens, or even hundreds, of farmers who hold conjoining plots. It is thus unsurprising that, according to Huang, most scale transfers to companies involve village governments organizing the transfer of the entire village’s land at once (62). However, this is only possible when none of the village’s households still rely on agricultural employment—or when those who do can be convinced to become wage laborers on the land they own—which is rare (63). Thus, companies can rarely obtain enough contiguous land to warrant the nontrivial fixed costs of scale farming enterprises. Whether scale farming is constrained more by the opportunity for local farmers to rent land or by disincentives to outside companies taking on land is difficult to precisely determine, though examining the impact of village per capita incomes on rental markets will help elucidate the impact of cheap rent prices. Regardless of the reason, it is evident that the vast majority of rental transactions occur locally and between smallholder farmers. 3. Disincentives for local land renters to scale up: Non-mechanization Even if China’s land rental market is constrained to local smallholder-to-small- holder transfers, it is not obvious that this should prevent farms from consolidating. The U.S. farm economy is a prime example: even though mean farm sizes have ballooned to hundreds of times those of China, 96 percent of US farms remain “family farms” rather than corporate entities (64). Smallholder renters can only be responsible for the dearth of scale farms if conditions have disincentivized these smallholder renters from further scaling up their operations over time. The most plausible explanation is China’s unusually low levels of agricultural machinery. While many studies have indicated that scale farming is generally associated with mechanization, China’s persistent non-mechanization despite rapidly increasing rural wealth is not well understood (65). With that being said, several factors unique to China may be disincentivizing machinery investments, and, therefore, limiting scale farming. Plot fragmentation is one such likely disincentive. The HRS divides villages’ land into plots, often of less than 0.1 ha, and contracts several of these plots to each household. To ensure that each household’s land is equally arable, the village committee assesses the quality of each parcel and allocates an equal proportion of “good” and “bad” parcels to each household (66). Due to China’s mountainous terrain, which often causes the farmland within a given village to vary dramatically in quality, many households are thus given several completely noncontiguous plots (67). This extreme fragmentation essentially neutralizes the economies of scale associated with mechanization (68). To give one provocative example, from 1980 (when much farmland was still collectivized) to 1988 (when much land was on plots of less than 1 hectare), the percentage of farmland “under mechanized operations” decreased by 5.8 percent despite unprecedentedly rapid rural income growth (69). Such trends continue today: Tan70 finds that rice farmers from China’s Jiangxi province with more fragmented land had higher labor costs but lower tractor costs, indicating they were less mechanized. Alternatively, it may be that China’s land renters do not mechanize simply because their labor-to-land ratio under the HRS land distribution gives them no reason to. Most of China’s rural households still have lower marginal returns to labor than the prevailing non-agricultural wage rate, indicating labor surpluses—which is to say, they do not have enough land to need as many on-farm workers as they have (71). Why these households’ “surplus laborers” continue to farm even though they could make more money from non-farming work is unclear (72). Nonetheless, it is evident that these households have enough labor capital to take on significantly more land while remaining land-efficient without needing to mechanize. It is important to note that most smallholder land renters may not have the ability to purchase machinery. As previously mentioned, a primary driver of land rent- ing among Chinese smallholders appears to be the extraordinarily cheap avail- ability of local land for rent (73). As such, the typical Chinese land renter may not have the means--or the desire--to make large fixed investments into agriculture. Given the ever-evolving nature of China’s urban work opportunities, renting land may simply be households’ way of temporarily allocating their labor capital more efficiently, without incurring fixed costs or financially committing to agriculture long-term. Such households would be willing to rent up to, but not beyond, the maximum land they could manage without machinery given their labor endowments, thus precluding the transition to scale farming. The size distribution of land renters’ landholdings illustrates the salience of this hypothesis. Of the land renters from the sample used for the present study, 83 per- cent had total landholdings, including land they were renting, of less than 30 mu, or 2 hectares [Fig. 1].74 While labor efficiency varies for different types of farms, 2 hectares can typically be farmed land-efficiently by a family of four—roughly Chi- na’s mean household size—without machinery (75). It is likely no coincidence that 85 percent of households from the same sample had zero “agricultural asset” value (76). Even households from villages where the LCP had been completed rarely exceed- ed these labor-intensive-friendly farm sizes: only one of the sample’s 48 land renters whose villages had completed the LCP had more than 20 mu of landholdings, further indicating that barriers to scale renting exist independent of land tenure security (77). Fig. 1 (78) It is not necessarily possible to determine the causal relationship between rental land holding and mechanization due to reverse causality concerns: not having enough land to need machines may discourage mechanization, and not having machines may also discourage renting an amount of land that cannot be farmed without machines. However, given the fixed nature of machinery costs (those who currently own machinery most likely did not buy it within the past year), examining the relationship between machinery ownership and year-to-year land renting behavior change may provide some insight into the impact of non-mechanization. Methodology Data sources To test how each of these sets of factors may be influencing land transfer behavior on what levels, I examine data on households that had either completed or not yet started implementation of the 2011 Land Certificate Program by 2015. Specifically, I use Probit/Tobit regressions to examine the relationship between various measures of land rental markets and LCP completion, machinery ownership, and village per capita income. Probit regressions are used to regress on binary variables (i.e. household likelihood of renting land), whereas Tobit regressions are used to estimate linear relationships between “censored” variables where not all “zero” observations can be considered equivalent (i.e. the amount of land that a household rents, a variable which does not consider that some non-renters rent out land). The data used for this paper was collected by the Center for Chinese Agricultural Policy. It was originally used for Zhang’s investigation of the early impacts of the LCP on land rental markets (79). Several households were surveyed from each of 100 randomly selected villages distributed across China. The dependent variables used for the present study were households’ land renting participation (yes/ no), intensity (percent of the household’s total contract land rented), and amount (mu) (80). LCP implementation was conceived of as a “treatment” variable, which is to say, its causality is unidirectional (LCP implementation could cause more people to rent, but more people renting probably could not make LCP implementation more likely) (81). Other data collected included machinery ownership (log asset value) (82), off-farm migrant workers and off-farm local employment (by the number of household members), and village per capita income (yuan). Control variables included household head education, gender, and age, original contract land (mu), and county location. Two new variables were created for the present study. 2014 rent % measures the household’s 2014 land renting intensity; I derive this from dividing 2014 renting quantity by contract land. This enables testing of 2015 renting intensity controlling for 2014 intensity, which functionally approximates year-to-year renting intensity change. Rented 2014 simply measures whether 2014 land renting quantity was greater than zero; this similarly enables examination of 2015 rental market participation controlling for 2014 participation. Theoretical framework While Zhang (83) finds LCP completion was correlated not only with the likelihood of renting land, this measure may be insufficient, because, with most transfers being of similar scale with quantity rented (not controlling for whether one rented land), one’s land renting quantity is strongly correlated with whether one rented land (84). Thus, the fact that the LCP impacted quantity rented does not tell us whether mean land renting quantity increased because more people rented land, or because a few people started renting larger amounts of land. The former result would support the smallholder-to-smallholder hypothesis, whereas the latter would indicate nascent scale consolidation and thus imply that tenure insecurity was directly holding back the consolidation of scale farms. To reflect the need to isolate which variables impact whether the individual rented land versus how much land was rented by the individual, the basic demand-side model of land rental intensity and amount: can be deconstructed into the following two specifications: Where Y = land renting amount/percentage, R = whether one rented or not, LCP = whether the village had completed the LCP, M = asset value of agricultural machinery (log yuan). Essentially, equation (2) tells us the likelihood that someone will rent land given their levels of other factors. Equation (1) tells us how much land they can be expected to rent given their levels of other factors, including whether they rent land. Therefore, holding constant Ri = 1 (by limiting the sample to those who rented land), equation (1) now tells us how much land those who rent land can be expected to rent given their levels of the same other factors from equation (2). Then, what this deconstruction does is separate each independent variable’s impact on the household’s total land rental quantity or percentage into 1) its impact on whether they rent land, 2) its impact on how much land they rent, or what percentage of their land they rent if they rent land. Regression results (truncated) (85) Table 1. Impact on the likelihood of renting land Table 2. Impact on renting quantity (mu), intensity (percent of contract land rented) for only those who rented Discussion Impact of LCP LCP completion is positively correlated with land rental market participation [Table 1]. However, for rental market participants, it is not significantly correlated with how much land they rented [Table 2, col 1], what percentage of their land they rented [Table 2, col 3], land renting quantity year-to-year change [Table 2, col 2], or renting percentage year-to-year change [Table 2, col 4]. This suggests that, while the LCP increased the total number of land rental transactions, it did not necessarily impact the size of the transactions that occurred. This does not necessarily mean the LCP did not improve incentives for scale farming; for instance, improved land tenure security would likely have increased prospective corporate renters’ confidence that they could keep the land they rent- ed for the specified term. However, these results provide no evidence that the LCP more significantly facilitated scale renting than it did smallholder-to-smallholder rentals. This provides further support for the hypothesis that while land tenure insecurity may constrain the emergence of rental markets, other constraints on scale renting exist that tenure insecurity cannot account for. Moreover, the demand-side impact of land tenure insecurity on scale renting is likely to mirror the impact of limited-term leases since both similarly decrease the length of time that people, especially non-village residents, can expect to keep their rental holdings, disincentivizing renting by operations that require high fixed costs. Thus, the non-correlation of LCP completion with rental scale may suggest that drivers of smallholder-to-smallholder renting other than limited-term leases, including diseconomies of scale due to fragmentation and cheap rent empowering local renting, likely contribute to non-consolidation. Impact of machinery Machinery ownership is strongly positively correlated with renting land by nearly every measure: whether one rented land [Table 1], how much land one rented if they rented land [Table 2, col 1], what percentage of one’s land one rented if they rented land [Table 2, col 3], land renting quantity year-to-year change [Table 2, col 2], and renting percentage year-to-year change [Table 2, col 4]. Although causal implications of the rental-machinery relationship cannot necessarily be determined, it is noteworthy that renting quantity year-to-year change is positively correlated with machinery ownership. Because it is unlikely that most machines were purchased within the past year, this may suggest that those who purchased machinery subsequently began renting more land, rather than vice versa. This indicates machinery non-ownership may be constraining scale rent- ing. On the other hand, when controlling for 2014 land rental market participation , machines were not correlated with 2015 participation, which may indicate that machinery purchase did not prompt an increased likelihood of entering the rental market [Table 1]. This supports the hypothesis that, due to labor surplus- es enabling farmers to expand their landholdings without needing to mechanize, machinery non-ownership does not constrain rental market participation—it just constrains how much land renters rent. Impact of village per capita income There is no evidence that village income level is correlated with rental market participation [Table 1], the quantity for those who rented [Table 2, col 1], or intensity for those who rented [Table 2, col 3]. This may support the hypothesis that cheap land rent prices have made renting land widely financially accessible. Moreover, controlling for total landholdings, village income level is not correlated with machinery ownership [Table 6]. While past studies have proposed wealthier households having more off-farm employment may be responsible for machinery investments not rising with rural incomes, the present study controls for off-farm employment (86). This result, therefore, gives credence to the idea that machine ownership is constrained not by insufficient financial capital, but by disincentives to mechanization. Specifically, machine use is likely disincentivized by labor surpluses and plot fragmentation. Conclusion Many interconnected factors contribute to China’s dearth of scale farms; however, the way these factors interact is not well understood. By deconstructing the existing models of how various factors impact China’s land rental markets, we can more clearly observe the specific dynamics that constrain scale farming. The findings of this paper offer a more granular, though still not comprehensive, model of these processes. Specifically, (1) the LCP improved rental market participation, but there is no evidence that it increased the scale of renters’ rental holdings, indicating that tenure insecurity may constrain rental markets but cannot solely account for non-consolidation. Further, (2) machinery ownership may spur increased land renting quantity, though not necessarily increased renting participation, indicating that households may not need machines to rent land but they do need them to rent at scale; (3) machinery purchase seems to be mainly constrained not by financial capital but by incentive structure; (4) village incomes do not seem to significantly impact rental markets, which may suggest rent prices have become cheap enough to no longer be a barrier to renting. Together, these findings suggest that a policy environment that incentivizes smallholders and disincentivizes companies to rent land, along with a land tenure structure that disincentivizes smallholder renters to mechanize, helps to constrain the expansion of scale farming. China’s experience shows that under the right set of structural conditions, land market liberalization need not necessarily give rise to the large-scale consolidation and corporatization of farms, a finding that may be encouraging to proponents of both liberalization and local food systems. Indeed, while there are some indications that China’s top policymakers had hoped to facilitate the development of large-scale farming companies through land tenure reform, the current trends offer arguably even more cause for optimism. First, given that smallholder-to-small-holder rentals have been accelerating, the typical Chinese farm will increasingly move further down the U-shaped curve of total societal costs of farming by farm size, even if most renters continue to rent 2 hectares or less (87). Moreover, these low-level rentals may be slowly mitigating the labor surplus problem. With the expansion of urban work opportunities, more farmers will rent their land out to their neighbors, causing the remaining farms to converge toward allocative efficient sizes (absent machinery) for their respective households’ labor endowments. Finally, Huang notes that China’s increasing need for crop diversification may turn the plot fragmentation that persists under the HRS into a boon rather than a liability (88). While major problems persist, China may be moving toward an enviable equilibrium: maximum agricultural output, crop diversity, fewer environmental externalities, with the countryside not only “absorbing labor” but also providing critical social insurance to those with rural hukou s (89). Globally, food security is increasingly under threat from many unprecedented sources, including global supply chain disruptions and climate change (90). These threats call for countries to renew their commitments to ensure they can sufficiently and sustainably feed their own populations. Countries with low land endowments per capita face unique obstacles to realizing sustainable self-sufficiency; China’s farm economy exhibits such challenges even independent of its distinctive policy conditions (91). Given these unique challenges, it is worth interrogating whether the same labor-optimizing strategies used by countries with more land and fewer people, where maximizing land efficiency need not be paramount, really represent the optimal rural development model for “land-poor” countries like China. Time will tell whether China’s current combination of liberalized land markets and structural deterrents to the establishment of large corporate farms will survive ongoing political challenges, and, if so, whether it will prove beneficial to the welfare of the country’s rural population. Appendix Table 3. Impact on the likelihood of renting land (expanded) Table 4. Impact on rental quantity (mu) for those who rented (expanded) Table 5. Impact on rental intensity (% of contract land) for those who rented (expanded) Table 6. Impact of village incomes on mechanization Table 7. Impact of whether one rented land on how much land they rented Endnotes 1 Lowder, Skoet, and Singh, “What Do We Really Know about the Number and Distribution of Farms and Family Farms Worldwide?”, 11. 2 Wu et al., “Policy Distortions, Farm Size, and the Overuse of Agricultural Chemicals in China,” 7012. 3 Lowder, Skoet, and Raney, “The Number, Size, and Distribution of Farms, Smallholder Farms, and Family Farms Worldwide.” 4 Huang and Ding, “Institutional Innovation and Policy Support to Facilitate Small- Scale Farming Transformation in China,” 228. 5 Ji et al., “Are China’s Farms Growing?”, 48. 6 Masters et al., “Urbanization and Farm Size in Asia and Africa.” 7 Cai and Lu, “Take-off, Persistence and Sustainability,” 215. 8 “Rural Population - China | Data.” World Bank. 9 “China Statistical Yearbook 2016,” section 4.2. 10 Ibid, section 8.23. 11 Landesa, “Summary of 2011 17-Province China Survey’s Findings.” 12 Huang, “China’s New-Age Small Farms and Their Vertical Integration.” 13 Cook, “Surplus Labour and Productivity in Chinese Agriculture.” 14 Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of Land Certificated Program on the Farmland Rental Market in Rural China.” 15 Deininger, Impacts Of Land Certification On Tenure Security, Investment, And Land Markets. 16 Wang et al., “Wage Growth, Landholding, and Mechanization in Chinese Agriculture.” 17 Huang, Liangliang, and Rozelle, “The Effect of Off-Farm Employment on the Decisions of Households to Rent out and Rent in Cultivated Land in China.” 18 Wu et al., “Policy Distortions, Farm Size, and the Overuse of Agricultural Chemicals in China,” 7012. 19 Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program on the Farmland Rental Market in Rural China.” 20 刘江，“近5年农民工收入年均增8.8% 累计培训农民工超1亿人次.” 21 Huang, “China’s New-Age Small Farms and Their Vertical Integration.” 22 Ibid. 23 Special thanks to Professor Louis Putterman for this insight. 24 Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program.” 25 “Notice of the General Office of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China and the General Office of the State Council on Further Stabilizing and Improving Rural Land Contracting Relations.” 26 United States Congressional-Executive Commission on China, “Ownership with Chinese Characteristics.” 27 Zhan, The Land Question in China. 28 Cook, “Surplus Labour and Productivity in Chinese Agriculture.” 29 “Decree of the President of the People’s Republic of China (No. 73) Law of the People’s Republic of China on Rural Land Contracting.” 30 United States Congressional-Executive Commission on China, “Ownership with Chinese Characteristics.” 31 Brandt, Rozelle, and Turner, “Local Government Behavior and Property Right Formation in Rural China,” 629. 32 United States Congressional-Executive Commission on China, “Ownership with Chinese Characteristics.” 33 Ma et al., “Tenure Security, Social Relations and Contract Choice.” 34 “Decree of the President of the PRC (No. 73) Law of the PRC on Rural Land Contracting.” 35 Ji et al., “Are China’s Farms Growing?” 36 Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program.” 37 Teets and Hurst, Local Governance Innovation in China, 21. 38 Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program.” 39 Ibid. 40 “China Statistical Yearbook-2016,” section 4.2. 41 Wu et al., “Policy Distortions, Farm Size, and the Overuse of Agricultural Chemicals in China.” 42 刘江，“近5年农民工收入年均增8.8% 累计培训农民工超1亿人次.” 43 Wu et al., “Policy Distortions, Farm Size, and the Overuse of Agricultural Chemicals in China.” 44 Ibid. 45 Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program,” 3. 46 World Bank, “Cereal Yield (Kg per Hectare) - selected countries | Data.” 47 Ibid.; author’s calculation. 48 World Bank, “Crop Production Index (2004-2006 = 100) - Selected Countries.” 49 Krusekopf, “Diversity in Land-Tenure Arrangements under the Household Responsibility System in China.” 50 Ibid. 51 Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program.” 52 Wang, Riedinger, and Jin, “Land Documents,” 223. 53 Ibid. 54 Ibid., 226. 55 Ma et al., “Tenure Security, Social Relations and Contract Choice.” 56 Macours, “Insecurity of Property Rights and Social Matching in the Tenancy Market,” 898. 57 Wang, Riedinger, and Jin, “Land Documents,” 223. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid. 60 Huang, Guan, and Jin, “Scale Farming Operations in China,” 196. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid. 63 Ibid. 64 MacDonald, Korb, and Hoppe, “Farm Size and the Organization of U.S. Crop Farming,” 47. 65 Wang et al., “Wage Growth, Landholding, and Mechanization in Chinese Agriculture.” 66 Wu et al., “Policy Distortions, Farm Size, and the Overuse of Agricultural Chemicals in China.” 67 Tan, Heerink, and Qu, “Land Fragmentation and Its Driving Forces in China.” 68 Hu, “Household Land Tenure Reform in China,” 177. 69 Ibid., 178. 70 Tan et al., “Do Fragmented Landholdings Have Higher Production Costs?” 71 Cook, “Surplus Labour and Productivity in Chinese Agriculture.” 72 Cook proposes that quotas may contribute to agricultural over-employment by forcing households to dedicate enough labor capital to farming to meet quotas during the most productive seasons. However, it is equally plausible that farm labor surpluses primarily result from the limited supply of off-farm jobs. 73 Wang, Riedinger, and Jin, “Land Documents,” 223. 74 Data from: Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program.” Author’s calculation. 75 Cook, “Surplus Labour and Productivity in Chinese Agriculture,” 21. 76 Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program.” 77 Data collected by the Center for Chinese Agricultural Policy. 78 Ibid. 79 For details on the study’s sampling strategy, data collection methods, technical variable definitions, etc., see: Zhang, Cao, and Bai, “The Impact of the Land Certificated Program.” 80 While potentially useful data was collected on land rented out as well, it seems to have been skewed by data collection limitations: the study seems to have disproportionately sampled those families who were present within the village (or who could be readily reached by phone). Thus, it includes very few migrant families who rented out 100% of their land. Therefore, I only use the data on land renting rather than land renting out. 81 Ibid. 82 The original study’s results regarding machinery ownership were skewed by log transformation issues with the “agricultural assets” variable, which measured log of asset value by 10,000 yuan. Because most farmers who had machinery had less than 10,000 yuan of machinery asset value, the data contained many negative values of this variable for machinery owners, whereas non-owners were coded as zero value. 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The Captain and the Doctor: On the Enchantment of Modern Men George LeMieux Author Alexander Gerasimchuk Fatima Avila Editors Though we be on the far side of the world, this ship is our home. This ship is England. Introduction Modern man is lost. He is not home to himself. He lacks the longings that great men once had. While Nietzsche, Rousseau, or Burke might better articulate or explore this problem, I intend to explore how it might be remedied, a possible antidote to our modern poison. From the Western canon, I have identified three such antidotes or rather three figures who might re-enchant the modern man, the man of the democratic age. They are the vanguard of Marx, the conqueror of Nietzsche, and the disciple, which is first constituted Biblically but later in Toqueville among others. I shall conduct this search through the metaphor of a ship’s captain, in this case, Captain Jack Aubrey as depicted in the celebrated series and film Master and Commander , which I will briefly outline. Before that outline is given, I will first justify this metaphor by the virtue of captaincy itself (despite the fact I would shoehorn this favorite film of mine into anything). Then in the aftermath, I will examine these three figures as our “captains.” In this examination, I hope to reveal that modern man may only be enchanted, or at least enchanted to humanity’s benefit, by a disciple. For our captain, only the disciple offers a path that does not self-destruct and looks beyond worldly motivation. A Metaphor Since there is a long and storied history of philosophers making use of the ship and other nautical nomenclature as metaphor for their sophisticated views on man, government, and what other nonsense comes to their minds, I see no reason to deviate from the tradition. For what is better than a ship with captain and crew? She, like her nation, must suffer through trial and tribulation, storm and battle. She must adjust her sails so that she catches the wind but not let loose so much as to rip her masts apart. She must have a rigid hull built to withstand cannon and carronade, but she must also have flexibility, lest the changing temperatures and humidity crack her hull. She must be led by a captain, strong and decisive in his command. Yet he must not be a tyrant. He must court the hearts of his men so that he may win their will. If not, his men will mutiny. The uninspired crew would have no other reason to entertain the otherwise insufferable conditions of life at sea. Indeed, I do think this will be a fitting metaphor. The Captain Captain Jack Aubrey of His Majesty's Royal Navy is a man caught between two worlds, between two times. Behind him is the aristocracy of old: kings, queens, lords, ladies, and government by the few for the many, at least ideally. In front of him stands modernity: merchants, naturalists, revolutions, counter-revolutions, Napoleon, the new world, America, and democracy. Such is the world of Captain Aubrey as depicted in Patrick O'Brian's novel and Peter Weir’s film Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. Jack is a man of tradition. He respects the Crown. He reads his scripture. He loves his country. Jack’s hero is none other than Duke and Admiral Horatio Nelson, a brave and sturdy man who dies defending his love of king and country. And yet Jack sees his idols, his pillars crumbling. He has witnessed the chaos of the revolutions in France. He holds the Burkean sentiment that it is the modern radicals that “despise experience as the wisdom of unlettered men; [...] they have wrought underground a mine that will blow up, at one grand explosion, all examples of antiquity, all precedents, charters, and acts of parliament. They have ‘the rights of men.’” It is this modern threat with its rights and revolutionaries that is epitomized by the two foils of the film. The first foil is the Acheron —the ship of the modern age. She is at the forefront of naval technological advancement. Her hull is braced by three layers of live oak and white oak, making her near impenetrable for any ship of her class. She is the largest of any frigate built, able to carry more guns, yet also more aerodynamic, “heavier, but faster spite it” (Weir, Collee). In every way, she outclasses the H.M.S Surprise , Jack’s nimble but aging frigate. And where is the Acheron built? Boston. While Peter Weir had the financial sensibility to make the antagonist of the film French, i.e. Acheron , Patrick O’Brian’s ship was called U.S.S Norfolk . It is with this name that the dichotomy O’Brian intended is much clearer. It is the new world and the old world, His Majesty and Mr. President. And the new world is winning. The second foil is not a figure of oak and iron but of flesh and bone. Doctor Stephen Maturin is the ship’s surgeon and a savant of a surgeon he is. He is also a naturist, collecting, diagraming, and recording the various species he encounters on the ship’s voyages. Upon the ship’s travel to the Galapagos Islands, the parallels to the young Darwin are evident. More important, however, than any of this, he is Jack’s best friend. Despite sharing little common interest, much less a common worldview, Jack confides in Stephen what he confides in no one else. Stephen, in turn, voices his dissent to Jack, when no crew member nor officer would otherwise dare. He is both his greatest ally and greatest challenger. He is the check to Jack’s ambition and the prosecutor of his reason. He is the liberal to Jack’s conservatism. He echoes the voices of democracy, of the social contract, and the danger of tyrants. His respect for Jack comes not from his title or station but from how he leads, how he governs. It is Stephen who most quickly becomes the radical, the revolutionary, when Jack steps out of line. The Jack we see at the film’s beginning is willing to die on the hill of order and naval tradition. He is unable to see anything but the objective of his mission. Stephen and even the other officers are unable to go as far. To Jack’s credit, it is his daring and force of will, despite insurmountable odds, that makes him a great captain. In his pursuit of the Acheron , Jack takes risks that make his moves unpredictable and effective; his crew calls him Lucky Jack for a reason. But those risks do not come without their costs, even if Jack is lucky more often than he is not. Eventually, Jack carelessly pursues the Acheron into a storm and loses a man and a mast in the process. Still, Jack does not turn tail, despite Stephen’s pleas. He refits and refocuses. Only by the film's end does Jack reform and he does so not through reasoning but out of his friendship with Stephen. When Stephen is injured in an accident on board (a marine shoots him while aiming for a bird), Jack sends his ship ashore to one of the Galapagos islands instead of continuing his pursuit, likely to his detriment. This act of compassion, as it turns out, is the saving grace of the Surprise. Not only is the Acheron spotted on the far side of the island, but Stephen inspires Jack on how to capture her. While Jack's act of compassion does not separate him from his ideology, it reveals a complexity in his nature. In not letting his warrior-like nature subjugate the other parts of his conscience, Jack demonstrates his command of self, making him a good captain in more ways than one. His compassion for Stephen, despite their differences, allows him to occupy a middle ground between old and the new, between those of high and low station, between those conservative and radical. Despite their differences, Jack and Stephen end their days together with music, with a duet, playing the cello and violin as the Surprise sails into the sunset. Looking at this time and this day, in this new world, one must wonder if such bonding, such good feeling, such balance between the conservative and the liberal is possible. Every day the position of the radical, of the accelerationist, becomes more compelling even to the conservative. In America, the rigging and line that once held hull and sail together have frayed and torn, not in the harshest winds but in their daily use. The physical lines that once held men together are now virtual, connections in the cloud and the internet. These lines between men were once tangible things; now, there are few of these left. The conservative now must ask himself what he intends to conserve and if he is capable of such conservation. With conservatives far to the right, liberals far to the left, and a confused chasm in between, can those old ropes hold society together any longer? Perhaps, it is time to cut the rope. Perhaps, it is time for both right and left to become radical. Or, perhaps, there is faith to be had in those old ropes. Perhaps, there could be a man to renew their strength, reorganize them, and apply a fresh coat of tar to protect them. Perhaps, there might be a man who could tie new ropes without cutting away the old. Is there such a captain for this ship of modernity? Is there a Jack who can reason with the moderns, take heed of their desires but not be dragged off course? What does such a captain look like? The Captain’s Virtue Before one can talk of any mystical quality a good captain must have, one must first talk about his primary obligation, his duty, his vocation. For if this station is not sound in virtue, the metaphor is not fit for its goal. A captain, such as Jack, is the leader of a warship and of its crew. He would not be a good captain if he could not sail, navigate, or command the ship in battle. He must understand every part of his command and responsibility. It was for such reasons that those men who became captains most often started their time at sea from their early teens as Midshipmen, who were responsible for commanding gun crews of sailors twice their age. It is this good practice, of physical strain and tangible purpose, that makes the vocation virtuous. Virtue is not found in sophistry or the professing of morality but in good works and deeds. Both Rousseau and Marx recognized that the “sensible” men of the world are not the magistrates but the “workers” and the “people.” In this way, the captain is a unique station. It is a position that reaches downward to the grit and servitude that is required but reaches up toward order and inspiration. On one hand, a captain must stand amongst his sailors and with his marines facing the enemy, taking with them every shot fired, equally as likely to be impaled by shrapnel and splinter, equally as likely to take grapeshot from a swivel gun, equally as likely to take a cannonball straight through his gut. On the other hand, a captain must reach upward. He must engage in strategy, diplomacy, and negotiation. He takes his orders from admirals, parliament, and the King. He must, with his officers, stand apart and govern the crew, making sure he does not fraternize with them or become too social. He must whip those who are insubordinate. And it is he who gives the parting sermon after his men die in battle. The captain is both above and below, a man who mediates between king and country, between God and his men. Vanguard For Marx, the nature of our captain is clear. He must be a vanguard, a man who can reach from the high to the low, from bourgeois to proletariat, a man who has the means to lead the proletariat to “acquire political supremacy” and “ constitute itself the nation” (Marx 488). The vanguard can not be of the lower classes as they do not hold the means of production or own sufficient property. The vanguard will not be the bourgeois socialist who wants “all the advantages of modern social conditions without the struggles and dangers necessarily resulting from them.” That man would not lead nor fight in the “impending bloody conflicts” that the revolution requires. But the captain might. He, by virtue of his practice, gains access to the epistemic standpoint of the working man. He can call his men into battle because he will be in that battle himself, because he will stand in front, with pistol and cutlass in hand, because he knows their plight and their struggle. Yes, the captain might be the perfect vanguard, if he had the disposition and the courage required to lead the revolution. But no vanguard will heal or reinspire the whole nation. He will take the radicals he agrees with and burn the rest. The ideal vanguard may be the captain, the general, or some other man of higher but not so noble station, that comes down to act on behalf of the proletariat. But the unifying captain is, in the root of his position, opposed to such a severing. More fit, would be the treasonous first officer who leads a mutiny against the captain and the remaining loyal officers. To be a vanguard is to be a “slash and burn” farmer who wreaks devastation on the present vegetation so that the soil may be made fertile again. There will be no healing, under the vanguard. Conqueror Then perhaps the captain, who must fight to re-enchant our new world, must be a conqueror. The conqueror does not require a revolution, or at least not an ideological one, for the conqueror has no need for the traditional radical who operates on moral principles. He is not the vanguard who cries out to the poor that they must liberate themselves. The conqueror only asks for good men, inspired to fight for their home and fatherland, inspired to make something more of what they have been given. The conqueror rises in rank and comes to lead a nation because of his proven success on the battlefield. This captain inspires not because of his pleasant sailing or wise words but because he sinks ships. Nietzsche asks “[m]ust the ancient fire not some day flare up [...] More: must one not desire it with all its might.” Is it not blood that would surely wake the modern man from his slumber, wake the animal instinct inside of him? Perhaps the true conservative can only believe that “antiquity incarnate” arises through a conqueror, a superman, a Napoleon. And yet one must ask of Nietzsche, what is to happen after the conquest? What is to happen after one has conquered all he can or has been defeated? What was Napoleon to do, having failed in Russia? What was Alexander to do when he lay sick and dying in his bed? What is left to hold a nation together when the expansion has stopped and the wars have come to an end? How is a conqueror to at last govern his people? If the measure of man’s vitality is only to be strength and victory, then there will be no man who finds purpose in times of peace. When the soldier again becomes the carpenter after his service is done, he must now aspire to be the superman of carpentry. He must strike down all other table builders and door makers in his path if he is to achieve vitality. He will feel not for his fellow man, now that he does not need him to protect his flank or cover his advance. He will be a frustrated and lonely man, who, in his attempted rationalization to maximize his will and vitality, will frantically look around every corner to become the carpenter of all carpenters, betraying every man who gets in his path. Nietzsche might retort that one should not care for the carpenter, for all carpenters are weak men who failed to rise to a higher station. But if one is to build a society, does one not need the carpenter? Would it not be better to be his friend so that he may more willingly and caringly craft one’s furniture? Perhaps Nietzsche thinks that forcing the carpenter to build a chair would be better to maximize the will than to engage in normal transaction or to politely ask him. Society needs carpenters; a ship needs sailors. Neither will run well if every request is made out of threat or a difference in power. Sure power may be unequally distributed among men, and men will surely wield that power to their advantage, but every interaction need not be a Melian Dialogue . No unification of society, no mending of wounds, could ever take place in such a one-dimensional existence. Even if, for but a fleeting moment, conservative and liberal may be united by the fires of war, such a state is only temporary. While the ancient fires may rise again, they may just as quickly die. For all Napoleon was, how many more revolutions and fragile republics followed? There was no remnant of antiquity to build upon. Instead, it was democratic man who, upon the rubble of Europe, raised his new throne. In his time, Tocqueville correctly surmised that democracy would be here to stay: “I think that in the long run, government by democracy shall increase the real strength of society.” While “slave” in its morality, democracy is dominant in its presence. Its practitioners are no longer just the carpenters or even the priests; they are the captains, the generals, the senators themselves. While European antiquity lay unaware, the strength and size of America, of democratic power, grew. “Something that passed unnoticed a century ago now strikes the attention of all.” Now, antiquity not only lacks the popular momentum to overcome the democratic age, but it lacks the strength. If there is to be a man who rekindles the flame of the West, he will not be a conqueror who slays democratic man. He will be a democratic man himself. And What for God? Purposely absent from the mind of Marx’s vanguard and Nietzsche’s superman is the Kingdom of God. Nietzsche and Marx are the archetypes of, as John Courtney Murray would categorize them, “the postmodern atheist”. The post-moderns not only leave God out of their government, philosophy, and science as the moderns do; they actively strike Him out, act against Him, and demonstrate how He cannot exist. The postmodern is offended that a God could exist and (in Marx’s case) allow for so much scarcity, so much evil, or (in Nietzsche’s case) deprive man of his freedom, the will, that makes man human. God, if he exists, is either a tormenter, imprisoner, or both. Nietzsche further declares that the morality man claims to have derived from God, the morality of the Christian and the Jew is the greatest perversion of the natural order: strength and weakness. Good and evil, concepts of vengeful weaklings, invert the true “morality” by which man once lived and should live again. Of Marx’s and Nietzsche’s cases, Nietzsche’s is the stronger. When one eliminates God from the worldly equation, one must also eliminate the morality that came with Him. Marx may claim scarcity is the great evil, but this concept of evil only comes through sympathy for the suffering of others. What is the evil of inequality or greed or a dominant bourgeois class if there is no concern for fellow man? From where does the humanist goodness, ascribed by Marx to the elimination of suffering, originate? Without an order, ordained above and outside by divine authority, there can be no objective good. No worldly cosmodicy is sufficient to prove an objective good. If one’s ultimate goal is “good” for the nation, one cannot look to Nietzsche for a cure; the concept of good is, in fact, part of the disease. But if one looks to Marx, one cannot find a source of good. Therein, the postmoderns are fruitless. And democratic man seems to agree. The true moral plague is that democratic man is not looking for goodness but instead assumes it. The modern atheist does not kill God but walks away from Him. In His absence, he does not search for truth or morality but merely replicates the idea of good that was passed down to him. He imitates, but his imitations, as they are not rooted in the source, are imperfect: bastardized (Murray and Nietzsche agree). He might even hold some personal religious sentiment but will not act on religious conviction. He does not mix the personal with the external world. He will work, govern, and wage war but will never do so in the name of God. He lives as if God does not exist. This … breed says in effect that, since he cannot know what God is, he will refuse to affirm that God is. But this stupidity, one may well think, surpasses that of the idolater. It is not merely an implicit refusal of God; it is an explicit denial of intelligence. The essence of God does indeed lie beyond the scope of intelligence, but his existence does not. It is this modern man—the man who does not deny God but shoves him aside—that has become commonplace. This modern man feels neither the warm light of heaven nor the scorching hellfire below. He wanders in a cold fog, blind, deaf and dumb. He lingers in the cave only seeing shadows of the truth. Because he does not see the source of the light, he assumes there is no source and does not search for it. It is this modern man who must be re-enchanted. Disciple So how is our captain to deal with the moderns, with the Dr. Maturins that now sail aboard every ship? What is he to do with those who synthesize values of democracy and the equality of man but do not acknowledge the creator who created them equally? Thankfully, the modern agnostic, despite his lack of reason in comparison to the Nietzschean, has not yet thrown off his moral yoke. In some ways, he still feels a connection to the world beyond the material. There are yet some embers left to kindle. There are yet men left to kindle them. There is hardly any human action, however private it may be, which does not result from some very general conception men have of God, of His relations with the human race, of the nature of their souls, and the duties to their fellows. Nothing can prevent such ideas from being the common spring from which all else originates. If man is to truly be re-enchanted—to be inspired and given lasting direction—he must look to that only thing which is transcendent, that is not merely of time and matter. If there is ever again to be unity amongst men, there must be unity with their creator. There must be disciples to show us the way. When man has been enchanted, even democratic man, it has been with and through religious spirit, fostered by disciples and prophets. These men once walked among us. These were the men in between God and humanity, Heaven and Earth, men who heard His voice and acted on His will. They were Moses and Abraham and David and Paul and Peter. God even revealed Himself to man in mortal form, in and through man’s pain and flesh. And yet, despite all of these, man’s faith remains weak. The disciples' task is never finished. He may never stop, for if he does, man is quick to forget and quick to lose his way. He will lose himself in the desert, and never find the promised land, his true home, his self. The disciple must be an ever-present and ever-constant reminder of God. The captain, disciple in his most righteous form, has some divine spark, some glint in his eye, some Promethean fire in his bosom that animates bravery and fortitude. The captain calls his men to voyage into the unknown, across the far side of the world. He calls his men to fight for a home that long disappeared behind a horizon last seen thousands of miles ago. He brings together those born across the empire, those who share little, and those who resent much. The duty the captain must call his men to cannot be incentivized with the stuff of the earth. He can promise them no amount of riches or glory among men to keep them steadfast. There is something the captain must awaken in his men that moves their spirits, their souls, guiding them toward something not here attainable. Only manna sent down from upon high can quell a spiritual hunger. And so the Captain must be like Moses, the interlocutor between man and God—newly the interlocular between conservative and liberal. He does not make the manna nor the law in the heavens, but he does transmit them. He walks down from Sinai to deliver to those below. He understands the plight of his crew, the doctor, and the common man, but he does not let them build golden calves. He has ambition but he does not raise towers of Babble; he does not push onward without cause. Where have these disciples gone? Where is Moses to be seen? Who upholds the commandments given from on high? Might it not be the lack of disciples but man who is the problem? Have there been one too many golden calves built in town squares, one too many towers of Babylon raised to the mockery of Heaven? Are there enough ears today willing to hear a sermon, enough lips willing to say a prayer? I contend there are. While the world may not be presently enchanted, there have been moments, glimpses, of enchantment. There was Reagan who stood in the way of the communist threat with his quick wit but mild manner. There was Dr. King who appealed to the heavens, preached to the masses, and marched hand in hand with the persecuted. There was Churchill who looked the devil right in the eye and spat back at him. There was Lincoln who looked over a battlefield and made a promise those men would not die in vain. There was Washington who led his soldiers, served his time, and ceded his throne. It was these disciples that reminded man of himself, of his nature, of his longings. They called upon God, evoked a higher duty, and bound men to each other. They knew that “[r]eligion [...] imposes on each man [...] obligations toward mankind, to be performed in common [...] and so draws him away from thinking about himself.” Like a captain, those disciples, who were fit to suffer, suffered in common with their men when they could have stood afar. Dr. King marched with his men, was imprisoned for them, and died for them. Reagan too took a bullet for his nation, although he fortunately survived. Lincoln, in his service and his stress, aged himself twenty years in the span of four and was assassinated shortly thereafter, giving the last full measure of his devotion. Washington lost battles for months on end in the bitter cold until he found success in a Christmas night attack. Oh, the joy nations will feel when leaders acquire such courage again when they call upon the heavens as they did not so long ago. Oh, they will know that feeling that gathered hundreds of thousands on the National Mall, that mustered the men who crossed the Delaware, that had black and white Union soldiers singing “Glory, Glory, Hallelujah” as they marched surely to their deaths at Fort Wagner. Only then can man come home to himself. Conclusion Who is our captain to be? What direction would we have him take our ship? Must he not be both a man of the people and a man of the elite, a democratic man who still has a touch, a memory in him, of that antiquity, that nobility, that honor of old? Still, he is not the vanguard of the proletariat, for the vanguard is a mutineer hellbent on revolution, not a captain. Neither is he the conqueror, for the captain must govern his ship beyond the rush of battle. He must lead his crew through those many times at sea which are dull and mundane. He must care for his men beyond their use in warfare. He must be selfless because that is what God calls him to be in times of struggle, a disciple who looks upward before he looks onward. But if those fires are ever to rise again, if the trumpet must once again cry its song of battle, the captain must be ready. He must again be simply a man of his trade, a good seaman and a good officer. He must dexterously maneuver his ship, out-sail, and outsmart his opponents. And when he must call for cannon fire, he must know what to cry to his men. He must have their best, not just for him, but for their God, their nation, and their fellow man. JACK - Want to see a guillotine in Piccadilly? CREW- No! JACK- Do you want to call Napoleon your king? CREW- No! JACK- Want your children to sing The Marseillaise? CREW- No! JACK- Mr. Mowett, Mr. Pullings, starboard battery! References Burke, Edmund, et al. Select Works of Edmund Burke: A New Imprint of the Payne Edition. Liberty Fund, 1999. Marx, Karl, et al. The Marx-Engels Reader. Norton, 1978. Murray, John Courtney. “The Problem of God Yesterday and Today.” Georgetown University Library, 1963, library.georgetown.edu/woodstock/murray/1964c. Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm. On the Genealogy of Morals. Translated by Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale, Vintage Books, 1989. Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. The Major Political Writings of Jean-Jacques Rousseau: The Two Discourses and the Social Contract. Translated by John T. Scott, The University of Chicago Press, 2014. Tocqueville, Alexis De, et al. Democracy in America. Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2006. Weir, Peter, and John Collee. Master and Commander: Far Side of the World. Twentieth Century Fox, Aug. 2001.

Jasmine Bacchus Tribes and Tribulations: Character as Property in Survivor Jasmine Bacchus Almost 600 contestants have appeared on the US version of Survivor , with only 82 of those contestants (approximately 13%) identifying as Black. Over the past twenty years, Black Survivor contestants have expressed that their portrayal on the edited version of the show misrepresents their lived experiences on and off the island. In 2020, a group of Black alumni joined together to produce a series of panels and discussions on race in Survivor and have argued that CBS, the show’s broadcasting network, has a responsibility to accurately and appropriately represent the experiences of their contestants of color. This paper explores character as a form of property and aims to showcase how intellectual property rights and the right to publicity function within the context of reality television. Ultimately, I argue that networks, such as CBS, should aim to balance their desire to produce an entertaining show with genuine attempts to accurately tell the stories of Black and Indigenous People of Color (BIPOC). After showcasing how CBS’s ownership of their contestant’s characters has uniquely harmed Black contestants, I will suggest steps CBS can take to improve their portrayals. I. Character on Survivor Survivor is an American television show created by Mark Burnett in 2000. The premise of the show is that 16-20 players, called “castaways,” are brought to a deserted island. The castaways are put into two teams, called “tribes.” In each episode, the two tribes compete against each other in a series of challenges. The losing tribe goes to “Tribal Council” where they collectively vote one player off of the island. This pattern continues until there are only two or three contestants left in the game; the final players then face a “jury” consisting of the last seven players that have been voted out of the game. The final players give speeches and the jury members cast their vote for the player they want to win the game. The winner receives the title of “Sole Survivor” and $1,000,000. As a reality TV show, Survivor is known for its memorable characters and character moments. When the show originally aired in 2000, one of the earliest marketing points was that the game was bringing sixteen people from different “walks of life”; the significance of bringing together different socioeconomic, racial, and geographic backgrounds made the show a televised social experiment. While the show still claims to bring together a diverse group of players, at home, audience members see characters carefully crafted by the network, rather than raw footage of sixteen strangers. The discrepancy between reality and their portrayal is what has sparked action from Black Survivor alumni. During the casting and editing process, contestants are typically shaped to fit specific archetypes. While Survivor producers aim to get contestants from a range of archetypes each season, many times Black contestants are repeatedly cast into the same roles or emphasized for the same shortcomings. Gervase Peterson (Season 1), Osten Taylor (S7), Tasha Fox (S31), and Keith Sowell (S38) received major storylines about their inability to swim, contributing to the harmful stereotype that “Black people can’t swim.” Alicia Calaway (S2) is primarily remembered for being aggressive and JoAnna Ward (S6) was shown as “overly religious.” Likewise, contestants NaOnka Mixon (21), Nick Brown (S2), and J’Tia Hart were primarily shown as being “lazy” and nonstrategic and were frequently shown taking naps and not participating in camp work. This seems to suggest that “laziness” is one of their core personality traits when in fact outside of the game, Mixon was a physical education teacher, Brown was a Harvard Law Student, and Hart was a nuclear engineer with a Ph.D. (1). Black contestants have argued that these repetitive, one-sided portrayals ignore the fact that the Black Survivor community is not a monolith. The contestants are multifaceted people, but by shoehorning them into the same narratives every season, they are inaccurately portraying the true personas of the contestants. While producers can only work with the footage they are given, Black contestants have argued that the showrunners focus on turning the footage into memorable moments without also highlighting their gameplay and strategy. While a white contestant may be given both a fun edit and strategic moments, Black contestants often are only highlighted when they do something to support their assigned archetype. These one-sided portrayals come at the expense of giving the contestants “proper credit” for the positive contributions they made to the game. Vecepia “Vee” Towery, winner of Survivor: Marquesas and the first African American contestant to win the game, has been known throughout the Survivor community for being a “boring” and “nonstrategic” player, yet during one of the Black Voices of Survivor panels, Vecepia spoke out about her edit: They flipped it and made me look like I was under the radar like I didn’t do anything to win that game. Even to the point that when we were watch- ing the episodes, people on my season would call me and email me like ‘that didn’t happen like that. Why didn’t they show you doing that?’ and I’m sitting there like I have no idea (2). With instances like Vecepia’s occurring regularly, Black Survivor contestants have joined together to campaign for better representation. Black alumni shared their stories in a series of podcasts known as the “Black Voices of Survivor”; the series is accompanied by a petition sent to CBS, which called for “anti-racism”; specifically, they called for CBS to “Ensure that cultural elements of the experiences of BIPOC are not exploited and their portrayal does not perpetuate harmful stereotypes” (3). This raises the question: to what extent do Black contestants have ownership over how they are portrayed on the show? The following sections explore the concept of a “reality tv character” and examine how intellectual property (IP) and publicity laws can be used to give individuals and corporations ownership over characters. II. Character as Property I believe that property functions in this setting as a means of character owner- ship. Denise Martinez defines “character” as “the aggregate of features and traits that form the individual nature of a person” (4). These traits and features are constructed by various elements, including the person’s “physical appearance, their background and personality, the words they use and the actions they take” (5). As I discuss character in this paper, I am referring to the aggregate of a contestant’s personalities, appearances, and actions, that edited together, make “a character.” Personality is a key component used to build a character. Deborah Halbert breaks a reality TV star’s personality into three parts. There is the “human persona,” which is the person in their everyday life, a functional persona, which represents the archetypal character the network aims to project, and a hybrid persona, which contains elements of both (6). What we see on television is the hybrid persona, where the “Reality TV star’s personality is combined with producer-controlled storylines and edits” (7). This, combined with other elements of their wardrobe and back- ground, create a reality TV character. Thus, the tension between the contestants and the network is over the ownership of these characters. By “character ownership,” I mean control over how the character, including the hybrid persona, is displayed in the edited final cut of the television show and any appearances of the character afterward. The law views character ownership in a couple of ways. Both IP and publicity rights have been invoked to claim ownership over a character. Reality TV characters, however, do not tend to receive intellectual property protections. In order for a character to be eligible for copyright, the creator must prove that the character is 1) “sufficiently Distinctive So as to Constitute an Original Expression” and 2) “constitute the story being told” (8). Martinez argues that reality TV characters are not sufficiently distinctive, as their “hairstyle, hair color, clothing (costume), and scenery change from one episode or season of a reality TV show to another”(9). Likewise, with ensemble casts, a singular Survivor contestant would not “constitute the story being told”: in other words, if that contestant was removed from the season, the show would still be able to proceed (10). While stereotypes themselves cannot be trademarked, trademarked characters, such as “Aunt Jemima,” have perpetuated negative stereotypes about the Black community (11). Some reality stars have sought trademark protection over certain aspects of their character as a way of claiming ownership over their “personal brand” (12). In the early days of Survivor , some contestants would use their experience on the show to propel them to higher celebrity statuses with hopes of making money off of their appearances (13). Contestants who received poor edits might have been excluded from those opportunities, however, even those who were offered opportunities were often denied participation by CBS.14 Sean Rector (S4) described his experience with this, stating “many of the opportunities that were offered to me from different networks, and even Viacom, were denied to me by SEG/Survivor and yet my image and catchphrases [are] exploited on merchandise and monetized by various different entities and I couldn’t even mention Survivor let alone try and make a living off of my experience” (15). While there is an interesting argument to be made that contestants are being robbed of the opportunity to profit off of their personal brand, I am primarily concerned about situations where CBS’s ownership of Black and POC characters cause contestants to be disproportionately affected relative to white contestants. While BIPOC contestants may experience less accurate portrayals than their counterparts, all contestants lack the ability to trademark these aspects of their brand. Ultimately, the ability to profit off of their appearance does not seem to be the primary concern raised by the Black Survivor alumni. III. The Survivor Contract What I see as the primary property issue here is the right to publicity, which “protects against the unauthorized appropriation of a person’s name, likeness, portrait, picture, voice and other indicia of identity or persona” (16). Survivor contestants give up their right to publicity when they sign the participation contract. During the early stages of the casting process, contestants who wish to continue in the casting process must sign a contract that releases their right to their portrayal during the show and after it airs. Deborah Herbert explains, “the contract grants CBS all rights to the name and likeness of the application, forever, even if the application is not recognizable” (17). If they are selected to participate on the show, “anything related to Survivor becomes the property of CBS” (18). Not only does the contract give CBS the rights to control how they are portrayed, but the network maintains full control over their “life story,” and this control extends after the show airs (19). Thus, once a contestant signs the contract, they relinquish any right to their storylines or narratives on the show, and technically cannot do or say anything after the show to contradict anything that was portrayed onscreen with- out facing a potential penalty (20). As a result, any interviews, talk shows, books, or appearances a contestant wants to make for at least three years after the show airs must be cleared by CBS first. With CBS having control over their narratives on the show and actions afterward, Black contestants have struggled to find ways to reshape their characters outside after the show has aired. Two of the four Black Survivor winners have expressed a desire to participate in positive outreach to the Black community after their show, however, they received little to no support from CBS to do so. Earl Cole, the winner of Survivor’s fourteenth season , Survivor: Fiji, was the first Black man to win the show and the first contestant to receive a unanimous vote at the end of the game. During “The Black Voices of Survivor: Roundtable,” Earl explained that after he won the show, CBS gave him a structured list of appearances and interviews to make. Earl noticed that most of the venues he was scheduled to speak at catered to a predominately white audience and asked CBS if he could make additional appearances at venues where he was more likely to reach a Black audience. However, he was met with opposition from the network. He explained: I thought that CBS would use this as an opportunity to actually try to get more Black viewers...[but] nothing happened. They did nothing for me. They didn’t promote me in any kind of way...like hey you know a Black dude just won for the first time, won unanimously...[But] I never got any of those opportunities, no promotional things, no marketing things (21). Wendell Holland, winner of S urvivor: Ghost Island experienced similar frustra- tion when trying to obtain access to clips from the show for speaking engagements. Wendell described his experience to the group, stating: We [the four Black winners] want to be great ambassadors for Survivor . We want to go to the community...scream from the mountaintops that we were on Survivor ...I spoke at so many places and I tried my hardest to acquire things. I would try to get clips from my show, I’d go through the proper channels, I would send messages to the people at CBS and they make me jump through so many hoops, and ultimately they wouldn’t give me anything, that I could show to like 700 kids (22). The anecdotes from Earl and Wendell showcase how little agency contestants have once they sign the contract and agree to participate on the show. While the argument can be made that players could have read the contract and refused to sign it, often reality TV contestants have limited legal understanding and when faced with a 100+ page document they may feel overwhelmed or unable to digest it all. While perhaps contestants should read the contract with an attorney present, often reality tv contestants are given a limited amount of time to sign and feel pressured to do so before the network replaces them with another candidate (23). In an interview for Entertainment Weekly, Sean Rector expressed regret for how the contract signing process went down, stating: I rarely have regrets in life, but if there were some regrets after doing the show, it would have been that I wished I would’ve legally understood the SEG/Survivor contract I signed. I wished they would’ve had more transparency and explanation as to why certain people were able to capitalize off of their experience and others were not (24). With the pressure to sign quickly and no legal counsel provided by CBS, Survivor contestants have signed away their right to publicity for the rest of their lives, making it challenging for contestants to remedy harmful on-screen portrayals. VI. Race and Character Portrayal – Finding Balance Given the extensive contracts they signed when they auditioned for the show, Black Survivor contestants do not retain any rights to publicity over their Survivor character. CBS has economic incentives to continue to structure their contracts in this manner, however as more stories of Black contestants begin to be made public, the network is facing pressure to better characterize their BIPOC contestants. Thus, if CBS continues to require contestants to sign away their right to publicity, they still may be held accountable when it comes to handling the characterization and life stories of marginalized individuals. Thus, how can networks balance exercising their autonomy over character creation (to craft an entertaining show), without putting marginalized groups in a position where they are forced to connect their likenesses to harmful stereotypes? In this final section, I will explain how and why CBS should take steps to better characterize their contestants of color, and how they can do so, without modifying their contract. Unique Harms to Black Contestants A negative reality television edit has the potential to harm any contestant, how- ever, I believe that stereotypical portrayals of predominantly Black contestants create unique harms to the Black community. In her study of race on reality TV shows, Katrina Bell-Jordan writes that reality television can “shape the reality of race and racism in the US” (25). For BIPOC contestants, their character portrayals shape not only their personal image, but how our society views African Americans. Bell-Jordan explains that the “editing and framing of footage depicting the experiences of ‘real’ people have the power to shape our understandings of the people, places and sociocultural issues presented on these programs” (26). People who watch Survivor may have limited real-life experience interacting with the Black community. Thus, portrayals of Black contestants can directly shape the way a person views the community. Likewise, at this point, many Black contestants have recognized how important it is to be depicted in a non-harmful light, and thus multiple Black castaways have spoken out about the pressure they felt to positively represent their ethnic group and avoid any editing traps while on the show. Thus, these players enter the show aiming to “dispel the myths about their respective group” (27). Often, they spend additional energy not only trying to play the game but being hyper-aware of their surroundings and their actions, so they can avoid alienating their tribe. This pressure is two-pronged. For example, while a white contestant may feel comfortable taking a nap after helping catch food for dinner, a Black contestant may feel an additional pressure to stay active, as they would not want their nap to become their main storyline. They are likely aware of the “lazy” stereotype that has been pushed on previous Black contestants and will want to make sure their fellow castaways have no evidence of them being lazy (as this would likely lead to them being voted out). They may also feel an additional level of anxiety around the producer’s ability to push the stereotype on them. While all castaways regardless of race are thinking about their in-game relationships and the final edit, Black castaways experience a unique pressure to avoid falling into stereotypical narratives historically pushed by the show. Navigating these one-dimensional negative portrayals may also make it more challenging for players to be invited back to play Survivor again. Many contestants dream about the chance to be invited back; another chance gives them more exposure, another once-in-a-lifetime experience, and another chance to win $1,000,000. Thus, not being invited back is incredibly disappointing to many players. Black alumni expressed frustration when Vecepia, the first Black contestant to win and the only Black woman to win, was one of the only winners not invited to play in the “All-Winners” season of Survivor . Unpopular characters are less likely to be invited back to play Survivor again; contestants with poor edits are often perceived negatively by the fanbase and thus denied another invitation. However, refusing to play into a stereotype may cause a player to be disliked by production, which could still lead to a negative edit (albeit a different one) or being “black- listed” from future invitations. Out of the 103 contestants who have been invited back to the show, only 11 of the invited castaways are Black (28). Knowing that they are invited back at a lower rate, Black and other BIPOC contestants face another level of complexity not faced by their white counterparts. Lastly, unbalanced edits can lead to Black stories being completely ignored. During Season 38 Julia Carter was the only Black castaway in her tribe. During the first few nights of the game, a fellow castaway used a racial slur. Julia reported feeling uncomfortable but remained silent due to a desire not to make her tribe uncomfortable or put a “target” on her back. Eventually, a white castaway stepped in and confronted the other contestant. After this incident occurred, Julia hoped that once aired, it would create a dialogue amongst viewers about language and race. However, CBS chose not to air any part of this incident, and many speculate that this was done to protect the reputation of the castaway who said the slur (29). In fact, Julia is known for being virtually erased from the entire season, receiving very few confessionals or moments at all (30). This story only came to light after Julia wrote an essay about the incident after the show aired. Unfortunately, Julia’s story of unaired racial incidents is not unique. When the edit chooses to ignore these contestant narratives altogether, they invalidate the lived experiences of Black contestants, while making no effort to make the game a more comfortable space for BIPOC players. Network Incentives to Address these Harms As I mentioned earlier, for many viewers, characters and their storylines are what makes a show like Survivor so interesting. Building drama, creating conflict, and putting contestants in challenging situations are essential parts of the show, and to do that effectively, production companies need to have blanket approval from the contestants. The contract enables CBS to have control over these creative elements of the show. By owning each contestant’s right to publicity, the network has creative freedom to produce a show that is entertaining to the public. Likewise, character creation is a time consuming, creative process. Retaining rights to these characters serves as an economic incentive for the company to create compelling ones that will generate high viewership. Likewise, part of being a reality TV contestant is the willingness to put yourself out there and risk potential failures or humiliations that may occur (31). Contestants should expect that any negative footage obtained is fair game to be used for the show. Likewise, the comprehensive contract allows producers to obtain “genuine” footage from contestants. Some aspects of Survivor , like the “gross” food eating challenges, are centered around the contestants not knowing what they are going to face. If contestants were to be given a contract that revealed everything that would happen to them, it would remove elements of drama and make it much less satisfying to watch their reactions (32). If CBS was required to receive editing approval from each contestant before airing a show, likely we would never see any conflicts (artificial or genuine), mess-ups, or moments of stupidity. While a contestant may not feel like they “signed up to be portrayed as an idiot,” by virtue of the genre, players should expect some level of humiliation. However, I believe that the harms created by CBS’s current portrayals combined with their contract make the game uniquely challenging for BIPOC players beyond the reasonable expectation of humiliation and drama. The game of Survivor is not “fair”—every player will experience varying levels of luck throughout their time on the show. However, the show is edited in a way that portrays, to the audience, a level of “fairness.” We are led to believe that at the start of the show, for all intents and purposes, each contestant has a relatively fair shot of winning. Yet, Black contestants are not only trying to play the game, but they also attempt to dodge negative stereotypes and positively represent their entire group, all while navigating their complex relationship with production. There is a whole new level of challenge for these contestants. One group of people consistently facing additional hurdles and challenges undermines this illusion of “fairness” that the network tries to create. Continuing to ignore these inherent disadvantages faced by players delegitimizes the game of Survivor . As these issues come to light, the show is at risk of losing the element of com- petition that makes the audience want to turn in each week to find out who moves on. Likewise, as the Black Survivors have begun to speak out about their concerns, CBS has faced lots of negative publicity for how they treat BIPOC contestants. As more Black contestants share negative experiences, future applicants of color may be deterred from applying to be on the show. CBS has already received negative publicity surrounding this issue, but a season of all white contestants would possibly put the show over the edge. Thus, the network now has two incentives to tackle this issue 1) the incentive to continue to stage Survivor as a “fair game” and 2) the incentive to respond to the negative publicity. I recognize that CBS has the economic motive to produce an entertaining show; retaining the right to publicity over their characters and IP ownership over their recordings gives them an incentive to create quality content. I do not believe that CBS needs to modify their contract as it currently exists. However, the network also has an incentive to improve the way they tell Black stories. The network should take steps to make these improvements. Suggestions for CBS Without modifying their contract, the Survivor team should take steps to minimize future harmful portrayals in the first place. The petition sent by the Sole Survivors Organization asked CBS to hire more BIPOC producers, casting directors, and editors to increase the likelihood that diverse stories are being told in a way that is respectful and accurate (33). A more diverse team would be more equipped to think about representing new archetypes and displaying important parts of each BIPOC castaway’s “life stories.” Likewise, CBS should also make it a priority to cast a more diverse group of players. Some of the pressure tied to a contestant’s feeling like they must “represent for their race” is the fact that Black contestants are only 13% of all players. Often, Black players find themselves one of maybe two African American contestants on a season. The limited amount of representation makes the stakes of an accurate portrayal even higher. The Sole Survivor Organization suggested 30% of the cast each season to people of color (34) and CBS has publicly expressed intent to work towards achieving a similar goal (35). Moving forward, the network should work to increase the number of diverse voices at all stages of production. Likewise, CBS should encourage contestants to speak out against inaccurate portrayals as they see fit. As we have seen with the Black Voices of Survivor podcast, contestants have already begun to speak about their experiences without authorization from the network. I believe that dialogues such as the Black Voices of Survivor should not only be permitted but encouraged; if contestants are encouraged to speak up, stories of stereotypical portrayals made public will put more pressure on the network to do a better job in future seasons. In cases where Black winners, like Wendell and Earl, want to speak in the Black community, the network should be more open to giving them access to materials from the show. No modification to their contract has to be made, but the network should be more diligent about approving and supporting the speaking engagements of BIPOC contestants. V. Conclusion Throughout this paper, I have showcased how Black Survivor contestants have felt inaccurately portrayed by CBS and I have examined their desire to receive ownership over their on-screen characters. The unique harms experienced by Black contestants reveal that an understanding of property driven by economic incentives can cause great harm to specific groups of people. I recognize that CBS’s property claims enable them to create compelling characters and produce their show without fear of interference from disgruntled contestants, however, their absolute character ownership has uniquely harmed BIPOC contestants. Thus, I suggested that CBS increase diversity amongst all aspects of the filming process and to encourage BIPOC contestants to speak up when they feel uncomfortable with their edit. While neither of these options will give these contestants the ability to trademark their catchphrases or control their edit, it is a step towards eliminating the pressures that come with harmful portrayals. Our systems do not seem to recognize when the creations we fostered create harmful, negative externalities. We seem to rely on the market to naturally eliminate creations that do more harm than good. In the case of CBS, public reaction is the only way to gauge if their show is net positive for society, however, controlling the contestant’s right to publicity functions as a way of managing public reaction through limiting public interactions. Thus, this issue is important to a discussion about property because it highlights how the economic benefits of property rights can lead to negative externalities that uniquely harm marginalized communities. In this case, property rights seem to foster innovation, but there is no formal system in place to check if the innovation, Survivor , is continuing to positively impact society (or even, a structured way to measure what constitutes a “net positive im- pact”). In this case, property rights do not have to be a zero-sum game where either the producers or the contestants are satisfied. Hopefully, the external pressure caused by the public will push CBS to engage with their BIPOC contestants. However, I recognize that the network may choose not to make any changes to their production teams or processes. Therefore, this issue has showcased to me that while property laws can foster creativity, they can also create societal harms that uniquely harm groups of people. Endnotes 1 Office of Economic Impact and Diversity. “Dr. J’Tia Hart.” Energy.gov, www.energy.gov/diversity/ contributors/dr-j-tia-hart. 2 Rob Has a Podcast, director. Black Voices of Survivor: Changing the Game of Survivor. YouTube, 1 Sept. 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7_rju1pneQ. 3 The Soul Survivors Organization, and J’Tia Heart. “A Petition for Anti-Racism Action by Survivor Entertainment Group.” MoveOn, June 2020, sign.moveon.org/petitions/a-petition-for-anti-racism-action-by- survivor-entertainment-group-2. 4 Martinez, Denise. “Character Ownership in Reality TV”. p. 5. 5 Ibid. 6 Halbert, Debora. “Who Owns Your Personality: Reality Television and Publicity Rights.” Survivor Lessons Essays on Communication and Reality Television, by Matthew J. Smith and Andrew F.. Wood, McFarland & Company, 2003, p. 42. 7 Martinez, Denise. “Character Ownership in Reality TV.” p. 6. 8 Ibid, p. 8. 9 Ibid, 11. 10 Ibid, 13 11 Greene, K.J. “Intellectual Property at the Intersection of Race and Gender: Lady Sings the Blues.” American University Journal of Gender, Social Policy & the Law, vol. 16, no. 3, 2008, p. 375. 12 Greene, K.J. “Right of Publicity, Identity, and Performance K .J. Greene Article 4.” Santa Clara High Technology Law Journal, vol. 28, no. 4, 1 Oct. 2012, p. 870. 13 Collins, Sue. “Making the Most out of 15 Minutes.” Television &New Media, vol. 9, no. 2, Mar. 2008, p. 88, tvnm.sagepub.com. 14 Halbert, Debora. “Who Owns Your Personality” p.44. 15 Ross, Dalton. “Sean Rector Speaks out on Never Being Asked Back for ‘Survivor’.” EW.com, 9 Nov. 2020, ew.com/tv/survivor-marquesas-sean-rector-quarantine-questionnaire/. 16 Greene, K.J. “Right of Publicity” p. 866. 17 Halbert, Debora. “Who Owns Your Personality” p.44. 18 Ibid, 44. 19 Blair, Jennifer L. “Surviving Reality TV: The Ultimate Challenge for Reality Show Contestants.” Loyola of Los Angeles Entertainment Law Review, vol. 31, no. 1, 2010-2011, p. 1-26. HeinOnline. 20 Halbert, Debora. “Who Owns Your Personality” p.44. 21 Rob Has A Podcast. “Black Voices of SURVIVOR Roundtable LIVE - June 24, 2020.” 22 YouTube, YouTube, 24 June 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqJM_05fFuk. JTiaPhD. “Tribes and Tribulations.” YouTube, YouTube, 27 June 2020, www.youtube.com/ watch?v=K7YK4DjRQwI. 23 Blair, Jennifer L. “Surviving Reality TV” p. 20. 24 Ross, Dalton. “Sean Rector Speaks out on Never Being Asked Back for ‘Survivor’.” EW.com, 9 Nov. 2020, ew.com/tv/survivor-marquesas-sean-rector-quarantine-questionnaire/. 25 Bell-Jordan, Katrina E. “Black.White. and a Survivor of The Real World: Constructions of Race on Reality TV.” Critical Studies in Media Communication, vol. 25, no. 4, Oct. 2008, p. 357. 26 Bell-Jordan, Katrina E. “Black.White,” p. 368. 27 Ibid, p. 353. 28 Survivor Wiki. “Returning Players.” Survivor Wiki, survivor.fandom.com/wiki/Returning_Players. 29 r/Survivor. “r/Survivor - Can Someone Explain to Me What Happened with Joe and Julia from Eoe and What Shes Ranting about? Is Joe Really Racist...” Reddit, Nov. 2020. 30 Eager Tortoise. “The Real Reason Julia Was Upset About Her Edit .” YouTube, YouTube, 6 Dec. 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=qCXaYeHROT0. 31 Mendible, Myra. “Humiliation, Subjectivity, and Reality TV.” Feminist Media Studies , vol. 4, no. 3, Jan. 2004. 32 Blair, Jennifer L. “Surviving Reality TV” p.19-20. 33 The Soul Survivors Organization, and J’Tia Heart. “A Petition for Anti-Racism Action by Survivor Entertainment Group.” MoveOn, June 2020, sign.moveon.org/petitions/a-petition-for-anti-racism-action-by- survivor-entertainment-group-2. 34 Ibid. 35 Hauser, Christine. “‘Survivor’ and Other Reality Shows Will Feature More Diverse Casts, CBS Says.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 11 Nov. 2020, www.nytimes.com/2020/11/11/business/media/cbs-reality- tv-diversity.html. Works Cited Bell-Jordan, Katrina E. “Black.White. and a Survivor of The Real World: Constructions of Race on Reality TV.” Critical Studies in Media Communication , vol. 25, no. 4, Oct. 2008, pp. 353–372. Blair, Jennifer L. “Surviving Reality TV: The Ultimate Challenge for Reality Show Contestants.” Loyola of Los Angeles Entertainment Law Review, vol. 31, no. 1, 2010-2011, p. 1-26. HeinOnline. Carter, Julia. “Push Me to the Edge: My Survivor Experience.” Julia Carter , 1 Nov. 2019, thejuliacarter.com/2019/06/06/push-me-to-the-edge-my-sur-vivor-experience/. Collins, Sue. “Making the Most out of 15 Minutes.” Television &New Media , vol. 9, no. 2, Mar. 2008, pp. 87–110., tvnm.sagepub.com. Copyright.gov. “Copyright in General.” Copyright , www.copyright.gov/help/faq/faq-general.html. Dillion, Kelly P, and Elizabeth B Jones. “How ‘Real’ Is Reality Television? Marginalized Group Representativeness in Competitive Reality Television Programming.” Psychology of Popular Media Culture , vol. 8, no. 3, 2019, pp. 319–328. Eager Tortoise. “The Real Reason Julia Was Upset About Her Edit .” YouTube , YouTube, 6 Dec. 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=qCXaYeHROT0. Gomez, Patrick. “‘I Was Called the N-Word’: Survivor All-Stars Share Stories of Racism.” AV Club , 26 June 2020, news.avclub.com/i-was-called-the-n- word-black-survivor-all-stars-rev-1844171814. Greene, K.J. “Intellectual Property at the Intersection of Race and Gender: Lady Sings the Blues.” American University Journal of Gender, Social Policy & the Law , vol. 16, no. 3, 2008, pp. 365– 385. Greene, K.J. “Right of Publicity, Identity, and Performance K .J. Greene Article 4.” Santa Clara High Technology Law Journal , vol. 28, no. 4, 1 Oct. 2012, pp. 865–887. Halbert, Debora. “Who Owns Your Personality: Reality Television and Publicity Rights.” Survivor Lessons Essays on Communication and Reality Television , by Matthew J. Smith and Andrew F.. Wood, McFarland & Company, 2003, pp. 37–56. Hauser, Christine. “‘Survivor’ and Other Reality Shows Will Feature More Di- verse Casts, CBS Says.” The New York Times , The New York Times, 11 Nov. 2020, www.nytimes.com/2020/11/11/business/media/cbs-reali- ty-tv-diversity.html. JTiaPhD. “Tribes and Tribulations.” YouTube , YouTube, 27 June 2020, www.you- tube.com/watch? v=K7YK4DjRQwI. Mendible, Myra. “Humiliation, Subjectivity, and Reality TV.” Feminist Media Studies , vol. 4, no. 3, Jan. 2004. Office of Economic Impact and Diversity. “Dr. J’Tia Hart.” Energy.gov , www.ener- gy.gov/diversity/contributors/dr-j-tia-hart. r/Survivor. “r/Survivor - Can Someone Explain to Me What Happened with Joe and Julia from Eoe and What Shes Ranting about? Is Joe Really Racist...” Reddit , Nov. 2020, www.reddit.com/r/survivor/comments/jo012s/can_ someone_explain_to_me_what_happened_with_joe/?utm_source=share. Rob Has a Podcast, director. Black Voices of Survivor: Changing the Game of Survivor . YouTube , 1 Sept. 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7_rju1pneQ. Rob Has A Podcast. “Black Voices of SURVIVOR Roundtable LIVE - June 24, 2020.” YouTube , YouTube, 24 June 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=lq- JM_05fFuk. Ross, Dalton. “Sean Rector Speaks out on Never Being Asked Back for ‘Survivor’.” EW.com, 9 Nov. 2020, ew.com/tv/survivor-marquesas-sean-rector-quaran- tine-questionnaire/. The Soul Survivors Organization, and J’Tia Heart. “A Petition for Anti-Racism Action by Survivor Entertainment Group.” MoveOn , June 2020, sign. moveon.org/petitions/a-petition-for-anti- racism-action-by-survivor-enter- tainment-group-2. Survivor Wiki. “African-American Contestants.” Survivor Wiki , survivor.fandom. com/wiki/Category:African-American_Contestants. Survivor Wiki. “Returning Players.” Survivor Wiki , survivor.fandom.com/wiki/Re- turning_Players. Previous Next

Divisive Identities: Exploring the Interplay of Personal and Social Identities Ella Neeka Sawhney Author Aimee Zheng Faith Li Editors I. Abstract Personal and social identity, whilst existing as two different entities, combine and interact to form our overall individual identities. Personal identity centres around how an individual’s fundamental beliefs and commitments are shaped by their personal experiences, whilst social identity arises from one’s belonging to various social groups, including one’s social relationships. This essay juxtaposes arguments from Amartya Sen and Bikhu Parekh to argue that our personal and social identities are profoundly intertwined and thus should not be viewed as separate from one another. By drawing on theoretical frameworks and real-life examples, I demonstrate how Parekh’s model offers a comprehensive and nuanced understanding of individual identity which encompasses personal and social dimensions as dynamic entities. Thus, through a critical examination of Parekh’s model and Sen’s respective criticisms, this essay concludes that Parekh’s model, by acknowledging the plurality and diversity of identities as well as the complex interplay between personal and social identities, provides a robust defence of individual identity as comprised of personal and social identities, expertly addressing concerns raised by Sen. II. Introduction Classical problems within this idea of personal identity can be categorised into families. For instance, the persistence problem and the personhood puzzle both focus on questions regarding the continuity and ethical implications of self-identity. I choose to concentrate on ‘The Characterisation Question’ which delves into what comprises our personalities. This question is important as it is one that we grapple with daily, permeating all aspects of our lives. Specifically, I focus on the debate between Parekh and Sen, as I find this debate to have strong implications for understanding individual identity In this essay, I investigate Parekh’s twofold model of individual identity, scrutinising its effectiveness in addressing the concerns raised by Sen. My thesis contends that through his emphasis on plurality and diversity, Parekh efficiently responds to Sen’s concerns about the divisive potential of social identities, ultimately undermining Sen’s criticisms. First, I explore the intricacies of the concept of philosophical (including both personal and social) identity. Next, I explain Parekh’s model and juxtapose it against Sen’s criticisms. I then evaluate whether Parekh’s theory can escape Sen’s criticism of dogmatic sectarianism. Lastly, I debate Sen’s critique of over-conformity to social roles as a result of combining social and personal identity. Prima facie, our identity addresses the ubiquitous question ‘Who am I?’, encompassing the beliefs, ideas and qualities that shape a person’s character. Yet, philosophical identity, namely individual identity, explores the intricacies of how an individual may deduce their identity from their various distinctive features. This individual identity is what “distinguishes” (Parekh, 2009, p. 267) agents, functioning as a “predicate” (Sollberger, 2013) used to describe specific attributes of a subject and identify its differentiators. Individual identity comprises two components: personal (shaped by one’s personal life experiences) and social (arising from one’s belonging in groups or a relationship), according to Parekh (2009). By examining personal identity one can better understand and analyse ‘The Characterisation Question’: ‘What is it that makes me the unique individual I am?’, a question originally termed by Schechtman (2007) who presented ‘The Characterisation Question’ as: “The question of which beliefs, values, desires, and other psychological features make someone the person she is.. [it] concerns identity in the sense of what is generally called… an ‘identity crisis’” (p. 1) My analysis of ‘The Characterisation Question’ throughout the remainder of this essay investigates the features which define one’s personal identity and how they render a person differentiable from others. Moreover, viewing personal identity as “contingent and temporary” (Olson, 2023) suggests that one’s definition of self changes throughout one’s lifetime. For example, an only child’s identity shifts when becoming an older sibling, following their younger sibling’s birth. Hence, personal identity evolves alongside changing exogenous factors and is influenced by introspective processes, such as changing religious beliefs. III. Parekh’s model Parekh’s (2009) model of “overall” (p. 268) identity, alternatively referred to as individual identity, encompasses both personal and social identity. Parekh’s concept of personal identity centres around how an individual’s “fundamental beliefs and commitments” (ibid., p. 267) shape their perceptions of the world and their role within it. This recurrent journey of “self-definition” (ibid., p. 268) permits individuals to make sense of their convictions, including values, beliefs and opinions, thus developing their inner comprehension of personal identity. Moreover, Parekh describes social identity as a key aspect of individual identity, arising from one’s belonging to various social groups. He interprets social identity as “inherently plural” (ibid., p. 267), acknowledging its multi-layered influence on a person’s identity. Social identity includes relationships and groups a person feels they belong to, which play a crucial role in shaping their self-perception. Hence, these interconnected layers contribute to one’s personal identity, allowing social identity to, more broadly, impact individual identity. Yet, an interpretive challenge lies in Parekh’s vague explication of the relationship between personal and social identity, leaving the permeability of the boundary, and the extent of their interaction unclear. These ambiguities in Parekh’s model make it difficult to interpret how personal and social identities coalesce. This is showcased in Parekh’s example of the two teachers: “For one it is nothing but a job that she would readily give up if she got a better one”, for the other “being a teacher means a great deal to her. She identifies with it, sees it as an integral part of who she is and would not even dream of giving it up” (ibid., p. 274) Here, the first teacher is mechanically fulfilling their role, while the other integrates teaching into their personal identity. This quote illustrates the challenge of unravelling the complex, and deeply intertwined web of overlapping personal and social identities. The interpretive challenge concerning Parekh’s claim that may arise here is how individuals navigate their identities and to what extent their social identities integrate into their overall identities. Thus, I acknowledge that there are some tensions within Parekh’s view that are slightly contradictory. Namely, when comparing this difficulty in interpreting Parekh’s view of the interaction between personal and social identities with Parekh’s persistent assertion that our personal and social identities are inherently linked, inconsistencies arise. This is something that I shall discuss further in my discussion of ‘dogmatic sectarianism’. IV. Sen’s concerns Sen (2009) presents three key objections to Parekh’s model of personal and social identity which I outline below: The proposition that “a change in social affiliation would make one a different person altogether” is flawed. Our personal identity shouldn’t be “combinable” with our social identity as our social identities can change, without our overall identity changing (p. 286). “One’s personal identity is not threatened by one’s decision to depart from the activities of others belonging to the same group.” Moreover, over-emphasising our social identity results in a lack of reasoning and mutual understanding between members from different groups (p. 287). “Once the priority of a social affiliation is accepted as an integral part of one’s ‘overall identity’, something substantial is lost.” This leads to a person’s lack of deviation from their group’s views and affiliations (p. 288). Sen critiques Parekh’s viewpoint on the combinability of personal and social identity. Specifically, he faults Parekh for overemphasising the impact of social identity on overall identity, asserting that his view is likely to foster dissent hence contributing to societal divides. Sen (2007, pp. xiii-xiv) further encourages the separation of our social influences from our personal decisions. This derives from his argument that a singular or “dominant” social “classification” may hinder deviation from one’s societal or cultural norms, impeding personal decision-making abilities. He stresses that acknowledging our “pluralit[y] of identity” prevents rigid adherence to social groups so that our personal decisions are not entirely dictated by them. A. Dogmatic sectarianism A key feature of Sen’s (2009, p. 286) first criticism is that Parekh’s model is illogical in strongly combining personal and social identity because this view suggests that a change in social affiliation will result in an entire change of personality. Thus, Sen reasons that, according to Parekh’s model “a change of social affiliation would make one a different person altogether” (ibid.). From this, Sen asserts that a likely consequence is the emergence of “dogmatic sectarianism”, meaning that individuals unwaveringly adhere to a strict set of beliefs which often leads to ignorance towards the views of other groups. This creates a lack of willingness to deviate from these norms, as well as ignorance towards and dismissal of other groups’ perspectives, breeding intolerance and hindering understanding between groups. I applaud Sen for identifying the dangers of dogmatic sectarianism. Specifically, he recognises a person’s reluctance to stray from their group’s collective views can foster strong antagonism towards outsiders with different opinions. For Sen, one must separate their personal and social identities to prevent this phenomenon. He asserts that through uncoupling one’s personal and social identity, one can retain a part of their social identity and remain associated with that social group without sacrificing one’s entire personal identity. Hence, Sen warns against Parekh’s model which arguably sees individuals as rigidly tying their personal identity to their social identity. An example supporting Sen’s reflections involves the separation of personal identity from religious affiliations, which falls within social identity. The consolidation of personal and social identity can lead to “sectarian violence” (ibid., p.287). Per Sen’s second criticism: individuals overly emphasise their religious identity and struggle to find areas of agreement or understanding with other religious groups. This is evident in the Northern Ireland conflict; a strong ethnoreligious divide which created a divergence between Catholics and Protestants (Ferguson, 2016). For the Northern Irish, this rigid adherence to religious groups blurred the lines between religious and social identity, fuelling violence and hostility between them. The entrenchment of religious identity within personal identity demonstrates the risk of overly combining personal and social identities, creating a scenario where separation becomes nearly unattainable. Moreover, one must acknowledge that Sen does not assert that dogmatic sectarianism is an inevitable result of combining personal and social identity. Instead, it is only a possibility that poses a significant threat and should be avoided. Thus, he envisions more than one potential outcome of combining personal and social identity, demonstrating his open-mindedness and nuanced analysis. However, I find that Parekh’s flexible and plural model can escape Sen’s criticism of dogmatic sectarianism. This is because Parekh’s (2009) emphasis on plural identities and his encouragement towards the usage of “plural perspectives” (p. 276) prevents the dominance of one single identity. Parekh’s interpretation allows a person to recognise different aspects of themselves, which combine to influence their overall identity. Sen fails to recognise the potential of Parekh’s model and emphasis on “plural identities” to counteract any dangers of dogmatic sectarianism. Under closer examination of Parekh’s model, his awareness of plural identities can provide an alternative solution to Sen’s criticisms, thus demonstrating his model’s versatility and robustness. Parekh’s ability to respond to Sen’s criticism can be demonstrated by applying his model to the aforementioned example of the Northern Irish conflict. Taking a more pluralistic approach, one can see that his model does not succumb to the pitfalls of dogmatic sectarianism. If Northern Irish citizens embraced a pluralistic understanding of their identities, recognising their shared nationality in addition to their differing religious affiliations, conflict might have been reduced. Thus, mutual recognition of plural social identities allows Parekh to maintain his argument of multifaceted and inter-connected personal and social identities, defying Sen’s criticism that Parekh’s model encourages rigid and unfaltering social divides. Therefore, Parekh expertly responds to Sen’s criticism of dogmatic sectarianism as his pluralistic emphasis and encouragement to recognise our own diverse social identities counteracts Sen’s concern that tying personal and social identities fosters inflexibility. B. Over-conformity and Combinability of Social and Personal Identity Sen’s third point criticises Parekh’s model for its over-emphasis of social identity when combined with personal identity. He argues that excessively coupling our personal identities to societal and cultural norms, renders our personal identity secondary. Consequently, people become compelled to strictly adhere to their social norms, constituting a loss of their personal sense of self. Sen (2009) criticises the apparent “reductionism” of a person’s identity to one aspect of their social identity such as their ethnicity or nationality, (p. 288) which, as Sen believes, arises from combining personal and social identities At first glance, Sen’s argument seems logically valid as over-conforming to one affiliation could correspond with disregarding other aspects of one’s overall identity. Sen terms this “epistemic failure” (ibid.) whereby people cannot understand certain aspects of their identity because one affiliation has taken priority. He illustrates this with the example of different groups such as ‘British Muslims’ in which over-emphasising religious identity “miniature[ises] human beings and their many affiliations” (ibid.). This leads to a neglect of plural identifying elements beyond religion, whereby people are reduced to this “single category” (ibid.). Sen further demonstrates his argument by referencing British Bangladeshis who are merely “defined” (ibid.) as ‘British Muslims’. Although a majority of Bengalis in Britain are Muslim, this reduction disregards the distinct culture of Bengali individuals, which may be secular and not solely defined by their religion, demonstrating how combining personal and social identities oversimplifies the manifold nature of individual identity. Moreover, Sen’s argument is further developed by his assertion that over-simplifying our identities leads people to seemingly lose their innate autonomous abilities. By “reducing” (ibid.) one’s identity, it becomes very difficult for one to perceive their identity outside of their social categorisation, thus obfuscating decision-making and threatening individual autonomy. When an individual’s social affiliations determine their overall identity, they confine themselves to making decisions only within these affiliations. For example, women forced to conform to their societal gender role as homemakers may have to forgo personal endeavours that exist outside of the home. This demonstrates how over-emphasising gender as a social affiliation can confine women and prevent them from exerting their agency. However, I believe Parekh’s model withstands Sen’s criticism by recognising the complexity of our identity, where combined aspects of our identity influence decision-making. Particularly, he acknowledges that there is great “variation” (Parekh, 2009, p. 273) in our perception of what constitutes individual identity. Here, Parekh emphasises the diverse interpretations of our social identities which can be assigned varying importance to different aspects. He specifies people can “define and relate” (p. 274) to their societal roles in various ways, demonstrating an awareness that people may choose to identify with different social identities to varied extents. In the above example, British Muslims can challenge their simplistic categorisation by prioritising their religious identity differently. Consequently, Parekh’s model evades Sen’s criticism of over-conformity by acknowledging social identities as qualitative, rather than objective, with some holding greater significance. Sen argues that, in order to prevent over-conformity, individuals can and should completely separate their personal and social identities. Yet, I cannot deem this as feasible, as I believe that personal and social identity cannot be viewed as two separate entities; instead, they constantly combine and influence one another throughout our lives. Specifically, our personal values are often shaped by our social context and so aiming to separate this largely oversimplifies our complex human identity. For example, growing up adhering to the Sikh faith, I was taught the importance of seva (selfless service) and helping those less fortunate than myself. These values instilled in me a passion for charity and volunteer work, which have become an integral aspect of my personal identity. I thus find that my social identity as a Sikh is deeply intertwined with my personal values and I therefore find it inconceivable to attempt to separate them. Therefore, I find Sen’s proposed alternative to Parekh’s model–in which an individual must divide personal and social identities–incomprehensible in practice. V. Conclusion My essay explored Parekh’s twofold model of individual identity, focusing on its capability to respond to Sen’s criticisms. Firstly, I disputed Sen’s point of dogmatic sectarianism, articulating the ability of Parekh’s pluralistic framework to evade Sen. Next, I asserted that Parekh’s acknowledgement of the differing importance of each social identity refutes Sen’s claim that Parekh’s combined framework leads individuals to over-conform to their social identity above personal identity. Ultimately, I conclude that Parekh’s framework expertly responds to each of Sen’s concerns about the divisive potential of social identities. References Ferguson, N. a. (2016). Social Identity Theory and Intergroup Conflict in Northern Ireland. In Understanding Peace and Conflict Through Social Identity Theory (pp. 215-277). Springer, Cham. Olson, E. T. (2023, June 30). Personal Identity . Retrieved from The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2023/entries/identity-personal/ Parekh, B. (2009). Logic of identity. Politics, philosophy & economics , 267-284. Schechtman, M. (2007). Introduction . In The Constitution of Selves (pp. 1-3). Cornell University Press . Sen, A. (2007). Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny. Penguin Books India. Sen, A. (2009). 285The fog of identity. Politics, Philosophy & Economics , 251-352. Sollberger, D. (2013). On identity: from a philosophical point of view. Child and Adolescent Psychiatry and Mental Health volume , Article number 29.

Ezekiel Vergara Punishment: Human Nature, Order, and Power Ezekiel Vergara Legal punishment has become a pervasive phenomenon in society, affecting millions of individuals worldwide and encompassing police practices, prison systems, and medical professionals. However, the practice of punishment often overshadows its theoretical goals. This paper attempts to highlight the theoretical aims of punishment through a genealogy of punishment as it relates to human nature. The theory of punishment demonstrates the primacy of order as tied to human nature. In addition to order, punishment is shown to have secondary aims, such as moral desert, rehabilitation, and revenge. These primary and secondary goals of punishment are then compared to the modern practice of legal punishment. Unsurprisingly, punishment in theory differs greatly from punishment in praxis. Instead of fulfilling its theoretical aims, punishment functions as a locus of power that strips agency from the offenders. In an attempt to ameliorate this theoretical-practical difference, various solutions are provided to make practical punishment more congruent with the adopted theory. In the analysis and critique of punishment, authors from various fields are cited, ranging from seminal works by Michel Foucault to modern works by William Connolly and Didier Fassin. While the first instance of punishment remains unknown, punishment has permeated all aspects of life — in prisons, schools, and at homes. However, this paper will be limited only to “legal punishment,” or the activities of punishment that are conducted by states, courts, and police (1). To examine punishment, this paper will theoretically examine the institution and nature of punishment. The first section of the paper will seek to answer the question “what is punishment?” A brief genealogy of punishment and human nature will be presented. Proceeding from this analysis, the second portion of this pa- per will juxtapose the theoretical outline of punishment—as derived from human nature—with the actuality of modern punishment. Notably, it will be argued that the presence of asymmetric power relations distinguishes theoretical punishment from actual punishment. In response to the discrepancy between theoretical and practical punishment, a possible improvement to punishment will be proposed: al- lowing offenders to propose their own punishment. Finally, the paper will consider challenges to this proposal. In order to present a thorough and convincing analysis, each section of this paper will refer to a variety of authors, mainly political theorists and jurisprudential scholars, while also referencing some empirical data. Likewise, this paper will operate within the paradigm of the current debate on punishment and focus on punishment in the United States (2). I. Human Nature and Punishment Punishment is related to human nature; it seems impossible to divorce the two. Through a genealogy of punishment, it will be shown that these two concepts are heavily intertwined, with the human desire for order serving as the impetus for punishment. “Punishment,” then, refers to “an attempt to reestablish order through sanction on the offender, in accordance with human nature.” A few clarifying statements should be made before this relation is demonstrated via genealogy and analysis. First, the term “human nature” is an amorphous concept. Among theorists, there is debate on whether a unique “human nature” exists (3). Moreover, even if a human nature does exist, there is no consensus on the nature of this concept (4). Hence, this paper will present a thorough analysis of human nature that draws upon various authors. However, it is recognized that other conceptions of human nature may lead to the same conception of punishment. Second, the fact that punishment is related to human nature does not mean that human nature involves punishing. This paper does not preclude the hypothesis that human nature itself desires punishment, yet the link between punishment and human nature supported by this paper is more derivative, in that punishment arises from the human want of order (5). Presently, this paper will provide a genealogy of punishment that begins with human inequality (6). This inequality, which is natural to man, leads to conflict over similar wants. Namely, some individuals are better suited to achieve their wants, while others are less capable. When two or more individuals want a good that cannot be divided, the most capable is able to acquire the good. Oftentimes, this zero-sum game leads to conflict as the weaker party seeks retribution (7). In the face of this conflict, man desires order, which is the primary impetus for punishment. Because of this conflict, man seeks to establish a type of order, an order that can allow individuals to pursue their ends without the threat of violence (8). Ultimately, this order is established by a superior individual, family, tribe, or group that exerts control and establishes rules in a certain region. Originally, these rules are simply based on custom—or the norms of fair expectations in common-life. Due to their historical underpinnings, these customs are obeyed by the people (9). Over time, though, customs become binding in a certain area or jurisdiction (10). Customs, founded on fair expectations, seek to apply an objective, ordered standard of conduct to human behavior. However, because customs are not universally followed, a mechanism is needed to maintain order and ensure adherence to these expectations. Primarily, to increase the level of norm adherence, sanctions serve to increase the costs of deviance. Eventually, with the creation of the state and morality, punishment began to be exercised by centralized legitimate authorities that monopolize violence (11). Important to the monopolization of violence is the codification of norms or general maxims, allowing the state to determine when punishments, such as monetary and physical punishments, should be applied. For instance, in the early United States, many crimes were accompanied by a fine and those convicted suffered harms from forced labor to capital punishment. Thus, a legal system came into existence. As punishment evolves over time with the expansion of the state, the economy also plays an important role related to order-based punishment. Namely, monetary payment can be used as a sanction on offenders, as a way to reestablish order (12). The creditor-debtor relationship serves as the basis for punishment in the Nietzschean account (13). The Nietzschean account highlights the relationality and inequalities of punishment. Namely, the asymmetry of Nietzsche’s power relations requires two or more parties, illustrating that power is something relational among individuals (14). As such, the penal relationship presents a distinct power dynamic, derived from the creditor-debtor relationship. Plainly, the creditor exercises an asymmetrical amount of power as he has something that the debtor needs or wants. On the other hand, the debtor has little power to resist, especially if he is in need of the creditor’s good. An asymmetry, then, exists between the creditor and debtor. Such inequality is mirrored in the punisher-punished relationship where the former exercises power over the latter, given that a good must be compensated. Given the desire for order—seen through the state and the economy—three points on human nature and punishment should be addressed here. First, the emergence of the state may simply be a “pleasure, delighted in the promised blood,” a mechanism that legitimizes infliction of suffering (15). Thus, instead of producing order, the state may simply serve as a means of exacting revenge on other individuals through a legitimized relationship. For example, police violence is legitimized and allowed to persist by the law (16). Second, the desire for punishment appears as a type of desire satisfaction, which signals that humans desire order. Simply, there is pleasure in order and reestablishing order through suffering. Rather than repaying money in the creditor-debtor relationship, the loan is replaced by suffering. Third, there seems to be a degree of rationality in punishment. For example, adults are sanctioned more severely than children for criminal offenses. Thus, it seems that punishment operates on a scale of rationality, as it is supposed that children have not completely developed such faculties, or what is generally accepted amongst individuals, whereas adults do (17). In short, then, punishment is derived from the desire for order, due to inequality and competing wants. Punishment reestablishes order when a standard—originally custom, presently law—is broken. Through a genealogy of punishment, certain aspects of human nature become readily disclosed. As such, punishment appears multifaceted, but likewise contained within a certain paradigm, that of history and custom. Thence, “punishment” appears to be “an attempt to reestablish order through a sanction on an offender, in accordance with human nature.” II. How to Punish This section of the paper will discuss a theory of how punishment should be practiced, as derived from human nature. Human nature appears to want order through punishment or sanction, but punishment appears to have secondary aims. Nietzsche identifies a list of secondary aims, besides the primary aim of order. For example, punishment also seeks revenge, deterrence, and reformation (18). This pa- per will now explicate the primary and secondary aims of punishment and analyze their current practice. In this way, it will be illustrated how punishment based on human nature would be conducted and how current practices deviate from these theoretical ideals. Order—the primary goal of punishment—is crucial to the practice of punishment. The basis of order is fair expectations, as has already been discussed. The notion of order, when tied to fair expectations, illustrates two aspects about how to punish. First, punishment requires a relationship of two or more individuals, most clearly seen with Nietzsche’s creditor-debtor example (19). A relationship between two individuals allows for a good to be extracted and a sanction to be applied, which releases the offender from his duty or debt. Thus, punishment must establish a relationship between individuals, thereby allowing order and therefore human nature to exist among them. Overall, this phenomenon is both practiced and disregarded in modern punishment. The modern offender engages in various relationships—with the warden, with the judge, with the prison-worker, with the doctor, with the criminologist— that allow for a good to be extracted and a duty absolved (20). However, this is not always the case. Solitary confinement is readily practiced in the modern penal system, undermining punishment’s goal of reestablishing order between individuals. Namely, by isolating an offender, it is impossible for the offender to form and maintain a given relationship, thereby disregarding a fundamental necessity of order (21). Moreover, even if it is the case that solitary confinement is not permanent, the relationships in question are disrupted (22). This not only limits the goods that can be extracted from the offender, but also creates an unequal power dynamic that further forestalls the absolution of the offender’s duty. That is, by confining the offender, he is rendered more unable to adequately engage in the relationships required by order-based punishment. Moreover, this power asymmetry strips the offender of his agency, which is of value, and contributes to disorder. Ultimately, to improve punishment, such an unequal power dynamic must be remedied. Second, in regard to order, is the notion of fair expectation. Fair expectations highlight the proportionality of a claim, as illustrated in the creditor-debtor relationship. The debtor and the creditor have an agreement on how much money should be returned to the creditor. While there exists an asymmetrical power dynamic among the creditor and the debtor, the agreement itself is fair (23). Thus, punishment requires a level of proportionality, due to the fairness of the original agreement. The proportionality of a sanction establishes a reasonable duty that is imposed on the offender, as a means to reestablish order. However, fairness as it relates to order is rarely practiced. Punishment in the United States is far from proportional, affecting minority and low-income individuals at a much higher level. These disparate impacts violate the original agreement of fairness and call into question the validity of the original agreement. Similarly, the modern penal system often places a burden on individuals, aside from the actual punishment. The offender often faces the prospect of losing his job, his family, and his friends (24). Hence, disproportionality is endemic to modern punishment. Aside from order, punishment also aims to exact revenge, deterrence, and reformation. In theory, these secondary aims support the primary goal of order. However, when improperly executed, these secondary goals actually subvert the primary end of order. Through an analysis of all three secondary aims, it will become clear that there are grand discrepancies between the theory and practice regarding punishment. The idea of revenge being an aim of punishment is grounded in Nietzsche’s work, namely the “slave morality” and his creditor-debtor relationship (25). Unable to alter the past, a wronged individual seeks to will the present and the future. To do so, punishment deprives the offender of future possibilities. Simply then, the offender must repay for his actions in sufferings that occur in and possibly over time (26). Revenge, then, desires that the offender suffers, requiring a unique relation- ship between a victim and an offender. However, in practice, revenge deviates from its theoretical framework. First, it is forbidden by modern law; second, it is expressive (27). As for the former, revenge is viewed negatively, seen by many as a type of desire to be suppressed. Only the law can punish, not private individuals. Nevertheless, the law appears to be a façade for this vengeful desire, concealing this vengefulness in its legitimacy (28). Although not always physical retribution, the law legitimizes the unsupervised and unwarranted violence of the few, seen in modern police practices (29). Moreover, punishment as revenge is expressive. Mainly a part of the retributivist framework, revenge is an expressive punishment that allows for the symbolic expression of disapprobation (30). Punishment creates a new social stratum of the delinquent (31). This social stratum unites society by providing a scapegoat that can be examined, questioned, and blamed. Thus, revenge is cathartic, creating a unified relationship between members of society against the delinquent population, as seen in Connolly’s discussion (32). Therefore, practical punishment should inflict warranted suffering on an offender and create an offender-victim relationship. However, in practice, revenge inflicts unwarranted violence that scapegoats the offender to unite large groups, perverting the aforementioned relationship. For instance, unwarranted violence against Black Americans, under the guise of punishment, has long served to unite whites around ethno-national identity. Yet, such unity under the guise of punishment is actually counterintuitive, given that through these means, the primary goal of order is subverted. Indeed, this prevents the creation of a legitimate, properly-ordered system. Deterrence is another aim of punishment, secondary to that of order. The idea of deterring crime suggests that individuals wish to live in an orderly society and have the ability to project into the future. Put simply, individuals can posit future relationships or possibilities where crime affects them. Thus, punishment deters other possible offenders from committing similar crimes in the future. However, deterrence supposes two connected ideas. The first is that individuals act rationally; secondly, it supposes that punishment is the appropriate means to deter crime. Deterrence, in theory, supposes the rationality of possible offenders and their ability to make cost-benefit analyses. The thought goes that by increasing the punishment for a given offense, individuals will be less willing to commit the crime as the benefit of committing an offense is overshadowed by the punishment for that offense. Notwithstanding this consideration, deterrence is very different on a practical level. Didier Fassin notes that the punishment used to deter crime is often aimed at humiliation and shaming, aimed at emotion, instead of rationality and cost-benefit analyses (33). Therefore, the theory behind deterrence, which is based on the conception of rationality among individuals, is overshadowed by irrational practice that subverts the primary goal of order. Deterrence, in practice, supposes not the rationality and dignity of humans, but rather exploits the social relations of individuals. Through such exploitation, the creation of a proper order is forestalled. This may partly answer why punishment aimed at deterrence fails, failing to support the primary goal of order (34). Finally, punishment has the secondary aim of rehabilitation. The idea of re- habilitation is important to maintaining the primary goal of order through punishment. In theory, rehabilitation has two key aspects: temporality and relational existence. Temporality is crucial to human nature and is tied to the goal of rehabilitating an offender. The idea of rehabilitation supposes that an offender remains the same responsible agent over time and likewise that the offender can change and adopt the laws and norms of a society (35). By attempting to reform an offender, the offender is forced to face the past and reflect upon the offense that was committed. During such a reflection, part of human nature is unconcealed, in the sense that the individual can gain understanding about himself (36). With this reflection, the offender is prompted to project into the future, where he will not commit the offense, drawing off the present insight, which is provided by the reflection on the past. As a result, the offender recognizes his own temporality, his possibility aside from crime and the temporality of the penal system. Relationality is also tied to rehabilitation. The notion of rehabilitation requires that an individual is aided by another individual. Usually, this takes the form of an offender and an authority figure, such as a therapist, a teacher, or a doctor. Although the offender-authority relationship is originally based on an asymmetry of power, the rehabilitation process diminishes the asymmetrical power dynamic as the offender reforms. Theoretically, over time, punishment serves to help the offender regain his standing in society, having “paid his debt to society.” Due to this symmetrical relationship of rehabilitation, the offender can understand his human nature and his past, knowing that the future will be based on relationships with other individuals in a given society. In short, rehabilitation awakens an of- fender to his human nature and diminishes the asymmetry between offender and non-offender. However, modern punishment falls short of rehabilitating offenders. Instead of engaging offenders with their temporal and relational being, punishment urges recidivism (37). Those who are punished by the modern system are disempowered and hardened in their ways. Rather than operating on the notion of individual responsibility, offenders are maligned; offenders are made out to be “[monsters]” beyond rehabilitation (38). Likewise, instead of turning offenders to the future and their possibility, the penal system focuses on the past and the asymmetrical power relations created by the past. This is best seen in Fassin’s ethnographic work, as prisoners are punished simply due to their past (39). For example, without the ability to secure adequate jobs or housing, many offenders turn back to crime, leading to high lev- els of recidivism. By limiting the opportunities available to former offenders, and contributing to recidivism, order-based punishment is undermined. Rather than a properly ordered system, offenders are thrust towards further crime and disorder. Offenders are neither rehabilitated nor empowered; offenders are trapped in the past, which forestalls their ability to recognize and to contribute to order. Punishment, namely how to punish, seems complex but grounded in human nature. Focusing on order, the ideas of relationality and fairness are clearly espoused. In regard to the other aims of punishment, the unique ideas of temporality, suffering, and rationality are clearly presented. However, the goals of penal theory are far from the actuality of penal praxis. Instead, the modern penal system perpetuates asymmetric relationships that alienate offenders and highlights the desire to faire le mal pour le plaisir de le faire (40). In such practice, human nature is blatantly disregarded, necessitating reform in punishment. III. Improving Punishment Punishment, as has been discussed, is based on a relationship and can thereby be described as just or unjust. As a concept, justice entails what should be given or done to others. Here, justice has a multiplicity of characteristics, yet one characteristic seems crucial to justice and is tied to human nature: relationality. Notably, justice defines the obligations and rights between individuals (41). Since relationality is an aspect of justice—which is paramount to reducing the discrepancy between theory and practice—reformation regarding relationships appears crucial to im- proving punishment. Practical punishment, as based on a power asymmetry, appears unjust. This power asymmetry is unjust because it strips the offender of his agency, which is of value. Therefore, the task of justice, regarding practical punishment, is reducing the power asymmetry between the offender and others. By reducing this asymmetry, offenders will better understand their nature, creating a proper order that is respective of the offender’s agency. Moreover, a more symmetric power dynamic would intuitively reduce the problems created by practical implementations of revenge, deterrence, and rehabilitation. That is, by having a more symmetric power relationship, not only will offenders be more capable to oppose these practical injustices, but punishers will be less likely to commit such injustices. To be more just, the penal systems must reduce the asymmetry of power relations by highlighting the agency of the offender. Instead of passively going through the penal system, the offender must exercise his unique human agency. The root of this aforementioned asymmetry arose from the penal process. Both Connolly and Fassin underscore the asymmetry of the modern penal system in their work. In regard to the former, the rhetoric surrounding the offender dehumanizes him, making the offender equivalent to an animal, one that needs to be tamed (42). In regard to the latter, the individuals are at the mercy of the penal system, unable to exercise their human capacities (43). This is further seen in the strict penal regiments of prisons and the rigid punishments of statutes. To reduce this asymmetry, I argue that offenders should be allowed to propose their punishment for the crimes in cases where a judge or jury has found the offender guilty. To illustrate this proposal, I draw from Plato’s and Xenophon’s renditions of the ancient Athenian penal system during the trial of Socrates (44). Unlike the modern penal system, where the offender plays a passive role, in the trial of Socrates, Socrates is prompted to give his own defense and cross-examine witnesses. Moreover, when Socrates’ is found guilty, he is required to propose a punishment that would serve as recompense for the offense in question. The Athenian jury, in Socrates’ case, then votes to choose between the offender’s proposed punishment and that proposed by the prosecution. By doing so, Socrates is able to exercise his agency, despite the fact that he is sentenced to drink the hemlock. In the modern penal system, the offender is able to defend himself if he wishes, but often defers to an attorney. Most times, the offender defers because he does not have a strong, functional knowledge on the intricacies of the law. Hence, a lawyer—an expert on the law—is brought in to compensate for the offender’s lack of legal knowledge. This process strips the offender of his agency to directly affect the legal proceedings and thereby creates an asymmetric power relationship between the offender and others. I propose that offenders should be allowed to propose their punishment for crimes in cases where a judge or jury has found the offender guilty. To ensure that all offenders can propose their punishments, all citizens should be required to take some course on the law, so that offenders can have more agency during the trial’s proceedings and in sentencing. In the wise words of Plato, “if law is the master [...] then the situation is full of promise and men enjoy all the blessings that the gods shower on a state” (45). By allowing the individual to present a possible punishment, the offender is forced to assume responsibility for his actions. Here, the offender exercises his agency and presents himself as a responsible agent before the court. Hence, the offender will create a more symmetric power relationship with others, including those of authority in the penal system. The result of this symmetric relationship will be a more just penal system, with individuals capable of exercising their unique human capacities. A few brief words should be said on this suggestion. First, the prosecution would also propose a penalty, like in the Athenian system. Penalty proposals would allow for the judge or jury to decide the punishment of a case, while also maintaining the symmetry of the offender-authority relationship (46). Similarly, this method does not sacrifice any of the goals of punishment as it allows order and punishment’s secondary goals to be pursued. Finally, the idea of permitting the offender to have a choice in his punishment is not completely unsupported. Geoffrey Sayre-McCord argues that individuals should choose amongst various punishment plans to repay for an offense (47). Such a penal structure allows individuals to take responsibility and reimburses society with a proportional penalty. However, one may take issue with this potential solution on the grounds that such a solution has two counterintuitive implications: sentencing and asymmetric power relationships (48). As for the former, one might think that offenders will always choose the minimal possible punishment for their crime. Or even worse, drawing from the trial of Socrates, the offender may go as far as to argue that he should be rewarded, not punished. As for the latter, one might contend that an asymmetric power relationship still maintains within this proposal. Namely, it seems to be the case that the judge or jury in question is still more powerful than the offender because the former have the final say on the punishment. To salvage this proposal, it is necessary to assuage these concerns about sentencing and asymmetric power relationships. To each concern, there are two considerations that ought to be considered. With the concern of sentencing, two factors are worth considering. First, the proposal is pragmatically worthwhile because it leaves open the possibility that one chooses a punishment that is unlike a minimum sentence and is actually more beneficial. Here, instead of spending time in prison, an offender may choose to engage in public work programs. The possibility of a punishment that differs from the minimum sentence, but is actually beneficial, is an upshot of this view. Second, extreme sentencing is rejected. For example, take the case where a serial killer proposes the punishment of a $20 fine. In this case, it is reasonable to suppose that either (1) the prosecutor in the given case would propose a much more reasonable punishment for the crime or (2) that the judge and jury would consider the reasonableness of the proposal in question when making their determination (49). As a result, extreme sentencing would rarely occur. Rather, a domain of reasonable alternatives to punishment would become socially acceptable, perhaps including minimum jail time and participation in public work projects. Therefore, regarding sentencing, there are pragmatic benefits and reasonable constraints that bolster this proposal against challenges. A more concerning objection presses on the power dynamics of sentencing, given that the judge or the jury still hold a degree of power over the offender. Here, two considerations are important. First, while it is the case that the judge or jury exercises power over the offender, the degree of asymmetry in the relationship is noteworthy. Notably, according to the proposal herein defended, judges and juries exercise less power over the offender than they currently do. Although the proposal does not completely rid itself of this asymmetry, the proposal should pragmatically be adopted, given its upshot of reducing the current asymmetry. Second, in an ideal world, judges and juries would be benevolent and strive to engage in symmetric relationships. However, in practice, there is a concern that judges and juries would overly exercise this asymmetric power. With this in mind, it is questionable whether the concern over asymmetry solely hinges on the proposal herein defended. Rather, it seems that the quality of judges and juries is important. Thus, it may not be the case that the asymmetric power dynamic completely hinges on the account of punishment that has been offered; rather, in addition to this proposal, it seems that work should be done to reform judgeships and juries, so as to further eliminate the asymmetric power relation. Aside from these concerns regarding details of this proposal, one could argue that the solutions offered to ameliorate punishment are impractical in regard to the modern penal society. Such a claim can be based on concerns with the current structure of the penal system or on larger societal concerns. In regard to the former, it could be argued the modern penal system is incapable of adjusting to the recommended changes. For example, an institution—most likely schools—would be required to teach courses on the law, requiring an overhaul of the current curriculum. Similarly, preparing authorities to engage in discourse with offenders may require training and some type of incentivization. However, both of these challenges are easily refuted. Namely, these solutions could be gradually incorporated into the penal system over time, thereby allowing for individual and institutional adjustment. Rather than implementing a radical change, change over time would ease the economic burden incurred by improving the penal system and also allow for individuals to change their biases towards offenders. Moreover, schools alter their curriculum as they incorporate new requirements, such as physical education. Hence, instituting a minimum requirement for knowledge of the law appears feasible. A greater practical concern is the need for societal change as the penal system reforms. It would seem paradoxical if the penal system reduced the asymmetry of the offender-authority power relationship, but society still stigmatized offenders. The ongoing stigmatization takes on various forms: increased policing, reduced housing opportunities, or reduced employment opportunities (50). While this is indeed a legitimate concern, it misunderstands the aims of this paper. I believe that these changes are without a doubt necessary when addressing the issue of punishment, however, this paper only seeks to examine the legal penal system. These societal concerns—while important to improving punishment—appears outside the bounds of this paper. Nevertheless, I acknowledge that the entirety of punishment, beyond the legal penal system, must be examined to create a more just society and to ensure that there is no asymmetry between the offender and society after the former has repaid for his offense. IV. Conclusion According to Michel Foucault, “western man has become a confessing animal” (51). Perhaps, however, it is better said that man has become a “punishing animal.” While this paper has only addressed legal punishment—that conducted by police, judges, and prisons—punishment is a societal phenomenon. From schools, to homes, to prisons, punishment is everywhere in society. The genealogy of legal punishment that was presented at the beginning of this paper illustrates that punishment is a fundamental derivation of man’s nature. While punishment may not be natural to man, it is a result of his nature. As such, a summary on the conclusions of this paper will help delineate the human nature that influences penal practice. The ideal of punishment was shown to have both primary and secondary goals. The most important of these goals is order, yet punishment aimed at order requires relationality. The nature of relationships, in the ideal penal theory, were shown to be fair and symmetric. However, when juxtaposed to the realities of modern punishment, it became evident that practical punishment was heavily based on the creation of asymmetrical relationships between the offender and penal authorities, thereby devaluing the human nature of the offender. A combination of increased agency and increased discourse was proposed as a means to reduce this inherent asymmetry. By empowering the offender, the penal system appears to become more just. These solutions seem promising and feasible, withstanding refutations that challenge the accounts provided. Although this paper has addressed punishment, some changes are needed beyond punishment, regarding the social and economic burden that punishment places on the offender and those associated with the offender. Moreover, work must be done to examine the effects of this paper’s paradigm on innocent individuals that have been convicted of an offense. However, legal punishment has been addressed in these pages. This is only one step towards this more just society. Such reforms are possible, among intellectuals and society-at-large: the ideal is not out of sight. Endnotes 1 The list of those involved in “legal punishment” that is provided above is non-extensive. From here on, “punishment” will refer to “legal punishment,” unless otherwise specified. 2 The United States is used as the case study of this paper for two reasons: the prevalence of punishment in the United States and the author’s familiarity with the American punishment system. 3 See the post-modern and post-structural schools of thought. For the former, see Friedrich Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra . For the latter, see Gilles Deluze and Félix Guattari’s Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia . 4 See the difference between Thomas Aquinas and Friedrich Nietzsche. For the former, see Aquinas’ On Law, Morality, and Politics . For the latter, see Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra . 5 Nietzsche, Friedrich, Nietzsche: On the Genealogy of Morality (Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 41. 6 Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (NewYork: Penguin Books, 1969), 123; Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, The Discourse and Other Early Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 131. 7 Hobbes, Thomas, Leviathan (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1994), 75. 8 Augustine, City of God (New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell, 1958), 452-453. 9 Rawls, John, Political Liberalism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993). 10 Carter, James, Law, Its Origin, Growth and Function (London: Forgotten Books, 2018), lectures 1-5. 11 The idea of “monopolization of the means of violence” comes from sociologist Max Weber. 12 Fassin, Didier, The Will to Punish (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 47-51. 13 Nietzsche, Nietzsche: On the Genealogy of Morality , 40. 14 Foucault, Michel, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (New York: Vintage Books, 1995), 93-4. 15 Rabinow, Paul, Truth and Power: The Foucault Reader (New York: Pantheon Books, 1984), 85. 16 Fassin, Didier et al., At the Heart of the State: The Moral World of Institutions (London: Pluto Press, 2015). 17 Locke, John, Two Treatises of Government (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1960), 322-323. 18 Nietzsche, Nietzsche: On the Genealogy of Morality , 53-54. 19 Ibid, 40. 20 Foucault, Discipline and Punish , 256. 21 Fassin, The Will to Punish , 76-77, 83. 22 I thank Sotonye George for the point. 23 The need or want of the debtor creates this asymmetry. The asymmetry can also be produced due to natural inequality or dire circumstances. However, within this dynamic, the agreement is fair as both parties reasonably agree to it within the asymmetric relationship. 24 Feeley, Malcolm, The Process is the Punishment: Handling Cases in a Lower Criminal Court (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1979), xv; Foucault, Discipline and Punish, 268. 25 Nietzsche, Nietzsche: On the Genealogy of Morality , 20, 40. 26 Foucault, Discipline and Punish , 232. 27 Revenge on the individual level is prohibited, but modern law does not preclude the idea of institutional vengeance. 28 Rabinow, Truth and Power , 85. 29 Fassin et al., At the Heart of the State . 30 Fassin, The Will to Punish , 69. 31 Foucault, Discipline and Punish , 170-184, 266-268. 32 Ibid, 53. 33 Fassin, The Will to Punish , 72-74. While it may be possible that these emotional pathways have or include some rational content, appealing to emotions deviates from the original appeal to strict rationality associated with deterrence. 34 Foucault, Discipline and Punish , 261. 35 Fuller, Lon L., The Morality of Law (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1964), 162. Modern legal systems seem to suppose human responsibility in punishment. This seems to be a key tenet of rehabilitation. 36 Heidegger, Martin, The Question Concerning Technology and Other Essays (New York: Garland, 1977), 35. 37 Foucault, Discipline and Punish , 265. 38 Connolly, William E., The Ethos of Pluralization (Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press, 1995), 45. 39 Fassin, The Will to Punish , 75-77. 40 Nietzsche, Nietzsche: On the Genealogy of Morality , 41. 41 See Scanlon, Thomas M., What We Owe to Each Other (Cambridge: Belknap Press, 1998); Rawls, John, Justice as Fairness: A Restatement (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 5-6; Miller, David, “Justice” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2017). 42 Connolly, The Ethos of Pluralization , 45. 43 Fassin, The Will to Punish , 72-77. 44 See Plato, Plato: Complete Works (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1997), and Xenophon, Xenophon: Memorabilia, Oeconomicus, Symposium, Apology (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013). One might argue that the trial of Socrates is the pinnacle of injustice. Yet, not only is such a position disputed, but my proposal solely attempts to schematically draw upon this example. I thank Tianyu Zhou for pushing me on this point. 45 Plato, Plato: Complete Works , 1402. 46 By allowing the judge or jury to decide between the punishments proposed by the prosecution and defense, the convicted offender is still punished if he proposes a reward as his punishment, as was the case in the trial of Socrates. 47 Sayre-McCord, Geoffrey, “Criminal Justice and Legal Reparations as an Alternative to Punishment,” Philosophical Issues no. 11 (2001), 505-506, 509. 48 I thank Morgan Cutts for pressing me to address this objection. 49 Note that this is an inclusive disjunction. 50 This list is not extensive but attempts to highlight some of the scenarios that affect offenders due to their offender-status. 51 Foucault, Michel, The History of Sexuality: An Introduction (London: Penguin, 1990), 59. 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Miller, David. 2017. “‘Justice.’” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2017 Edition) . Moore, Michael. 1987. “The Moral Worth of Retribution.” In Responsibility, Character, and the Emotions: New Essays in Moral Psychology . Edited by Ferdinand Shoeman. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1969. Thus Spoke Zarathustra . Edited and translated by R. J. Hollingdale. New York, NY: Penguin Books. ———. 2007. Nietzsche: On the Genealogy of Morality . Edited by Keith Ansell-Pearson. Translated by Carol Diethe. Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Plato. 1997. Plato: Complete Works . Edited by John M. Cooper. Associate editor D. S. Hutchinson. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. Rabinow, Paul (Ed.). 1984. Truth and Power: The Foucault Reader . Pantheon Books . Rawls, John. 1993. Political Liberalism . 1st ed. The John Dewey Essays in Philosophy. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. ———. 2001. Justice as Fairness: A Restatement . Edited by Erin Kelly. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. 1997. The Discourse and Other Early Political Writings . Cam- bridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Sayre-McCord, Geoffrey. 2001. “Criminal Justice and Legal Reparations as an Alternative to Punishment.” Philosophical Issues , no. 11: 502–29. https:// www.jstor.org/stable/3050612%0A. Scanlon, Thomas M. 1998. What We Owe to Each Other . 1st ed. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Taylor, Charles. 1984. “Foucault on Freedom and Truth.” Political Theory , no. 12(2): 152–83. http://www.jstor.org/stable/191359. Xenophon. 2013. Xenophon: Memorabilia, Oeconomicus, Symposium, Apology . Edited by Jeffrey Henderson. Translated by E. C. Marchant and O. J. Todd. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Previous Next

Aash Mukerji The Growing Incoherence of Our Higher Values Aash Mukerji Nihilism is perhaps the most commonly misunderstood notion in Friedrich Nietzsche’s writings. Not only do many wrongly believe Nietzsche to advocate for nihilistic behavior, but many also see nihilism as the loss of all value and synonymous with the belief that everything is meaningless and valueless. In reality, Nietzsche defines severe nihilism as “the conviction of the absolute untenability of existence when it comes to the highest values that are acknowledged”(1). For Nietzsche, nihilism thus does not necessarily reduce the individual to a living lump of ennui. Rather than lacking all value judgements, Nietzsche portrays nihilism as a condition characterized by the absence of justifiable higher values. This supposed depletion in justification comes from Nietzsche’s infamous assertion of the death of God; Nietzsche held that modern science has made “belief in the Christian God unbelievable” (2). Nietzsche believed that without divine reasons to cherish our higher values, we would ultimately lose them entirely. Moreover, Nietzsche characterizes nihilism primarily as a cultural phenomenon—the societal loss of higher values precedes and causes the affective individual symptoms of nihilism. Nietzsche sees this cultural wave of nihilism as a looming threat; he predicts that humanity is on the brink of succumbing, to becoming nothing more than a group of “last men” Last men are characterized by the aforementioned deficiency in higher values, effectively rendering them incapable of justifying any goals that do not immediately benefit them (3). Nietzsche makes the impending nature of nihilism clear in Zarathustra , where the titular character is confronted by a chorus of individuals who actually wish to become last men (4). Nietzsche’s assertion of the imminence of nihilism was something of great interest to me as it seems that, even in the last two hundred odd years, our higher values have not been lost entirely. Nonetheless, I was not ready to entirely discount Nietzsche’s worries concerning our higher values, and this paper discusses a different manner in which our relationship with them may be deteriorating. In the wake of the death of God, what we are losing may not be our higher values themselves, but instead the unifying principles that require consistency and soundness among them. I will argue that we are progressing towards a world where our higher values are maintained but do not necessitate coherence in order to inform and justify our actions. Indeed, some incoherent higher values evidently already enjoy primacy over other kinds of values. I will attempt to demonstrate this by showing that, though contemporary society has preserved various higher values, individuals and communities frequently act in ways that conflict with those values without recognizing any logical inconsistency. This implies that what is missing from our higher values is the necessity for harmony with our actions and the other values we hold. In this paper, I will discuss some ideologies maintained today that seem to fit the characterization of higher values but conflict with our day-to-day activities and other values. I will attempt to supply some explanation for what causes this incoherence both through a Nietzschean lens and through the analysis of media culture within the framework of Jean Baudrillard. I believe both perspectives provide valuable insight into the mechanics of what is going on. Throughout this paper, I essentially seek to prove that we have retained our higher values but are losing their coherence and structure. First and foremost, we must establish some higher values that have been preserved. In my view, the most prevalent ones seem to be the political and social ideologies we subscribe to individually and culturally. For this paper, I will primarily consider liberalism and conservatism in America as typical instances of these types of values. To distinguish higher values from other more standard values, I will make use of the criteria detailed by Katsafanas in his paper, “Fugitive Pleasure and the Meaningful Life: Nietzsche on Nihilism and Higher Values.” These criteria include demandingness, tendency to generate tragic conflicts, regular induction of strong emotions, professedly great import, exclusion of other values, and propensity for creating communities (5). As far as I can tell, political ideologies seem to instantiate all of these criteria. They are certainly demanding; liberals and conservatives both generally see their chosen credo as the “correct” way to live and believe that it is immune to any sort of compromise. For either group, their ideology does not (in theory) allow them to be frivolous with their moral and political choices or to deviate from the prescribed guidelines is often perceived as a violation of some sort of ethical code. When conflict between our political ideologies and other higher values is acknowledged, such discord is often seen as tragic. For instance, nearly everyone has heard of individuals that have experienced, or have themselves experienced, intense strife with family members due to political disagreements. Family, as a general construct, is widely treated as a higher value. Familial bonds are demanding insofar as compromising them is seen as betrayal of the highest degree, they induce powerful emotions, acting for the sake of one’s family is seen as sufficient to explain most actions, family is often presented as taking priority over all other pursuits in life (to the point of being exclusionary), and family, of course, instantiates strong communities. So, when we experience conflicts between our political ideology and our family, such conflicts are nothing short of agonizing. Is it morally permissible to cut off one’s family members because they are conservative or liberal or libertarian? Is the gap in ideology something so forceful that it ought to trump deep familial bonds? Such questions are not easy to answer (for most) and the dilemma one finds oneself in when faced with them is most definitely viewed as a tragic one. Even if one is not sold on the status of family as a higher value, there are numerous others that can be substituted to illustrate my point. Here I will include a brief clarification that will prove important further on in this paper: The conflict between higher values must be acknowledged. My characterization of political ideology as a higher value relies partially on the notion that if one identifies a conflict between one’s political ideology and another higher value, then such conflict will be viewed as tragic. However, should one have an unrecognized logical conflict between one’s ideology and another higher value for whatever reason (for instance due to growing incoherence in our higher values), then this trait does not go unfulfilled merely because such a conflict goes unnoticed. Elicitation of strong emotions when it comes to political ideology needs no lengthy justification. One merely needs to survey the landscape of almost any social media platform to witness the masses loving, hating, condemning, and worshiping political figures. Likewise, it seems obvious that we believe political ideology is more important than the vast majority of things in our lives. At their core, ideologies such as liberalism and conservatism exist to function as banners of the things we value most in life. For the strong liberal or strong conservative, the very essence of what it means to live a good life is often synonymous with their dogma. Lastly, it is needless to say that political ideology has become exclusionary in nature and is prone to instantiate powerful communities. This phenomenon is represented best by the American political system where, by being part of one community, you are by default excluded (and often even looked down upon) by rivaling groups. As people increasingly and overwhelmingly define themselves and others based on their choices in politics, one’s ideology is commonly seen as central to one’s character. The intense political polarization that has resulted from this is testament to just how exclusionary political ideology has become and how robust the coalitions formed based on such ideology can truly be. Thus far, I have endeavored to establish political ideologies as common examples of higher values that are still held by people today. From here, I aim to show that such higher values are not being lost, but rather becoming increasingly incoherent. To this end, I would invite my reader to consider how party politics works in America. Generally speaking, the Democratic Party is meant to model liberalism and represent liberal people, and, conversely, the Republican Party is supposed to model conservatism in action. But can we confidently say that those values are the basis upon which each party unerringly acts? I have instead found their condition to be best described by the ideas of Baudrillard, whose framework I will use to illustrate what is going on. Of contemporary society, Baudrillard says: “Abstraction is no longer that of the map, the double, the mirror, or the concept. Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being, or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal. The territory no longer precedes the map, nor does it survive it. It is nevertheless the map that precedes the territory - precession of simulacra” (6). In short, rather than our values and ideals informing the models we use to structure society, the models have begun to determine our values. In this case, instead of political parties typifying our liberal or conservative ideals, it seems increasingly true that the parties are influencing and warping our values. If we accept this Baudrillardian understanding, it seems evident that what retains vital importance in modern society is not our higher values themselves but the models that now precede them. This account also explains why incoherence of higher values seems to be on the rise; we still perceive our higher values to be what drives our society forward, even though this is not the case, which causes a disconnect between the individual and the weight of their own values. In addition, because our models have started to inform our values, we are no longer able to distinguish which actions we take on behalf of a higher value and which we take on behalf of a mere imitation of one. Even worse, the solution is no longer as simple as critically analyzing our values in order to discriminate between which ones are legitimate and which ones are mere simulacra; our genuine higher values have started to emulate the misshapen versions of them embodied by our models. The Baudrillardian fall from grace notably has two distinct steps: First, the models of our values (in this case our political parties) seem to operate completely independently from, and often in contradiction with, our actual values. Second, in a more sinister fashion, our values themselves are altered in a manner that breeds incoherence and an inability to grasp the inconsistencies in our beliefs. This transmutation occurs, on Baudrillard’s account, through media culture (7). This fits nicely with my argument, as it seems overwhelmingly obvious that the media is now inextricably entwined with politics, meaning our political ideology is especially susceptible to modification by mass media. For those readers who are skeptical about the weight Baudrillard and I are assigning to media culture, I will justify this further on in this paper. For now, however, I will provide some evidence that the process I have just described is in fact reflective of our society. First, consider America’s involvement in the ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestine. For the fiscal year 2021, the Trump Administration sought $3.8 billion to support Israel’s military spending (8). Theoretically, this should be a big concern for Republicans. Since the reduction of taxes and minimization of governmental scope are undoubtedly two of the main goals of conservatism, and purportedly the Republican Party, it seems as though the Party ought to support decreasing tax-funded aid to Israel. And yet, studies show that the vast majority of Republicans believe that Trump has “struck the right balance” in dealing with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (9). As we can see, even if reducing our financial assistance to Israel is in the best interests of conservatism, self-identified conservatives consistently act contrary to this because that is what their party leaders convey to them. A Republican might object to this characterization, on the grounds that America has a responsibility to intervene in areas where it has deemed human rights violations are occurring. But if that is the case, then how can the Republican simultaneously support the construction of a border wall designed to prevent persecuted Latin Americans from fleeing for their lives? (10). The significance of all this is that the status of our higher values, in relation to their models, becomes dubious. This issue seems to mimic the first step quite clearly in our Baudrillardian process. The U.S. support of Israel is but one example of this phenomenon wherein actions resulting from our models are completely separate from the actions that would normally be dictated by our higher values. Next, let’s discuss an example of the second step of the Baudrillardian framework. Firearm legislation is another controversial issue in America at the moment, with various groups holding drastically different positions on whether one has the right to bear arms. Through this issue, I hope to demonstrate the ways in which the incoherence of higher values can lead to illogical stances on both ends of the political spectrum. When it comes to gun control, conservatives are generally in favor of fewer restrictions. This is largely consistent with core conservative beliefs, such as minimizing government input on private lives and preserving the liberties provided by the second Amendment. As a matter of fact, widespread gun ownership is not only morally permissible but even necessary , many conservatives say, in case the state ever decides to infringe on the rights of its citizens or coerce them without due cause. For the conservative, guns are thus a mode through which the individual can retain power over the state. So far, nothing seems wrong. But issues arise when other beliefs, supposedly in line with the same brand of conservatism, are added to the mix. While retaining this belief in the need, and indeed the moral right, to protect oneself from an unjust state as one sees fit , conservatives in America today are also associated with the position that it is unpatriotic and morally reprehensible to kneel during the anthem or otherwise protest the brutality and violence that occurs through the arm of the state, i.e., the police. It seems to me that simultaneously holding these two beliefs is something that is very difficult, if not impossible, to maintain. And yet, these are often considered standard conservative and Republican positions in our society. Contemporary liberals do not fare much better when their higher values are analyzed in this context. For the liberal, government institutions in America have a long history of systemic racism and oppression of minorities and lower classes. Such institutions thus ought to be overhauled or rectified, the logic goes, in order to form a society that reflects more liberal values. Yet at the same time, there is a common liberal view that guns are instruments of death and should be withheld from all except government employees who require them for their job, such as police officers and military personnel. But this view seems to remove an opportunity for the individuals oppressed by the state to gain power, and instead places that power squarely in the hands of the oppressors. The liberal cannot have their cake and eat it too; to believe that the police should be defunded because of their routine violence against the people they ought to be protecting, and simultaneously believe that the state should have full authority and exclusive control over all firearms, seems problematic at best. Even if the liberal attempts to avert this problem by going even further and asserting that nobody should own a gun, then a similar problem arises. It is still the same oppressive and racist state that takes guns away from people. It is still the same state that ultimately retains the power in this scenario. These are just some ways in which our higher values have begun to show signs of incoherence. Unlike our first step, this second step is no longer just a matter of us acting in line with our models while wrongly believing that they are reflections of what we ultimately value. If we could stop after the first step, there would still be a dim hope of redemption. If one can be shown the inconsistencies between their values and the actions of their party, it seems as though they can revise their mode of life. But the incoherence of the second step is far more deadly. Our higher values themselves are being changed; they are becoming muddled and losing intelligibility rapidly. Recommitting oneself to one’s values when faced with inconsistency is already exceptionally difficult but refashioning one’s values when faced with complete incoherence is even more demanding. Gun control is just one example of this, but these types of discussions all beg the same question: Are conservatives and liberals determining what their party stands for, or is it their parties that are deciding what the ideology stands for? It may be, in the words of Baudrillard, “no longer a question of imitation, nor duplication, nor even parody. It is a question of substituting the signs of the real for the real” (11). This Baudrillardian diagnosis of society is explained by many factors, but primary among them is the rise of media culture. Overwhelmingly, the types of media we consume has come to define what it means to be social in our culture. The interactions we have with friends, family members, significant others, strangers, all are determined by the media we absorb. Take romantic encounters, for instance. The ways in which we decide how we ought to act towards our partners, what sort of romantic gestures are considered socially acceptable, what kind of boundaries we set, are all largely, if not entirely, defined by what we have seen in social media, films, television, advertisements, and so on. One need look no further, Baudrillard says, than to observe that, “whoever is underexposed to the media is desocialized or virtually asocial” (12). Such a state of affairs would be fine, of course, if most forms of media faithfully represented and depicted our higher values, but the opposite seems to be the case. Consider the social phenomena commonly referred to as “virtue signaling” or “performative activism.” In particular, let us contemplate the cases in which one virtue signals without actually doing much to pursue that virtue. In cases like these, many remain unaware of their hypocrisy and nonetheless believe that they act virtuously when, in fact, they are merely presenting the facade of virtue. The mere posting of a black square on one’s Instagram account without any further action to support African American communities comes to mind as a relevant example of this. One might say that all individuals who engage in such signaling do so consciously—they are aware that they are “faking it” in order to achieve popularity, acceptance into a social group, or something of this nature. But this seems like an overly pessimistic claim, and I would characterize the phenomenology of such individuals differently. I would argue that most people that act in these ways genuinely believe that they are pursuing their ideal of a virtuous life. They do not recognize that their virtues (which are closely related to, if not synonymous with, their higher values) are not informing their actions. Rather, they are acting according to the media-warped model of what it means to instantiate that virtue. To make this more concrete, take the notion of equality to be a higher value or virtue that one strives towards. If equality was truly what was informing the behavior of the virtue signaling person, then such a person would seemingly recognize that their actions are not satisfying that higher value. Thus, it seems much more likely that what the virtue signaler is motivated by is not the pure higher value of equality, but rather an incoherent version of it altered by media culture. The people who post black squares on their Instagram and then go about their daily life feeling excellent about their stand against police brutality and institutionalized racism certainly feel as if they have higher values (e.g., equality, liberalism), but such values have been rendered incoherent. The proof of this incoherence is of course that their higher values are (even partially) satisfied by trivial actions that provide no substantive change in one’s way of life or the world. In addition, as referenced earlier, such people do not experience the tragic feelings that are meant to accompany conflict between higher values because they do not recognize that such conflict exists in the first place. We can perhaps judge from the outside that there seems to be an objective disconnect between these people’s purported higher values and their actions, but the growing incoherence of their values prevents the perpetrators themselves from coming to the same conclusion. At this juncture, one might object that if our higher values have become so vacuous that they can be fulfilled by such superficial action, then it is likely that they are not higher values at all anymore. In this regard, it would seem that we have ultimately returned to Nietzsche’s hypothesis and lost our higher values entirely. To this I would reply that these incoherent higher values may very well be vacuous, but they retain their status, nonetheless. Political ideology, for instance, still instantiates all the higher value criteria, as I have discussed. What this shows is that our immediate societal condition is distinct from that of the last man. We still have the capacity to cherish things in all the right ways and set goals for ourselves beyond immediate gratification, it is just that the things we cherish and the goals we set may be severely distorted. Now that we have touched on how our current situation is different from the last man, a question naturally arises: What would Nietzsche say about the state of our political ideology? When it comes to politics, Nietzsche is remarkably silent. Try as one might, it is rare to find Nietzsche discussing political ideology at great length. Though he is often found criticizing democracy as a “conspiracy of the whole herd against [its] shepherd,” this does not amount to much in the form of a distinct political structure (13). We also get some cryptic allusions to the merits of a natural order-based caste system in The Antichrist , but this discussion seems less about the desirability of the castes and more about how even this sort of ideology is preferable to the life-negating belief system that characterizes Christianity (14). Rather than focusing on political structures in service of the many, it seems like Nietzsche was more interested in particular individuals that could serve as paragons of vice or virtue. Napoleon is an oft-cited example of someone Nietzsche admired very much, going so far as to name him one of the “profound and largeminded men of [the] century” (15). But Nietzsche’s view of Napoleon as a higher man could justify an entire paper by itself, and such analysis is not particularly relevant to our discussion of higher values. Rather than present Nietzsche’s (scarce) ideas on political ideology, it seems more fruitful to examine how concepts like the death of God might have led to our current predicament. Nietzsche, of course, saw the loss of higher values as a direct result of the absence of a divine entity able to furnish our choices and goals with meaning. But what may be more potent than the loss of objective meaning is the loss of the structure installed by that divinity. Organized religion generally aims to provide a clear system concerning the fulfillment of our higher values. It lays out, for instance, what constitutes a sin, how to worship properly, and so on. Ergo, religion serves to enforce a uniformity between our actions and our values. It is fundamentally designed not to allow individuals to both violate their own higher values and escape with a morally sound conscience. But without religion, this necessity for consistency between our higher values and our behavior is damaged. There is no eternal damnation, no divine punishment, no karmic justice to threaten us to maintain such cohesion, and so we lose it. What all of these topics have in common, from virtue signaling to contradictory stances on gun control, is the apparent inconsistency in the higher values that allow such behaviors to take place. Ultimately, I would suggest that the path the individual in contemporary American society has taken is distinct from the condition of the last man that Nietzsche fears. Higher values persist, as I have endeavored to show, but the logical consistency required to fulfill them properly seems to be rapidly deteriorating. Nevertheless, if one wishes to remain compatible with Nietzsche’s theory, then we could perhaps frame the current state of society as merely one of the final steps on our inevitable trajectory to becoming last men. After all, it does seem plausible that the degeneration of the coherence of our highest values will eventually lead to the loss of them entirely. Such an understanding does raise some concerns, however, as discarding our higher values (“believing in their untenability” as Nietzsche puts it) seems to require one to be aware of their unintelligibility. Insofar as we have reached a state where our higher values no longer even need to be consistent in order for us to act on them, one can wonder whether we will ever collectively reach a position where we realize the inconsistencies exist so deeply in our higher values that they must be abandoned altogether. Still, there is certainly a Nietzschean argument to be made that there must be a limit to how incoherent our higher values can get before we rid ourselves of them in disgust. As it stands now, even though our higher values have garnered significant incoherence, they can still be said to represent us faithfully for the most part. For example, though issues like gun control demonstrate some glaring problems that require rectifying, I would argue American liberals and conservatives still tend to largely act on the values at the core of their ideology. Single-payer healthcare is a good instance of this: Liberals largely support it on the basis of their beliefs about equality and human rights, while conservatives largely do not because it would result in less individual freedom and greater taxes (16). Thus, though I have spent the majority of this paper painting quite a dismal picture, our higher values do not seem close to collapsing entirely. We may not have to resign ourselves to the fate of the fabled boiling frog, insofar as the coherence of our higher values continually gets worse without us noticing. One could certainly make a compelling case that when the incoherence gets to a stage where it overwhelms the proper functioning of our higher values, we will desert them. At such a juncture, it appears we would have no choice but to become last men. At any rate, if one is really committed to the Nietzschean hypothesis, one could call the state we are currently inhabiting that of the “penultimate man” (or better yet penultimate person, for the sake of inclusivity and alliteration). Endnotes 1 Friedrich Nietzsche, et al., Writings from the Late Notebooks , (Cambridge University Press, 2016), 205. 2 Friedrich Nietzsche and Walter Kaufmann, The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix of Songs: Translated, with Commentary by Walter Kaufmann, (Random: 1974), 343. 3 Friedrich Nietzsche, et al, Nietzsche: Thus Spoke Zarathustra , (Cambridge University Press, 2006), 129. 4 Ibid, 130. 5 Paul Katsafanas, “Fugitive Pleasure and the Meaningful Life: Nietzsche on Nihilism and Higher Values: Journal of the American Philosophical Association,” Cambridge Core , (Cambridge University Press, 2015), 9-11. 6 Jean Baudrillard and Sheila Faria Glaser, Simulacra and Simulation , (University of Michigan Press, 2019), 2. 7 Glenn Yeffeth, Taking the Red Pill: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in the Matrix , (Benbella Books, 2003), 74. 8 U.S. Foreign Aid to Israel , Congressional Research Service, 2020, fas.org/sgp/crs/mideast/RL33222.pdf. 9 “U.S. Public Has Favorable View of Israel's People, but Is Less Positive Toward Its Government,” Pew Research Center - U.S. Politics & Policy , 2020, www.pewresearch.org/politics/2019/04/24/u-s-public-has-favorable-view-of-israels-people-but-is-less-positive-toward-its-government/ . 10 Suzanne Gamboa, et al., “Why Are so Many Migrants Crossing the U.S. Border? It Often Starts with an Escape from Violence in Central America,” NBCNews.com , 2018, www.nbcnews.com/storyline/immigration-border-crisis/central-america-s-violence-turmoil-keeps-driving-families-u-s-n884956 . 11 Baudrillard andGlaser, Simulacra and Simulation , 2. 12 Ibid, 55. 13 Friedrich Nietzsche, The Antichrist, (Auckland, NZ: Floating Press, 2010), 67. 14 Ibid, 57. 15 Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil , (New York, NY: Dover Publications, 1998), 256. 16 Bradley Jones, “Increasing Share of Americans Favor a Single Government Program to Provide Health Care Coverage,” Pew Research Center , 2020, www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2020/09/29/increasing-share-of-americans-favor-a-single-government-program-to-provide-health-care-coverage/ . Bibliography Baudrillard, Jean, and Sheila Faria Glaser. Simulacra and Simulation . University of Michigan Press, 2019. Gamboa, Suzanne, et al. “Why Are so Many Migrants Crossing the U.S. Border? It Often Starts with an Escape from Violence in Central America.” NBCNews.com , NBCUniversal News Group, 22 Oct. 2018, www.nbcnews.com/storyline/immigration-border-crisis/central-america-s-violence- turmoil-keeps-driving-families-u-s-n884956. Jones, Bradley. “Increasing Share of Americans Favor a Single Government Program to Provide Health Care Coverage.” Pew Research Center , Pew Research Center, 30 Sept. 2020, www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2020/09/29/increasing-share-of-americans-favor-a-single- government-program-to-provide-health-care-coverage/ . Katsafanas, Paul. “Fugitive Pleasure and the Meaningful Life: Nietzsche on Nihilism and Higher Values: Journal of the American Philosophical Association.” Cambridge Core , Cambridge University Press, 22 Sept. 2015, www.cambridge.org/core/journals/journal-of-the-american- philosophical-association/article/abs/fugitive-pleasure-and-the-meaningful-life-nietzsche-on- nihilism-and-higher-values/449B756CD8E5DC8139A701AC195F33F8. “Most Border Wall Opponents, Supporters Say Shutdown Concessions Are Unacceptable.” Pew Research Center - U.S. Politics & Policy , Pew Research Center, 21 Aug. 2020, www.pewresearch.org/politics/2019/01/16/most-border-wall-opponents-supporters-say- shutdown-concessions-are-unacceptable/. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Beyond Good and Evil . Dover Thrift Editions. New York, NY: Dover Publications, 1998. Nietzsche, Friedrich, and Walter Kaufmann. The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix of Songs: Translated, with Commentary by Walter Kaufmann . Random, 1974. Nietzsche, Friedrich, et al. Nietzsche: Thus Spoke Zarathustra . Cambridge University Press, 2006. Nietzsche, Friedrich, et al. Writings from the Late Notebooks . Cambridge University Press, 2016. Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm. The Antichrist. Auckland, NZ. Floating Press, 2010. U.S. Foreign Aid to Israel . Congressional Research Service, 16 Nov. 2020, fas.org/sgp/crs/mideast/RL33222.pdf. “U.S. Public Has Favorable View of Israel's People, but Is Less Positive Toward Its Government.” Pew Research Center - U.S. Politics & Policy , Pew Research Center, 30 May 2020, www.pewresearch.org/politics/2019/04/24/u-s-public-has-favorable-view-of-israels-people-but- is-less-positive-toward-its-government/. Yeffeth, Glenn. Taking the Red Pill: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in the Matrix . Benbella Books, 2003. Previous Next

Kyu-hyun Jo Cause, Causation, and Multiplicity: A Critique of E. H. Carr’s “Causation in History” Kyu-hyun Jo Abstract This paper will assess three central components of Edward Carr’s lecture ‘’Causation in History’’ in What is History? First, Carr does not show causation’s real function of distinguishing between various types of history; the kinds of causes a historian employs describes the nature of their historical inquiry. Second, Carr’s notion of “accidental causes” is oxymoronic because accidents are unpredictable for any historical actor. There is no logic to explain why unexpected accidents had to happen for historical actors from their viewpoint. Therefore, its contrast with ‘’rational causes’’ is misleading. Finally, however important causes are in formulating historical interpretations, causes do not determine a historian’s interpretation. 1. An Outline of the Main Arguments The explanation of causes in historical phenomena—explaining how historical events occurred by examining and describing the reasons behind their occurrence—is perhaps the signature hallmark of History as a Social Science. Yet, how does a historian know what a cause is and how should he or she explain the cause? This paper will provide a critique of Edward Carr’s methodology in his lecture “Causation in History,’’ collected in his seminal book, What is History? I will first assess Carr’s discussion of determinism, then discuss his distinction between accidental and rational causes, and finally, analyze how examples function throughout the lecture to highlight his arguments. From such examination, I will emphasize the function of historical causality within Carr’s framing of History as a scientific process. After examining Carr’s logic on historical causality, I will conclude with three main arguments. First, while Carr shows the necessity of causal explanations in historical analyses, he does not crucially show that the real importance of causes in historical explanation lies in their power to determine subdivisions in fields of historical research. Second, Carr’s distinction between “accidental causes’’ and “rational causes’’ is misleading because “accidental causes’’ is an oxymoronic concept. Accidents occur unpredictably and unexpectedly from a historical actor’s perspective, and it is impossible to accurately judge why an accident had to occur, unless a historical actor involved in an accident should miraculously resuscitate to directly inform the historian of the accident’s details. Moreover, if the fundamental purpose of a historical cause is to provide a logical explanation to the occurrence of historical phenomena, Carr, in conceiving “accidental’’ as an opposing concept to “rational,’’ is basically comparing illogical and logical causation in history. However, if “illogical’’ means “that which cannot be explained logically,’’ then it is questionable how an “illogical cause’’ is actually an explanatory cause. It is possible to explain that an accident became an accident, even if it is much harder to determine why an accident exactly occurred. Insofar as there is an explanation, however unsatisfactory the quality of the explanation may be, explaining how an accident came to be called as such, still qualifies as being logical, or having the capability to be explained with reasonable statements. In other words, the contrast between accidental and rational causes in historical explanation is misconstrued because “accidental causes’’ is an oxymoronic concept. Finally, while Carr may be correct in emphasizing the importance of causes in historical interpretation, he is mistaken in assuming that causes alone dictate the structure and content of historical analysis. The search for historical causes is only necessary for the sake of providing diverse angles of historical analyses; historical causes are not so important to exclusively determine and decide the entire content of a historian’s interpretation. It is the historian’s liberty to interpret facts about an event and then determine what the important causes of an event may be, but historical causes alone do not possess the great power to determine the direction of the historian’s interpretation. Rather, it is interdisciplinary historical analysis, which provides a rationale, a justification for why certain causes have better explanatory causes for a certain historical event than others, which ultimately in- forms the direction of a historian’s logic. The art of performing meticulous and exact historical interpretations involves adopting interdisciplinary methods, and only after the invocation of interdisciplinary methods to provide a rationale for establishing a hierarchy between causes can a historian perform interpretations. 2. A Brief Literature Review and the Significance of “Causation in History” A close analysis and an examination of Carr’s conception of causality and his ideas is necessary because there has yet to be a systematic study of Carr’s “Causation in History.” The majority of the secondary literature on What is His- tory? are book reviews that concentrates on commenting on the book’s overall structure and its main argument that History is a dialogue between the past and the present. This literature either mentions Carr’s discussion of historical causality solely in relation to his main argument, or ignores it altogether (1). For example, in the most recent comprehensive discussion of philosophies of History and historiography, the author closely analyzes Robin Collingwood’s emphasis on human ac- tions as the subject of historical inquiry is closely analyzed as a conditional theory for historical causation. Though Carr was a major critic of Collingwood’s views of History in general, neither Carr’s “Causation in History” as an independent work nor What is History? is given sufficient attention (2). Critical studies of Carr’s ideas regarding History have concentrated on his pursuit of objectivity and positivism, or his conceptualization of History as a study of causes. Ann Frazier (1976) argues against an absolute positivist view of History. She asserts that insofar as a historical narrative is a “reconstruction from present experience of what might have happened in the past,” it is impossible to absolutely determine what “actually happened in the past” (3). In other words, Carr’s vision for an objective and a pure History devoted to verifying past events with exactitude is untenable and impossible to realize. Geoffrey Partington (1979) criticized Carr’s “moral positivism and moral futurism” in favor of replacing them with relativism to better account for differences in time and place in which a historical event occurred when making a historical judgment (4). Most recently, Ann Talbot (2009), while comparing Carr’s view of chance and necessity with that of Leon Trotsky, concluded, “History is no longer a study of causality but is determined by the propensities of the historian” (5). In short, the secondary literature has engaged with various aspects of Carr’s view of History and concentrated on how historians write about the past and how recent interpretations of History have abandoned Carr’s concern for causality. However, the secondary literature, in particular Talbot, does not explain why Carr’s search for the role of causality in the writing of History is outdated, missing the central value of “Causality in History” as Carr’s most definitive statement on what History is as a science, for it is in this lecture where a truly scientific and methodical answer to the title of Carr’s book actually appears. A critical examination of Carr’s conception of historical causality is necessary to show why it is outdated or, as I noted earlier, there are three major deficiencies in Carr’s logic about historical causality. In “Causation in History” Carr develops the most methodological and structural argument about the nature of historical causality and criticism against historical determinism, which taken collectively, is actually devoted to explaining why History is a science, rather than explaining causality’s place in History for its own sake. Carr’s views about causality in History are essentially concerned with how causality functions in History to give its scientific character, not whether History’s entire academic identity is simply a study of causation. It is in this particular lecture where Carr’s understanding of History as a science in terms of approaches and methodology is most clearly expressed and where a genuinely structural analysis of History as a science—how historical causation reflects the scientific nature and essence of History—is most lucidly given. In short, this particular lecture deserves a close analysis because it explains why and how History functions as a science: by ordering facts through causality to transform historical fact into historical knowledge. How History becomes under- stood as History to a historian is perhaps the best method to know how history be- comes transformed into professional History. This paper intends to highlight the importance of causation within the question, “What is History?,” later evaluating Carr’s ability to frame historical inquiry as a scientific process through causation and causality. 3. Carr’s Main Ideas on Historical Causality Carr opens his discussion about historical causation with the observation that the historian “commonly assigns several causes to the same event’’ (6). However, the historian is bound by “a professional impulse to reduce it to order, to establish some hierarchy of causes which would fix their relation to one another’’ to decide which cause should be “the ultimate cause, the cause of all causes’’ (7). In other words, Carr believes that a multiplicity of causes serves a secondary function of letting the historian rationally prioritize a single cause that produced an event. From this discussion of the historian’s need to identify an order to historical causes, Carr argues that “historical determinism’’ and “chance in history’’ are “red herrings’’ which obstruct the logical flow of historical causation and proceeds to show how they are not part of a proper historical logic. “Historical determinism’’ is “the belief that everything has a cause or causes, and could not have happened differently unless something in the cause or causes had also been different’’ (8). In other words, “historical determinism’’ assumes that the occurrence of every phenomenon in life is dependent on a single cause unique to that particular phenomenon such that even the slightest alteration in the cause would necessarily produce a different phenomenon. However, Carr sees “historical determinism” as both unsatisfactory and un- realistic because it does not recognize the unpredictable vicissitudes of human behavior and actions According to Carr, the choices people make defy strict classification as either a matter of free will or logical determinism. He believes that various forms of human behavior and actions can arise from both free will and determined causes, arguing that historians are flexible in understanding human actions to arise from both sources (9). From this reasoning, Carr does not entertain the view that historical events occur “inevitably,’’ unless “inevitably’’ is qualified to mean that antecedent causes would have to be different for an event’s outcome to be radically different from what was expected (10). Since Carr is uncomfortable with the notion that historical events occur in a vacuum, it is unsurprising that he also finds explanations relying on “chance’’ or “accidents’’ unsatisfactory. Not only are accidents unexplainable through “historical determinism,’’ but accidents are also causal interruptions to a string of events which a historian wishes to investigate. In other words, the occurrence of an accident is not a license with which a historian can argue that there was no clear cause for an event to occur; an accident is merely an obstacle preventing the historian from focusing on a chain of causality which clearly awaited the historian’s discovery. Of course, Carr is aware that it might be possible for accidents and chance events to happen in history, for such occurrences are not only minor, but are continually compensated by other accidents or chance events, and “chance” might be a “character of individuals’’ (11). In other words, the randomness of accidents is possible because an accident is by nature an unexpected event and the forms in which it may occur are varied and diverse, and may be influenced by the unpredictable variety of personalities of every individual. Yet, Carr finds these apologetic defenses of accidents and chance events unsatisfying because accidents and chance events are often “seriously exaggerated,’’ or perceived to “accelerate or retard’’ historical progress, a sentiment which Carr dismisses as mere “juggling with words’’ (12). Moreover, he thinks that “chance events’’ are “natural occurrences’’ which complement each other is merely an euphemism to claim that there are events in life we cannot comprehend. Carr believes that those who use accidents in their theories have granted themselves the undeserved liberty to excuse themselves from the tedious business of rigorously investigating causes of an event. Such a person, in Carr’s view, is “intellectually lazy’’ or possesses “low intellectual vitality’’ (13). In other words, because accidents are also induced via human activity and actions, Carr does not believe that accidents truly occur unexpectedly or without any causation. Insofar as accidents can be caused by some faults in human personality or will, these faults, however inherently various, deserve to be studied as causes behind the accidents they create. The historian must observe and analyze accidents just as he or she would investigate any other “normal’’ political, social, or cultural event and ponder on why the accident occurred or whether it could have been avoided or prevented at all. So how does a historian pay proper attention to historical causes and formulate a causal relationship between historical facts? For Carr, it begins with the realization that there is little to distinguish between “historical’’ and “unhistorical’’ facts such that it is always possible for the latter to become the former (14). For example, someone living in 1066 and directly witnessing the Battle of Hastings might record that the battle “is taking place,” but once a historian agrees with the witness who claims that it was important that the battle occurred, the historian preserves the fact that the battle occurred in the past and has historical importance by simply stating the same fact in the past tense: “The Battle of Hastings clearly occurred in 1066.” Yet, the murkiness of the distinction does not mean that all causes are to be treated equally, for Carr believes that there are “rational’’ and “accidental’’ causes. The former can be applied to diverse countries, eras, and conditions, which warrants generalizations. By contrast, “accidental’’ causes, which have to be specifically devoted to explaining how an accident as a particular event in a specific time, location, and circumstances, cannot be generalized. An accident occurs under particular conditions and is fundamentally a result derived only from the particular conditions and therefore “teach us no lessons and lead to no conclusions’’ (15). In other words, rationality for Carr is synonymous with generality, while “accidental’’ causes are limited in their generality because they can only be comprehended only within the specific contexts they had occurred. The more important point is that “rational causes’’ have purposes borne from human motivations, whereas “accidental causes’’ do not have an objective. With that said, such a distinction does not mean “accidental causes’’ can be dismissed. Regardless of the type of cause, Carr believes that insofar as historians are expected to make interpretations about them, they are issuing value judgments, and causality is “bound up with interpretation,’’ for the act of assigning causes is itself a judgment. Moreover, because history is a purveyor of tradition, history is obligated to be a record of “past habits and lessons of the past’’ for future generations (16). Due to the arbitrary and selective nature of historical time, Carr concludes by arguing that historians must habitually ask “whither’’ along with “why?’’ (17). The audience for whom the historian writes is as important as personal and private reasons for which the historian writes history. Carr believes that the historian’s search for causation necessarily implies a search for an ultimate cause which can clearly answer why a phenomenon occurred, and insofar as a historian is searching for the ultimate cause, “historical determinism’’ is unsatisfactory because it disregards the importance of multiple causality in ac- counting for the unexpected and unpredictable nature of historical events. Carr also finds the treatment of “chance’’ or “accidental causes’’ as synonymous with “no causation’’ as unsatisfactory, because they are just masking a historian’s laziness or unwillingness to scrutinize historical events very closely to find a logical causation between them. Finally, regardless of whether a cause is “rational”—has the ability to be generalized—or is “accidental’’—happens by pure chance or as an outcome of unexpected events—distinctions between them are not very important because causality in general must inform a historian’s interpretation, which, in turn, is a form of value judgment. The possibility of a “subjective’’ causality is not an excuse to not treat “accidental causes’’ or “rational causes’’ unequally, for the division of time, which is the basic element of a historian’s thinking, is a subjective category which is bound to change depending on the nature of a “future’’ a historian is interested in addressing. As long as the future is subject to change, so will the perception of “past’’ and “present,’’ which is why a historian must be well aware of the purpose for which he or she desires to write history and the audience for whom the historian wishes a work to have a lasting influence. Logic is important to maximize the delivery of rhetorical clarity, for it is the essence of an argument’s organization. Yet, because logic is a general description of a reasoning’s supposed trajectory, logic needs to be supplemented with proper examples to illustrate and convince others that the trajectory is an accurate and rational one. This section has shown how Carr’s logic about historical causation could probably be considered rational; the next section will examine and analyze Carr’s use of examples to determine whether there is sufficient rhetorical strength in the logic to convince the reader that the logic is traveling on its proper and designated route. 4. Carr’s Use of Examples and Their Logical Compatibility with His Main Points This section evaluates Carr’s usage of historical examples in illustrating his main themes and arguments, offering a critique about the propriety of the examples in relation to the points they are making. In particular, it will concentrate on Carr’s examples drawn from the Russian Revolution and the accident of Robinson. This section will conclude that while his use of these examples is sound because he effectively illustrates the importance of unpredictability in historical causation to a historian’s thought process, the Revolution and the accident of Robinson do not greatly support Carr’s main theoretical argument because they do not show how and why a particular hierarchy of causes is necessary for one example but not the other. Carr uses episodes from the Russian Revolution to illustrate his opposition to historical determinism. There are several problems with Carr’s use of the Russian Revolution as an example to counter the assumptions of historical determinism. Fundamentally, the example does not show how Carr would be able to choose his “ultimate’’ cause behind the Revolution’s origins. While it is clear that multiple causes must be considered to establish the complexity of the event and there- by highlight its importance, Carr does not show how a hierarchy of causes can be derived from a consideration of multiple causes. What he actually wishes to show by discussing the Russian Revolution is that “historical determinism” is not a proper historical logic because it essentially engages in counterfactual reasoning, which is not germane to the historian’s critical aim of determining the past as it is. Against historical determinism’s charge that a historian may not consider other alternatives while focusing too much on one cause, Carr argues that supposing that Stolypin had completed the agrarian reform or that the Bolsheviks did not win the Russian Revolution are not relevant to historical determinism, for the determinist would simply look for causes other than ones which actually occurred to argue that different causes would have different outcomes. Hence, Carr suggests that the suppositions have “nothing to do with history,’’ because counterfactual assertions cannot be proven with any certainty with documented evidence and are non-historical (18). The problem is that Carr never really identifies the precise kind of historical interpretation for which his example from the Russian Revolution is meant to offer support. If the suppositions he made are not “historical,’’ then the real question is, which suppositions should be deemed “historical?’’ Refutation by negation does not necessarily lead to clarity; it only serves as a proof of what an opposing argument cannot be, rather than proving the essence of the opposing argument. More- over, because the basic theoretical argument against “historical determinism’’ is that historical events have multiple causes and do not occur in a vacuum, Carr’s example should have shown how a genuine historical argument can be fruitful by considering multiple causes. After all, the real problem Carr has with “historical determinism’’ is that it assumes that historical events were bound to happen with- out any particular value ascribed to the events’ circumstantial causes. Since Carr is uncomfortable with the unscientific and unhistorical nature of the philosophy, it would have logically made more sense for him to show how historical logic operates in a coherent and powerful manner such that it could not be easily dismissed by proponents of historical determinism. Hence, it would have sufficed to show how causation and causes operate in a historical analysis rather than a proving how “historical determinism’’ has a faulty logic, since the fact that there is a deficiency in an opposing logic does not necessarily imply that an alternative logic must be better simply because it does not have that deficiency. The other problem with Carr’s use of the Russian Revolution is his assumption that the supposed currency of the Russian Revolution as a “modern historical’’ problem has greater importance than “older’’ events such as the Norman Con- quest or the American Revolution. Carr believes that there is a greater desire to remember “options’’ still available for a more recently concluded historical event than much older ones. Carr claims that the expression of diverse passions from non-historians makes it hard for them to accept conclusions of a historian who merely recounts an event as it happened (19). Carr does seem to show why “historical determinism’’ is popular, but his analogy does not necessarily prove why “historical determinism’’ is an unhistorical logic. All events eventually get forgotten to certain degrees in which some facts are going to be better known than others, but it is primarily a historian’s scholarly curiosity which determines the importance of a historical event. Since every historian must have different reasons for believing that a historical event is important, the only impediment with regard to time would be the availability or lack of primary sources rather than a poverty of a historian’s imagination or will to realize innovation. “Older’’ events were once “modern’’ and therefore, importance is inherently a subjective standard which arises from the question of how well individuals remember events. People do remember events which are closer to their immediate memories better than older ones in terms of general details, but squabbling over how alternative causes behind an event might have changed the actual outcome is not necessarily the only reason for which a “modern event’’ must be remembered better than an older event. Christopher Columbus died believing that he had discovered “India” instead of the Caribbean, but the fact that the person might engage in a “historically deterministic’’ debate about how the course of history might have been different had Columbus really landed in North America does not necessarily mean that the person would not engage in historical determinism about other historical events, especially if the person has a passionate interest about them. Chronological distance has no definite correlation with interest because the latter is not necessarily dependent on time but rather on this person’s intellectual curiosity regardless of the event’s currency to the immediate present. Furthermore, thinking historically is a capability, not a matter of predilection. Even if that person remembers the IMF Crisis better than Columbus’s discovery of the Caribbean, it does not follow that “unhistorical’’ suppositions such as “if Columbus had set sail for Africa instead, he would have never discovered the Caribbean” are not relevant to historical thinking. A “cause’’ is not some given concept or model; one has to think through a selection of reasons behind an event to determine which reasons were essential and which ones were merely auxiliary or unimportant in precipitating the occurrence of a phenomenon. Counterfactual reasoning can help a historian think through a rationale for why a supposed cause is actually a noteworthy one; the only caution is to only think through counter- factual claims, not write them down as part of the actual historical reasoning. In other words, the clarity of memory does not necessarily lead to more “historically deterministic debates’’ because logical clarity is independent from the question of whether that logic is “historically deterministic.’’ It is perfectly logical to assume that if Columbus had not been adept at sailing when he was young, then he would have not made the voyage to the Caribbean, for one is only thinking about the causal logic of actions in a given situation and time period without describing the historical consequences of those actions. Thinking about historical events does not always have to imply that one is only thinking about history in terms of chronology, for situational logicality is also important to fathom causality in action, which is what gives contextual meaning and significance to time. Moreover, “historical determinism’’ is an attitude about a particular event or a specific set of events for which a different outcome would have been likely had causes been also different from ones which were originally suggested. Why assume that a desire to adopt such an attitude is stronger with a modern event than a more chronologically distant one? The expression of a particular attitude is not necessarily dependent on how new or old an event is, and chronic difference between a historical event and the individual who is remembering the event may vary ac- cording to the individual who decides to remember it. Yet, emotional attachment to a particular event need not inversely relate with chronological distance because reasons for recollection are far too varied to summarize merely as a function of time. As long as “modern’’ is a relative term expressed from the viewpoint of certain individuals and groups, there will be no rigid standard to determine which memories constitute “modern history.” Moreover, if the historian’s task is to select an “ultimate cause’’ of a particular event, how can a historian be so sure that there is an “ultimate cause’’ without ranking a supposedly “historically deterministic’’ cause? The danger of falling into “historical determinism’’ is not a good reason to avoid considering hypothetical claims, because a historian can always change hypotheses into positive statements by searching for relevant primary and secondary sources to test whether or not there is sufficient evidence to prove its validity. The suitability of a historical cause’s use as part of a historical argument is first and foremost dependent on how reliable that cause is. Carr’s other main concern about historical causality is the disturbing use of the concept of “accidents’’ in history as synonymous with the idea of “no causation.’’ The primary example that he uses to illustrate his critique is “Robinson’s accident.’’ Carr gives a hypothetical example of Robinson, who was crossing the street to buy cigarettes but was unexpectedly struck and killed by an oncoming car. However, if the driver was intoxicated, was driving a car with defective brakes, and hit Robinson in a dark alley where barely anything was visible, what was the actual cause of the accident—Robinson, the defective brakes, the dark alley, or the drunk driver? Instead of answering his own inquiry, Carr states that if two passers-by were to give the opinion that Robinson was killed because he was a heavy smoker, and that had he not gone out to buy the cigarettes, there would have been no accident, they would be employing a “kind of remorseless logic found in Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass .’’ Carr concludes by remarking that such hypothetical reasoning is not a mode of thought appropriate for history (20). The main deficiency he finds in the concept of “accidents’’ is that an “accident’’ is also an historical event. It is therefore subject to a historian’s analysis of preceding causes leading to the occurrence of the accident. In other words, “accidents’’ cannot escape a historian’s scrutiny just because they seemingly occur without any single clear cause. However complex an accident may be, Carr believes that there is still a hierarchy amongst causes behind an accident which allows the historian to discern between primary causes and auxiliary or negligible ones. The historian’s ability to discern “relevant facts’’ from “irrelevant facts’’ until there is a “rational quilt of knowledge,’’ represents an approximation of a historian’s working mind (21). Unfortunately, Carr does not give a clear answer to the critical question, how does this discernment actually work in practice? There are two ironic errors that Carr commits in telling this narrative. First, despite Carr’s attempt to show why “accidents’’ are still valid elements to consider in historical thinking, he chose the wrong type of example; his example is purely unhistorical. We are only present- ed with a sequence of actions within one ‘historical’ moment rather than several different yet interconnected events across a wide span of time. When historians consider an accident and its causes, they always consider the accident’s relative importance to other events, figures, or conditions. To declare that an event is “historical’’ is to designate a relational quality which suggests that an event has a “historical significance’’ which can describe the event’s relationship or value by connecting with other events, figures, or conditions. If one is ever inclined to declare that a single event alone is historically significant, it can only happen because one presupposes that the event is already well-known because of its relationship with preceding or simultaneous events. For example, from Archduke Ferdinand’s viewpoint, his assassination by Gavrilo Princip was an accident. However, before investigating the causes of the assassination, the historian must establish a rationale to explain why studying the assassination is important. In the case of Archduke Ferdinand, the historian, using a bit of hindsight, can argue that the assassination began a massive wave of violence which rattled across the European continent and ignited the sparks of World War I. By contrast, in Carr’s example, we are not given a reason to believe that studying Robinson’s accident is historically worthwhile. In other words, because Carr did not explain the “historicity’’ of Robinson’s accident, we are not presented with a credible reason to believe that this is a historical event. Carr’s second error is that if we consider Carr’s reason for invoking Robinson’s accident as an example, the example does not illustrate a necessity or method to find multiple causes in historical analysis. If a historian’s prime objective in search- ing for multiple causes is to search for an ultimate cause for a historical phenomenon, then Carr ought to have shown how a historian might approach Robinson’s case as a historical phenomenon. His conclusion that a historian engages selectively with causes is not actually a literal answer to any of his two-part question: 1) How does a historian choose multiple causes? and 2) How does a historian actually select an “ultimate cause’’ from those multiple causes? This is because there is no reason to assume that there must be a single cause for Robinson’s accident at all unless Robinson himself or the driver told the police that there was actually one cause to the accident. Even if the driver had told the police that there was only one cause, it is purely the driver’s own opinion which may or may not be corroborated by other witnesses or circumstantial evidence. From an unassuming observer’s point of view, there is no exact means to verify a sequence of events and pinpoint a singular cause because the observer did not encounter Robinson’s accident in real time along with Robinson. Insofar as this difference between an observer and Robinson exists, there will always be a gulf between speculations and the actual truth. Indeed, because of this gulf, the real moral of Robinson’s accident ought to have been that searching for multiple causes is necessary for a historian to account for every possible explanation of a phenomenon, since the point of finding possible causes of an accident is to establish that an accident can be explained to convince people that the accident can be perceived as an accident. Carr’s argument that one should establish a “hierarchy of causes” implies that there is a particular cause which outranks others in terms of importance. However, there is no such thing as an absolute verification of a truth’s minute details for the historian, unless, very rarely, absolute verification is a necessary condition to prove the soundness of his or her main arguments. A historian is obliged to consider as many aspects of a past event, but no one can know every single detail to get a complete and impeccable picture of an event. The historian has the right to exercise a liberty of imagination based on primary sources and eye-witness accounts, but the historian must also understand that his or her tools to unearth historical facts also delineate the parameters of epistemological certainty. Moreover, Robinson’s example also poses the question of how a historian deter- mines a cause of an accident as an accident, a process that is limited by the quantity and quality of evidence one can find. Since the parameter of what constitutes historical knowledge is bound to change depending on which sources this historian can find, Carr is actually unable to answer the first part of his question. Further- more, because the parameters of knowledge are at the mercy of the availability of historical sources, an attachment to the belief that there must be an ultimate cause is both unrealistic and false, which is why Carr is never able to give a clear answer to the second part of his question. Historical causes are not tangible and therefore cannot be visually compared with each other. Of course, if a historian is writing an autobiography and writes a history of his or her life from what he or she remembers, then, there might be some liberty for the historian to rank causes and choose the ultimate one. In such a case, there is no basis from which another historian can ask why the causes were ranked in one way but not another, because every mind has but one master. The absence of a hierarchy among causes does not imply an absence of certain- ty or that historians ought to be skeptical about everything they encounter. To the contrary, there are undeniable truths in history such as the Holocaust or Russian pogroms of the 19th century. Rather, acknowledging a multiplicity of causes al- lows for a holistic consideration of multiple dimensions of a historical event from which causal explanations can be drawn, which actually prevents a historian from engaging in “historical determinism.” If the objective of studying a historical event is, as Carr claims, to search for one cause with absolute explanatory power, then the historian is actually engaging in ‘historical determinism’ because such an objective reflects the idea’s actual essence. Hence, Carr’s opposition to “historical determinism,’’ which was precisely because he believed in the multiplicity of causes, does not logically follow from invoking Robinson’s example. Furthermore, the witnesses in Robinson’s accident were actually reflecting Carr’s faith in the multiplicity of causes, so the next task was for Carr to show how he could select his ‘ultimate cause’ for explaining why Robinson died. Instead, Carr vaguely suggests that the historian has to be selective about his causes without explaining the end to which this selectivity has value. Hence, Robinson’s example is actually a Straw Man argument because the original purpose for which the example was mentioned does not become clear until Carr supplies a rationale for justifying a hierarchy of causes. As for how and why the hierarchy fundamentally exists, Carr never gives a clear answer. Therefore, Robinson’s death merely illustrates an argument about an element which is not extant in any of Carr’s arguments prior to his discussion of Robinson’s death. 5. Three Central Problems with Carr’s Methodology in “Causation in History’’ In this concluding section, I will identify three central problems with Carr’s method which will serve as a summary of this paper’s main arguments. First, Carr’s notion of a hierarchy of causes and its importance in historical explanation is unfortunately quite nebulous because he never specifies the purpose be- hind the existence of the hierarchy, ignoring the true function of historical causes as a form of scientific processing. Second, Carr’s distinction between “rational” and “accidental” causes is not valid because regardless of an event’s nature, multiple causes are necessary to account for inherent complexities in any historical event and such causes ultimately serve as evidence for a historian’s claim, which means that the more causes a historian can find, the more reliable and believable a historian’s account becomes. On the one hand, multiple causes are necessary to describe different facets of a phenomenon; a historian will summarize his or her main arguments to show readers how those facets constitute the “wholeness’’ of a historical fact. On the other hand, there needs to be a multiplicity in the kinds of causal analysis a historian uses to approximately position arguments within a given subfield of History. Finally, Carr is wrong to suggest that causes determine a historian’s interpretation because the former is just a means for which the historian has the freedom to determine an end. Causes are merely building blocks with which a historian constructs an independently designed interpretation. With regard to Carr’s questions about how a historian chooses multiple causes and selects an “ultimate cause” among them, I argue that the only certainty a historian can have comes from ascertaining that the nature of a cause aligns with the field in which it must be accurately used. When a historian asks the question, ‘Why was Archduke Ferdinand assassinated?’ the historian implicitly means that, in general, he or she is looking for political causes specifically related to nationalist motivations behind the assassination and its impact on the outbreak of World War I, rather than cultural or social causes behind the rise of nationalism in a general sense. An argument can be made that such distinctions can be interchangeable, since Gavrilo Princip’s association with the Black Hand was a culturally motivated expression of a desire to express Serbian nationalism. However, “political’’ and “cultural’’ cannot be so liberally applied in an interchangeable manner because they are merely generic labels conceived under the assumption that historians and the general public know that such a distinction can exist. A historian may find out that Gavrilo Princip preferred Serbian circuses to Austrian ones, but one does not use this cultural fact to describe anything with sufficient certainty about Princip’s personal decision to assassinate Ferdinand, even if there is nothing mentioned in primary sources about it. The transformation of a fact into a cause is actually a fixed relationship, in which a fact can become a cause, but a cause alone can never become a fact. The historian’s designation of an occurrence as a cause reflects a personal belief that an element within a historical figure’s character or a historical event has some reasonable degree of explanatory power. History is, in general, filled with facts, but it is the conditional possibility of several facts turning into believable causes of a historical phenomenon which truly excites the historian. Causes are essentially facts whose relationship amongst themselves and the phenomenon which they wish to explain is firmly and convincingly established by a rich array of primary sources. Facts which hardly need any source-based proof are not likely to become causes because they are generic and mundane enough to be independent of any historical situation. In short, what Carr really means by “a hierarchy of causes’’ is that not all causes are created equal. The real problem is that Carr never really demonstrated what a hierarchy of causes is. While it may not be possible to definitively identify which types of causes matter more than others, Carr ought to have at least shown how a hierarchy among causes can be conceived. Yet, the real heart of the matter is that Carr could not actually show his audience that a hierarchy among causes exists because there is no singular standard of a “hierarchy,’’ other than what a scholar perceives through a meticulous reading of the relevant historical literature. That Carr could not provide a concrete hierarchy strongly suggests the impossibility of doing so because different hierarchies of causation matter for different subfields of History. Movement of capital, markets, and industrial structure in the early 18th century matter more as direct causes be- hind the Industrial Revolution than as causes behind the death of the Avant Garde in the late 20th century. The difference in subfields also translates to differences in particular “states of the field,” or the variance in the levels of academic discourse about various historical topics, leading to different developments in varying facets of historical inquiry. The nature of primary or secondary sources a historian must search for necessarily depends on the questions the historian wishes to answer in relation to how certain historical topics have been addressed in the existing scholarly literature. In other words, a search for primary or secondary sources is a dependent variable of “current’’ historical scholarship because the main function of amassing historical information is to facilitate a productive and meaningful scholarly debate. This debate, in turn, will invite future generations of historians to construct new angles and roads along which the debate must continue. Moreover, because proving causality in historical analysis can only be done through a meticulous examination of primary and secondary sources, it follows that the richness in illustrating historical causality is dependent on the availability of sources. In short, ascribing a strict sense of a hierarchical notion of historical causality is impossible because of three main variables: multiple causes and multiplicity in the kinds of causes, a rigid relationship between facts and causes, in which only the former can transform into the latter, and finally, differences in subfields and varying conditions in historiography, which imply that a historian must pragmatically conceive of a hierarchy of causes which reflects the availability of primary and secondary sources and their ability to cogently deliver a progressive view or methodological contribution to the existing scholarship. The second major problem with Carr’s method is his misconstrued distinction between “rational’’ and “accidental’’ causes. An “accidental’’ cause is a misnomer because no cause can arise without a reason. Even the most unexpected events have clear causes because searching for causation is essentially identical to search- ing for reasonable connections previously ignored or overlooked. Furthermore, if Carr himself acknowledged that ‘accidental’ causes need to undergo strict academic scrutiny as much as “rational’’ causes, then what he really means is that a scholar must have the same approach and attitude toward “accidental’’ causes as he or she has toward “rational’’ or normal causes. Yet, Carr does not illustrate how a historian actually investigates “rational’’ causes because he is interested in comparing “accidental’’ causes with “rational’’ ones rather than demonstrating how a historian uses each type of cause to con- struct a historical analysis or make an observation. In practice, Carr did not have to make a distinction between the two causes. A historian can propose rational explanations for supposedly accidental causes, and once this is done, there is no difference between “rational’’ and “accidental’’ causes. I will illustrate my point by comparing Caesar’s crossing of the Rubicon as a “rational’’ event, and Pierre Curie’s carriage accident as a literally “accidental’’ event. I will show how these two events deserve equally serious scholarly attention because they all involve the same process of investigation, regardless of an event’s nature. Caesar’s decision to cross the Rubicon would be a rational event because the crossing itself is a “reasonable’’ action in that a man mounted on horseback can cross a river because he has the will and means to do so. Such an action can be expected, for regardless of what the Roman Senate thought, Caesar only had two choices: defy the Senate by crossing the river or obey the Senate and let them limit his actions. Caesar’s decision to cross the Rubicon was not “surprising’’ as an action in itself; neither would the decision not to cross be surprising, unless Caesar somehow died for reasons unrelated to the crossing. By contrast, Pierre Curie’s carriage accident is not a rational event because the exact circumstances are open to much speculation. We do not know so many de- tails about how Marie Curie’s husband died, but it would hardly matter whether the driver of the carriage or Pierre Curie was drunk or whether Curie was jogging when the driver lost control of the carriage and hit Curie at break-neck speed. What remains true independent from causes is that it was an accident because neither Curie nor the driver would have expected to run into each other, for they were no mutual acquaintances. According to Carr, the rationality of a cause does not affect its historical investigation, making both “rational” and “accidental” causes garner the same approach. Although Carr never defines what a “rational’’ event is, since human beings are responsible for creating events, it follows that what is rational is what can be expected within the realm of reasonable human behavior and thought. If the primary function of historical causes is to explain why a phenomenon, regardless of its nature, occurred, then identifying how an accident became an accident is in itself an explanation, no matter how unexpected or unforeseeable the accident must have been to the people involved in it. However, regardless of how much we know or do not know about Caesar or Pierre Curie, the principles of research remain identical. A historian must first amass all records on the crossing of the Rubicon and Pierre Curie’s accident, gather any witness testimonies to corroborate on controversial or obscure aspects of each case, perform a theoretical analysis of causes and speculations, and finally, arrive at reasonable conclusions based on the existing evidence. The rationality of the research process which is common to both events is what makes a study of the two events rational, for the nature of an event does not necessarily reflect or dictate the nature of the means with which one ought to study each event. If accidents, like rational events, also have causes, then Carr ought to have shown how “accidents’’ could be considered the antithesis of rational events. An accident is unexpected, but is not irrational, for every cause of an accident is borne from actions which the individuals involved consider rational. If two speeding cars collide, it could be an accident borne from the drivers’ disregard for the speed limit, or from one driver’s inebriation. Still regardless of whether it is due to mis- handling the car or personal flaws, none of the causes are irrational. Disregarding the speed limit or drinking heavily may have been a mistake, but neither of these activities are incapable of having a logic ascribed to them, for a historian can still argue that committing these mistakes, regardless of their severity, contributed to the occurrence of the accident. Insofar as all actions have causes and motives in their creation, the historian is obliged to study them with an eye towards collecting all relevant facts, an action unrelated to how rational or irrational a historical event may seem. It is because, as I argued through the example of Caesar crossing the Rubicon and Pierre Curie’s accident, no elements are beyond the reasonably expected scope of human behavior. Regardless of whether an event was planned or turned out to be an accident, what remains constant in both cases is that there are various actions a person can take at a particular time, and every action will have a distinct set of reasons. Carr’s distinction between rational and “irrational’’ causes is therefore, a faulty comparison, for there is no clear reason given to believe that accidents are inherently “irrational,’’ and because historians can also surmise about causes behind accidents insofar as accidents are human-induced events. The final point of this paper is that a historian’s personal selection of causes does not dictate a singular direction of interpretation. Establishing causation and providing interpretation are independently creative activities conjoined by the necessity to give coherence to a historian’s general argument. Carr seems to believe that a historian is reflecting private opinions through a selection of causes, but the selection is only the means to the ultimate end-to generate a unique interpretation which does not necessarily reflect what the causes themselves have to say about a topic. Causes in and of themselves reflect no emotions; until the historian judges the causes to be positive or negative in nature in relation to the argument he or she wants to make from the causes, causes are merely guidelines and building blocks to the overall argument which gives the essential structure to the historian’s logic. Causes merely reflect a historian’s judgment about a possibility in believing that a phenomenon happened in one direction. The real essence of the historian’s argument lies in what the historian thinks about the phenomenon, not the causes. The historian’s attention must not be limited to understanding how a car’s assembly line malfunctioned, but be extended to observe how the car as a finished product qualitatively suffers as a result of faults in the assembly line. Carr’s argument about causes might be feasible if a historian is trying to find out the causes behind a historical tragedy, but even in this case, the historian’s real argument is about proving one can see that it was a tragedy. For example, if the sinking of the Titanic was truly due to a crash into an iceberg, and a historian proves that indeed it was so, the moral of the research is not just that “a ship hit an iceberg and sank.” Rather, the moral is that because of this linkage, one can conclude that it was a terrible accident and a tragedy. Even if a historian should conclude with identifying the iceberg as the cause of the tragedy, the identification of the cause does not dictate the interpretation of the phenomenon because interpretation is not about identifying what or why something happened. Instead, interpretation is concerned with what one should observe from the structure of a historical phenomenon that emerges from identifying the cause behind the phenomenon. Identifying causes alone does not make the study of History interesting; one needs to show how causes function to produce original observations about a holistic phenomenon that emerges from showing a causal relationship between or within a series of linked phenomena. Once a general picture of a historical phenomenon emerges, every historian can have a glimpse into how the phenomenon got concluded, no matter how many diverse facts about it are unearthed. Yet, the most interesting question in historical research is not what happened, but how an event unfolded to produce a particular result. In answering “how,’’ every historian is bound to focus on diverse and specific causes to explain the general outcome. Most historians will not focus on what the importance of a particular cause is simply by analyzing the cause in its own terms but on what that cause means in relation to a web of other multiple causes. Furthermore, since a cause is but one element in a historian’s interpretation of relations between phenomena; what are termed “causes’’ were actually phenomena happening in real time for historical actors. Therefore, the originality of historical interpretation does not arise simply from cherry-picking elements from a single phenomenon to serve as “causes’’ but in linking multiple phenomena into one grand narrative. In creating this grand narrative, the historian’s goal is to show how the phenomena relate to each other, and therefore to produce an original view about how to understand the relationship. What Carr’s arguments do show is that a search for causes and causation is worthwhile because every historical cause originally begins from ascertaining historical facts, which in turn, helps a historian discover and rationally explain new discoveries. Moreover, historical causes need to delineate boundaries between various subfields in History to assure that each field employs appropriate causes which best explain a phenomenon under scrutiny. Furthermore, a proper search for historical causation must not engage in a distinction between ‘rational’ and ‘accidental’ causes because all causes are valuable insofar as they serve the primary function of explaining what happened and why an event occurred. Insofar as the historian’s duty to tell the true sequence of actions behind an event remains valid for all rational or accidental incidents, a historian must concentrate on finding causes to fulfill a cause’s fundamental purpose. Finally, causes are building blocks to facilitate an original and interesting interpretation of a historical event, but causes alone do not possess the power to determine the entire direction of an interpretation. An incisive eye for finding accurate explanations must combine with a historian’s unique imagination and vision to recreate a believable “image’’ of a reality that corresponds closely to the truth which the historian found. The combination can only come about smoothly if a discovery of causes and an original analysis of the significance of the discovery are independent and not concurrent activities of an inquisitive scholarly mind. A respect for a cause’s individuality that is distinct from a historical fact, a respect for a cause’s explanatory prowess rather than its rational or accidental nature, and a separation between the discovery and interpretation of causes are essential to the pursuit of History as a rigorous, liberal, and original science. Endnotes 1 Bernard Barber, “Review of What is History? by Edward Hallett Carr,” American Journal of Sociology, Vol. 68, No. 2 (September, 1962), 260-262; Seymour Itzkoff, “Review of What is History? by Edward Hallett Carr,” History of Education Quarterly, Vol. 2, No. 2 (June, 1962), 132-134; Jacob Price, “Review of What is History?: The George-Macaulay Trevelyan Lectures Delivered in the University of Cambridge, January-March 1961 by Edward Hallett Carr,” History and Theory, Vol. 3, No. 1 (1963), 136-145; Patrick Gardiner, “Review of What Is History? by E. H. Carr,” The Philosophical Review, Vol. 73, No. 4 (October, 1964), 557-559. 2 Aviezer Tucker, “Causation in Historiography,” in Aviezer Tucker ed., A Companion to the Philosophy of History and Historiography (Chichester, United Kingdom: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), 101. 3 Ann Frazier, “The Criterion of Historical Knowledge,” Journal of Thought, Vol. 11, No. 1 (January, 1976), 66-67. 4 Geoffrey Partington, “Relativism, Objectivity, and Moral Judgment,” Journal of Educational Studies, Vol. 27, No. 2 (June, 1979), 125-139. 5 Ann Talbot, “Chance and Necessity in History: E. H. Carr and Leon Trotsky Compared,” Historical Social Research, Vol. 34, No. 3 (2009), 95. 6 Edward Hallett Ibid (New York: Pantheon Books, 1961), 116. 7 Carr, What is History?, 117. 8 Ibid, 121-122. 9 Ibid, 122-123. 10 Ibid, 126. 11 Ibid, 133. 12 Ibid, 137. 13 Ibid, 134. 14 Ibid, 135. 15 Ibid, 141. 16 Ibid, 142. 17 Ibid, 143. 18 Ibid, 127. 19 Ibid, 136. 20 Ibid, 138. In the actual passage, he calls it the “Dodgsonian mode” after the author of Through the Looking Glass. 21 Ibid, 136. References Barber, Bernard, “Review of What is History? by Edward Hallett Carr,” American Journal of Sociology , Vol. 68, No. 2 (September, 1962), 260-262. Edward Hallett Ibid (New York: Pantheon Books, 1961). Frazier, Ann, “The Criterion of Historical Knowledge,” Journal of Thought , Vol. 11, No. 1 (January, 1976), 60-67. Gardiner, Patrick, “Review of What Is History? by E. H. Carr,” The Philosophical Review , Vol. 73, No. 4 (October, 1964), 557-559. Itzkoff, Seymour, “Review of What is History? by Edward Hallett Carr,” History of Education Quarterly , Vol. 2, No. 2 (June, 1962), 132-134. Partington, Geoffrey, “Relativism, Objectivity, and Moral Judgment,” British Journal of Educational Studies , Vol. 27, No. 2 (June, 1979), 125-139. Price, Jacob, “Review of What is History?: The George-Macaulay Trevelyan Lectures Delivered in the University of Cambridge, January-March 1961 by Edward Hallett Carr,” History and Theory , Vol. 3, No. 1 (1963), 136-145. Talbot, Ann, “Chance and Necessity in History: E. H. Carr and Leon Trotsky Compared,” Historical Social Research , Vol. 34, No. 3 (2009), 88-96. Tucker, Aviezer, “Causation in Historiography,” in Tucker, Aviezer ed., A Companion to the Philosophy of History (Chichester, United Kingdom: Wiley-Black- well, 2011), 98-108. Previous Next

How Political Instability Unravels Religious Commitment in the Face of Uncertainty: Navigating Uncertainty in Political Instability and Religiosity in Post-Arab Spring Egypt and Tunisia Abanti Ahmed Abstract This paper explores the dynamic relationship between political instability and religiosity in Egypt and Tunisia, with a focus on the period from 2012 to 2018. The central research question examines how individuals navigate uncertainty and address political challenges, influencing the role of religion in their lives. The argument posits that tangible solutions to political challenges diminish religious commitment, while a lack of such solutions fosters an increased reliance on religion. Drawing on a detailed analysis of events, protests, and economic conditions, the paper reveals that the perception of uncertainty can be controlled and the pursuit of tangible solutions demotes religion to a secondary role in individuals' lives. When addressing citizens' concerns during economic challenges, political repression, and societal grievances, policymakers should consider creating platforms for discussion, promoting religious tolerance, and offering practical avenues for positive change, which can be achieved through religious accommodation laws, interfaith dialogue initiatives, and religious endowments. These initiatives ease society’s broader challenge in engaging in open dialogue about the complex human response to political instability that encourages a reevaluation of how uncertainty is navigated. Introduction The periods after pivotal moments in American history, such as the September 11 attacks and the Great Depression, were marked by sharp, brief increases in church attendance as communities sought solace during troubling times. Religious communities are often the first place that people who feel like they have lost control seek refuge. Is this short-lived surge because they have found alternative solutions or because religion slowly loses its allure in the face of prolonged turmoil? Perhaps online communities provide a platform that empowers apostates to be open and therefore increases their visibility. Alternatively, escalating religious persecution and intolerance might contribute to a decline in religiosity, as individuals distance themselves from beliefs facing opposition. Yet, the root causes behind these shifts remain unclear. In this paper, I will explore the conditions under which political instability decreases religiosity. In the currents of geopolitical turmoil, economic upheaval, and rocky political transitions, one might expect religiosity to be a steadfast anchor, providing relief in uncertain times. Yet, as the Arab Spring swept across the landscapes of Egypt and Tunisia, leaving behind a trail of political transformations, the unexpected occurred: religiosity rather than standing resilient, underwent stark fluctuations. The Arab Spring marked a significant period of upheaval and change across the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region, characterized by widespread protests, demands for political reform, and calls for greater social justice. While Tunisia is often recognized as the birthplace of the Arab Spring, the movement’s mass protests and uprisings transcended national boundaries, influencing countries like Syria, Libya, Yemen, Egypt, and Bahrain, each with its unique socio-political context and grievances. In Egypt, if the period from 2012-2018 was marked by political turmoil, while the period from 2018-2021 focused on economic reforms and stability, then why did religiosity decrease during turmoil but increase during more stable times? In Tunisia, the opposite occurred; religiosity increased during periods of relatively more political instability from ongoing democratic transitions between 2018-2021 than between 2012-2018. In these two cases, fluctuations in religiosity trends were very similar over the same periods of time despite having divergent political outcomes. This is not to postulate that the essence of religion is solely a response to political instability or repression, nor does it assert that religion solely arises from a particular type of uncertainty. Rather, it underscores that within the realm of political instability, a condition that inherently diminishes religious commitment is a type of uncertainty that invites competitive resolutions that take precedence over religious avenues. Despite fluctuations in non-religiosity within a specific sub-group of the Egyptian population over the past decade, it has not exceeded 25%. Consequently, religion consistently maintains a primary role in the lives of the majority within this subset, highlighting its enduring significance and resilience amidst societal changes. My central thesis posits that when individuals are confronted with tangible solutions to alleviate the challenges that they attribute to their political instability, this set of solutions will take precedence over religious commitment. Religious commitment increases when individuals do not have access to these solutions and feel disillusioned by the future. Their perception of the future is important here, and I will discuss in these cases how these perceptions emerge and are sustained during political instability. Consequently, religion assumes a secondary role in individuals’ lives as it is outcompeted by alternative solutions that best alleviate their uncertainties. One secondary argument entails that overall trends of secularization, driven by societal shifts toward modernization, play a central role in diminishing religiosity. As societies modernize and prioritize democratic values, religious influence tends to decline. This argument suggests that broader secularization, marked by the declining significance of religion in public and private spheres, has an impact on individual piety. An alternative argument delves into the role of political Islam during periods of political instability. It suggests that individuals may attribute their political and economic grievances to religious frameworks, especially when political actors weaponize religion for political gains. This attribution may lead to a decline in religious commitment as people scrutinize religion's involvement in political decisions and its consequential impact on their daily lives. This paper will be structured as follows: First, I will discern the type of political instability I will examine. I will explore the types of uncertainties that come with political instability, and how uncertainty is tied to religious commitment. Then, I will showcase what happens to the role of religion when individuals perceive particular types of uncertainty to be present. Finally, I will introduce my cases of Egypt and Tunisia following the Arab Spring and explore how my proposed conditions of political instability are present in both despite their divergent transitions and outcomes. Theory Political instability exhibits diverse characteristics in terms of duration and intensity, ranging from brief upheavals to prolonged disruptions. My focus extends beyond a general assessment of political instability, emphasizing instances of uncertainty directly impacting citizens' daily lives and their perception of the world around them. This perception has cascading effects on how the role of religion is viewed, so I seek to analyze the relationship between individuals' perception of uncertainty with their resulting course of action and religious commitment. Religion, despite being an ancient phenomenon, can also be a psychological response to uncertainty and turbulent times. Religiosity is measured by attitudes toward religious practices, frequency of worship, and overall belief in God. When religion is tied to self-identity, changes within the political sphere are least impactful on individuals’ religiosity. In Lebanon, for example, individuals tend to identify with their religious and ethnic identities before an overarching national identity. In countries where people prioritize nationalism, ethnic divisions, and plurality of religion, the secondary nature of religion in everyday life makes it more susceptible to change in response to changes in the political sphere such as regime change, citizen repression, economic hardship, and military and police brutality. For instance, in Turkey, there are reports of decreased religiosity among youth and even self-reported accounts of hijabi women who wear the hijab in the public eye, but have said to have already “left Islam.” The Republic of Turkey—whose founding father, Ataturk, had revolutionized Turkey as a “modern” state, adopted a Latin alphabet in place of Ottoman Turkish, and removed religion in state affairs—has consequently experienced decades of secularization. Now, with President Erodgan, Turkish society reaches a crossroads with religion and secularization; as Erdogan increases the role of Islam in politics, such as reducing interest rates because “Islam demands it” while inflation increases. As a result, Turkish citizens attribute their economic challenges to religion. While religion may not be the direct cause of these difficulties, the deliberate political weaponization of Islam can contribute to this perception among the population. I postulate that there are two types of uncertainty: controlled uncertainty and random uncertainty. Under controlled uncertainty, individuals have an optimistic outlook that they have the power and agency to pursue tangible courses of action to relieve their uncertainties. In contrast, under random uncertainty, individuals have the pessimistic outlook that their uncertainties are beyond their control. This perception is coupled with a sense of disillusionment regarding the future. In Israel, for example, women responded to random uncertainty by participating in palm recitation to better cope with the uncertain conditions of the Second Intifada and the threat of terror. They inhibited both an absence of control over their uncertain circumstances and disillusionment with the future, which increased their reliance on rituals as a coping mechanism. Trauma is particularly powerful in identity formation, as it brings out what attributes and experiences individuals have in common. While existing research suggests that instability can heighten individuals' religious commitment by reminding them of their shared religious beliefs, this study aims to delve deeper by considering not just the presence of instability, but also its nature and activity. The activity of instability (e.g. living in a constant state of poverty vs. experiencing escalating instability) determines the type of uncertainty individuals perceive of their circumstances. When faced with controlled uncertainty, where the level of instability remains relatively stable, individuals may rely more on their religious beliefs as a source of solace and guidance. However, in situations of escalating instability, where uncertainty intensifies over time, individuals may be more inclined to explore alternative solutions beyond religion to address immediate challenges brought about by political instability. "The consequential secondary role of religion is supported by the notion of secular competition—when economic opportunities or social norms conflict with religious obligations—that individuals face when considering alternative solutions. For instance, during the Great Depression, as conditions worsened, many Americans cataloged the failures of capitalism and voluntarism, emphasizing citizens’ basic responsibilities to one another. Even conservative religious leaders began to join social workers and hungry Americans in calling for more vigorous federal intervention as they faced the suffering before them and their own inability to alleviate it. Their efforts took off in the summer of 1932, when tens of thousands of out-of-work World War I veterans and their families marched to Washington, DC to demand early payment of promised service bonuses. Yet as the federal government extended its place in Americans’ daily lives, leaders of some religious institutions feared for their own status. This historical example illustrates how under conditions of political instability, individuals may perceive a sense of control over their uncertain situation and may prioritize tangible courses of action over religious commitment due to the perceived favorability of the outcomes they desire." To determine, then, the conditions under which political instability decreases religiosity, I argue that when individuals face controlled uncertainty, their reliance on religion becomes secondary as alternative solutions with the potential for immediate favorable outcomes take precedence, but random uncertainty results in the increase in religiosity that many might predict. The cases of Tunisia and Egypt offer valuable insights into the dynamics between political instability, tangible actions, and the evolving role of religion under political instability. Case of Tunisia: Controlled Uncertainty In the case of Tunisia, the Arab Spring catalyzed in December 17, 2010 when Mohamed Bouazizi, a 26-year-old street vendor in the impoverished city of Sidi Bouzid, Tunisia, self-immolated. This came after market inspectors confiscated some of Bouazizi’s wares, claiming that he lacked the necessary permit. Bouazizi’s suicide was the result of desperation rather than symbolizing a political cause, though it was publicly interpreted as an act of protest. Several reward systems were activated after Bouazizi's suicide. Bouazizi was considered as a "hero for Tunisians and the Arab world as a whole" by Tunisian film directors, assumed a martyr by the Progressive Democratic Party (PDP) of Tunisia, and named TIME magazine’s person of the year in 2011. The publicized suicide of Bouazizi made many people in similar situations believe that suicide was an appropriate action for them as well. Bouazizi was a university graduate distraught with the inability to financially support his mother and siblings, reflecting the vast majority of Tunisians experiencing soaring rates of unemployment. In 2009, the overall unemployment rate in Tunisia was 13.3%, but 30% among Tunisia's youth, who made up almost a third of the total population. The Tunisian government decreased expenditures from 45% to 29% from the 1970s to the 1990s, lowering the quality of public goods and services. Hence, Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, president of Tunisia from 1987 to 2011, along with his family and other elites, created and strengthened the inner circle of cronyism—political elites appropriating economic resources and creating privileges by preventing outsiders. Controlling half the country’s wealth, the enterprises they owned produced 3% of total output and employed only 1% of the labor force. In addition, Ben Ali never allowed genuine political opposition to emerge and elections were manipulated: In 1989, he supposedly garnered 99.3% of the vote; in 1994, 99.9% and five years later, 99.4%. Political opponents — in particular Islamists— were persecuted, tortured or forced into exile. Tunisia's press was censored. According to the theory of suicide proposed by French sociologist Emile Durkheim, Bouazizi's self-immolation would be best categorized as anomic suicide. This type of suicide occurs when individuals experience a chronic state of societal disorganization, where traditional sources of regulation, such as religion and government, fail to provide moral constraints in the face of an unregulated capitalist economy. Anomic suicide is often associated with a sense of disillusionment about the future, leading individuals to see self-infliction as a way out. It's important to note that self-immolation directly contravenes Islamic law, as the Quran prohibits harm to oneself. Therefore, Bouazizi’s act can be viewed as a poignant illustration of the prioritization of social circumstances over religious beliefs. Despite the religious prohibition, Bouazizi saw self-immolation as a desperate means to escape his dire socio-economic situation. This conflict between religious doctrine and the perceived urgency of his socio-economic plight highlights how individuals may prioritize immediate material concerns over religious commitments. After years of severe economic hardship, during which most Tunisians were struggling to survive while President Ben Ali’s family, friends, and allies were getting richer, Bouazizi’s self-immolation marked the tipping point. Tunisians began to protest. Tensions heightened on December 22nd when another young man from Sidi Bouzid climbed up an electricity pylon and electrocuted himself on the cables, saying he was fed up with being unemployed. The new wave of strikes first erupted on December 17th in Sidi Bouzid, and came after the labor unions announced that they would organize peaceful marches to urge the government to improve its performance in development and employment. A few days later, a teenager was killed when police in Sidi Bouzid opened fire on protesters. An interior ministry spokesperson said police had been forced to "shoot in self-defense" from protesters who were setting police cars and buildings ablaze. The Tunisian government had been trying to manage the crisis politically before using force and the Tunisian development minister traveled to Sidi Bouzid to announce a new $10m employment program. The Tunisian government’s concessions—often met with skepticism on its sincerity and implementation—were a response to the resilience and violence of the crisis, showing Tunisians that the government was reacting to their demands rather than solely resorting to violence. This instilled hope in Tunisians regarding the positive trajectory of their protests. Despite protests, the rich were getting richer, the poor were not only getting poorer, but also had no job prospects, no ability to express themselves, and no way of criticizing government policy. The protests that erupted in Sidi Bouzid were spontaneous, yet they were marked by a level of organization and sophistication that appeared grounded in the sheer determination of those who participated in them. Tunisians faced a more costly and risky path due to being the first country to protest, unlike Egyptians who benefited from the momentum generated in Tunisia. The cost of cronyism and corruption to Tunisia is much higher because it also hinders job creation and investment and contributes to social exclusion. The presence of cronyism exacerbates the costs of protest by increasing repression, legal and financial consequences, social stigmatization, and psychological toll for protesters. The fear of retaliation from security forces was high, and protesting carried significant risks, including arrest, torture, and disappearance. For Tunisians, the standard method of expressing dissent has been informally within the party framework, but the masses participate in riots and demonstrations. The first president of Tunisia, Habib Bourguiba (1957-1987), carefully appointed members of the political elite and removed them from office in such a way as to prevent anyone from building up a political base to keep factions to a minimum. The Tunisian economy was heavily centralized around the ruling elite and suffered from widespread corruption and cronyism. Economic grievances were a major driver of the Tunisian uprising, and many protesters were motivated by frustrations with unemployment, poverty, and lack of economic opportunities. The economic challenges faced by Tunisians may have increased the perceived costs of protesting, as individuals risked losing their livelihoods or facing economic hardships as a result of participating in protests. In Tunisia, the uprising was driven by a broad-based coalition of activists, students, workers, and ordinary citizens who came together to demand change. Solidarity among protesters helped to mitigate some of the risks associated with protesting by providing emotional support, practical assistance, and collective action. From this, it is clear that Tunisians perceived their uncertainties as resolvable through risky actions, therefore partaking in actions that would immediately relieve their grievances rather than remaining disillusioned with their future, which ultimately decreased their religiosity during this period. On January 13, 2011, Ben Ali appeared on national television and made broad concessions to the opposition, promising not to seek reelection as president when his term would end in 2014. He expressed regret over the deaths of protesters and vowed to order police to stop using live fire except in self-defense. Addressing some of the protesters’ grievances, he said he would reduce food prices and loosen restrictions on Internet use. Ben Ali’s concessions did not satisfy the protesters, who continued to clash with security forces, resulting in several deaths. The next day, a state of emergency was declared, and Tunisian state media reported that the government had been dissolved, Ben Ali fled Tunisia, and that legislative elections would be held in the next six months. Ben Ali’s reign from 1987-2011 had ended and Prime Minister Mohammed Ghannouchi, appointed by Ben Ali in 1999, assumed power. The aftermath of Ben Ali's departure marked a significant moment for Tunisia, as protests persisted despite the regime change. Protesters had gathered in the area to demand that the interim government step down and the current parliament be disbanded. Demonstrators were also asking for suspension of the current constitution and the election of an assembly that can write a new one, as well as organize the transition to democracy. There were daily protests that members of Ben Ali's Democratic Constitutional Rally (RCD) party were in the new government and thousands of largely peaceful anti-RCD protests emerged.36 After persistent clashes between protesters and armed forces, Ghannouchi announced his resignation particularly following the death of three people in the country's capital, Tunis: “I am resigning today because I am not willing to be a person that takes decisions that could cause casualties," he told reporters Sunday. He also questioned "why a lot of people considered their main target to keep attacking the government, although a lot of its members agreed to join in this critical time." Ghannouchi’s resignation can be seen as a tangible outcome of the protesters' efforts. It signifies that their voices were heard and that their actions had a direct impact on the political landscape. Ghannouchi's acknowledgment of the need to avoid decisions that could cause casualties reflects a recognition of the legitimacy of the protesters' grievances and a commitment to avoiding further violence. Bouazizi's actions were instrumental in differentiating between controlled uncertainty and random uncertainty, providing Tunisians with a tangible catalyst that transformed disillusionment into proactive engagement with the future. Role of Religion Becomes Secondary As people sought to find concrete control over uncertain circumstances amid political instability, their dedication to religious beliefs weakened. Involvement in organized protests, the confrontation of severe repression, and the navigation of severe economic hardships became the focal points of their attention, demoting religious commitment to a secondary position. In 2012, the Pew Research Center surveyed Tunisians and found that though democratic principles were high priorities, as were the economy and security. 92% said that improving the economy ranked as the most important priority while 79% said that it was very important to maintain law and order. Also, people found democratic freedoms more important than religious divisions. This shows that Tunisians found these economic and democratic principles to take precedence over other grievances they faced. In this time period, a perceived resolution for these priority issues was through civil resistance, demonstrations, general strikes, and self-immolations, that were leading to visible outcomes and relieving uncertainty in a way that religion was not. Outside the party system, Tunisians became politically active, especially Tunisian women, who protested the draft constitution, the economy, and the ruling coalition. Within this political context of newly found political liberalizations, similar to Egypt, various religious groups started coming out of the underground in order to take advantage of the political openings. As these political openings were prioritized, trust in religious leaders went down from 38% to 35% between 2012 and 2018 and those who say they are not religious increased from 18% in 2012 to 30% in 2018. Tunisian Muslims that attend mosques at least some of the time decreased from 52% in 2012 to 30% in 2018. Tunisia’s troubled economy was the biggest challenge in 2017. The national unity government took some measures to stimulate growth, but it struggled to implement key reforms. High unemployment, a rising inflation rate, and tax increases plagued Tunisians. In January 2018, protests erupted in more than a dozen cities over price hikes. This further emphasizes the continued prioritization of addressing economic challenges by the Tunisian people. Secularization In Tunisia, the decades of Ben Ali’s secular regime had excluded religion from the public sphere. Its cascading effects have led Tunisia to have notably lower religiosity than other Middle East and North Africa (MENA) countries with the proportion of people who said they were not religious increasing from 15% in 2013 to over 30% in 2018. The ousting of Ben Ali created political opportunities for Islamists, yet the secularizing impact of his two-decade-long regime remains a compelling explanation for the decline in religiosity between 2012-2018. Following the dissolution and drafting of a new constitution in October 2011, Tunisia no longer enforced secularism through repression. Surveillance, restriction, and harassment of Islamist activists that were previously practiced by the government ceased during the year. The new draft gave rise to Islamists to fight for power. In the months that followed the 2010-2011 revolution, several hundred imams were replaced, often by violent Islamists who accused the imams of having collaborated with the former Ben Ali regime. By October 2011, the Ministry of Religious Affairs announced that it had lost control of about 400 mosques.6 The “uncontrolled” classification means that a mosque’s imams were operating without the official authorization of the Ministry of Religious Affairs. In Tunisia’s new political landscape, the content of prayer services was also no longer controlled by government authorities, a step many Tunisians approved of and viewed as part of the new liberties acquired through the revolution. In 2014, secular parties edged out Islamists at the polls. In the October parliamentary elections, Nidaa Tounes, a secularist political party, won 85 seats compared to 69 for Ennahda, an Islamist political party. Veteran politician Mohamed Beji Caid Essebsi, the head of Nidaa Tounes and a former prime minister, was elected president in December. But turnout was lowest among the young, who ignited the Arab uprisings; among cities, the turnout was lowest in Sidi Bouzid, the birthplace of the uprisings that spread across the Middle East and North Africa. In 2016, Nidaa Tounes, the ruling secular party in Parliament, splintered. Ennahda founder Rachid Ghannouchi declared the Islamist party was abandoning political Islam. Amidst competition between Islamist and secular parties, when asked whether Turkey or Saudi Arabia is a better model for the role of religion in Tunisia’s government, 78% of Tunisians prefer the more secular Turkey, seeing it as a model for religion and politics. While the trends toward secularization during this period seemingly impact individual piety levels, the dominant controlled uncertainty factor holds greater significance, given that secularization has not been exclusive to this period and has prevailed since the era of Ben Ali. Despite the freedom of Islamist parties to enter political life, the government’s loss of control over regulating mosques, and new liberties granted toward religious freedom, levels of non-religiosity still prevailed. Political Islam In contrast to secularization efforts during Tunisia’s political transition, the country simultaneously experienced concerted efforts from Islamists to increase the role of religion in politics. During this period, the presence of political Islam coupled with economic and political insecurities might have led individuals to deviate from religious commitments as they witnessed greedy power grabs from both Islamists and secular parties who employed religion as a political instrument. From January to October 2011, an interim government moved toward reform, recognizing new political parties and disbanding Ben Ali’s party. On October 23, Ennahda, a moderate Islamist party, won the national elections and formed a coalition government with two secular parties. Ennahda first emerged as an Islamist movement in response to repression at the hands of a secularist, authoritarian regime that denied citizens religious freedom and the rights of free expression and association. In 2014, the new constitution incorporated mentions of Islam as the religion and culture of the Tunisian people while also establishing a state role for protecting freedom of religious worship and expression. Ennahda, formerly an Islamist movement, transitioned into a party of "Muslim democrats," distancing itself from the label of "Islamism" due to negative associations with radical extremism. This shift reflects a strategic response to counter the misinterpretation and abuse of Islam by radical groups like ISIS, positioning Ennahda as a moderate political force advocating for democratic principles. Ennahda’s re-labelling as “Muslim democrats” reflects frustration with outsiders not understanding its supposedly true democratic nature which may have resulted in individuals associating their challenges with these religious changes in governance and frustration with religion being politicized. Today, Tunisians are less concerned about the role of religion than about building a governance system that is democratic and inclusive and that meets their aspirations for a better life. However, the interplay between political Islam and religiosity is tied to perceptions of uncertainty. The prevalent economic hardships—regardless of the presence of political Islam—left Tunisians uncertain about the future. In 2011, 78% of Tunisians expressed optimism that the economy would improve to some extent within the following 2-3 years. However, by 2018, this hope had significantly dwindled, with only 33% of Tunisians maintaining confidence in a better economic outlook over the same timeframe. Case of Egypt Egypt stands as a prominent example of a country profoundly affected by the events in Tunisia. The success of the Tunisian Revolution in ousting President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali provided a template for dissent, inspiring Egyptians to rise up against the longstanding rule of President Hosni Mubarak. The images and narratives of Tunisian protesters challenging authoritarianism and demanding change resonated with Egyptians, fueling their own aspirations for political reform and social justice. In Egypt, decades of corruption, police brutality, media censorship, unemployment, and inflation led labor and youth activists, feminists, and individual members of the Muslim Brotherhood to protest. From the occupation of downtown Cairo’s Tahrir Square, to labor strikes, acts of civil disobedience, clashes with armed forces, and others, violence between protestors and the police resulted in hundreds of deaths and thousands of injuries. The wave of organized protests gained momentum following the oustings of Presidents Hosni Mubarak and Mohamed Morsi in 2011 and 2013, respectively. These pivotal events demonstrated to Egyptians that mass mobilization could be an effective means of addressing the longstanding issues they had endured. Despite Mubarak's lengthy rule from 1981 until his departure in 2011, previous protests had proven ineffective in leading to his resignation. However, the timely catalyst provided by Tunisia's Revolution ignited a sense of urgency among Egyptians, inspiring them to seize upon the pan-Arabist phenomenon sweeping the region. This newfound determination empowered Egyptians to confront their decades-long grievances head-on. Egyptians, seeking an immediate end to enduring abuse and corruption, embraced large, organized protests despite harsh governmental crackdown and threats of death. Their perception of the uncertainty faced during this period appeared to be remedied by protests and political changes, thereby diminishing the role of religion to a secondary position. The Egyptian case took advantage of the momentum that the Tunisian revolution brought, making it unique to examine the intricate relationship between their resistance and the decline in religious commitment, challenging the notion that religious avenues are the primary recourse during times of political instability. Controlled Uncertainty Egypt has been an authoritarian government since 1952 with periodic revolts and unrest. The causes of the 2011 protests against Mubarak also existed in 1952, when the Free Officers, who led the Egyptian Revolution of 1952, ousted King Farouk. Issues such as inherited power, corruption, under-development, unemployment, and unfair distribution of wealth have persisted as constants in Egyptian life since 1952. Successive Egyptian regimes have systematically used repression to ensure order. The authoritarian barter “bread and security for freedom” has been widely disseminated along with the notion that the country was not yet ready for democracy. Egypt has long grappled with a systemic pattern of human rights abuses and repression embedded in its governance, prompting citizens to attribute their crises directly to the government. While these challenges have persisted since 1952, worsening economic conditions, government corruption, and Mubarak’s rule, coupled with the influence of the Arab Spring ignited by the events in Tunisia, led Egyptians to unite in similar protests in 2011. The momentum from Tunisia became a catalyst, empowering Egyptians to engage in hands-on initiatives challenging Mubarak’s authoritarian government. President Hosni Mubarak's regime was also repressive, but opposition groups had more space for political activism compared to Tunisia, which lacked a traditional history of political dissent. Mubarak’s regime escalated violence against protesters significantly as protests enlarged with the anticipation of Mubarak’s resignation. Pro-Mubarak demonstrators targeted journalists, and, in what became known as the “Battle of the Camel," plainclothes policemen rode into Tahrir Square on camels and horses to attack unarmed protesters. The issuing of laws restricting public assembly allowed security officials to ban protests up to their discretion and were consequently allowed to use indiscriminate force on defying protestors. Egyptians mobilized protests in diverse ways and when they were repressed through laws restricting public assembly or with increasingly violent police responses, organized protests grew larger and more inflamed. Messages were picked out in stones and plastic tea cups, graffiti, newspapers and leaflets, and al-Jazeera's TV cameras which broadcast hours of live footage from the square everyday. When one channel of communication was blocked, people tried another. Mubarak had grown fearful of the protestors’ relentlessness—first pledging to form a new government, then promising not to seek another term in the next elections, and later becoming increasingly defiant about not stepping down—all the while asking protesters to return to normal. Eventually, Mubarak was forced to step down and the Supreme Council of Egyptian Armed Forces (SCAF) assumed leadership of the country on February 11, 2011. Protests still endured; during March and April 2011, SCAF granted a number of concessions to protesters’ demands in an effort to clear the streets of continued demonstrations. Human Rights Abuses Mubarak’s regime initially responded to the protests with brute force and tear gas, beating and arresting protesters. The regime responded to later increases in protest mobilization by shutting down internet service and mobile phone text messages, replacing regular police forces with the military, and imposing a curfew. This exemplifies a cycle of human rights abuses that not only heightened violent responses but also fueled additional protests, as Egyptians became increasingly outraged. Egyptians faced constant repression and abuse for decades under Mubarak’s rule, and used religious commitment as a coping mechanism before Tunisia catalyzed the Arab Spring, bringing newfound hope that Egyptians could better their circumstances. Since 2013, the military and security-led regime has reinstated its control over society and citizens with an iron fist, curtailing freedom of information and banning freedom of expression. Peaceful political participation and civil society activism, which were the pillars of the January uprising, have been de facto outlawed by the adoption of an arsenal of undemocratically spirited and restrictive laws. Protesting was costly and these laws banning public assembly made it much more risky for Egyptians to participate in protests, but the momentum of the revolution had assured individuals that there would be large turnouts, therefore bolstering their confidence in protesting as a means to confront the military and security-led regime. Egyptians, fueled by the momentum of their revolution and triggered by the ousting of Mubarak and Morsi, found empowerment in protesting. The logical nature of their efforts heightened hope for the future, as each overthrow or victory seemed to validate their path to stability. The move against Morsi deepened the political schism. Millions of Egyptians had taken to the streets against Morsi, but large numbers also protested the ousting of Morsi. A crackdown by security forces killed hundreds and Egypt declared a state of emergency. The emergency measures allowed security forces to detain people indefinitely for virtually any reason. They also granted broad powers to restrict public gatherings and media freedom. Gallup classifies respondents as thriving, struggling, or suffering, according to how they rate their current and future lives on a ladder scale numbered from 0 to 10 based on the Cantril Self-Anchoring Striving Scale. Egyptians gave their lives some of the worst ratings they ever have in the weeks leading up to former President Mohamed Morsi's removal from office. The 34% of Egyptians who rated their lives poorly enough to be considered suffering in June was up from 23% in January. Fewer than one in 10 rated their lives positively enough to be considered thriving. Role of Religion Becomes Secondary Fridays frequently became “days of rage” in Egypt and elsewhere because of the convenience of organizing would-be protesters during Friday prayers. Likewise, mosques themselves are often said to have served as organizational hubs for protest. Mosques functioned as a locus of anti-government agitation and logistical centers of preparation for demonstrations. While it may seem that protest activities at mosques contributed to an apparent increase in mosque attendance, thus suggesting elevated overall religious commitment, these places of worship primarily assumed roles as organizational centers during the peak of the protests, prioritizing logistics over prayer and religious services. Although, of course, mosques and Friday services were still attended for customary reasons, the dual functionality of the mosque introduced secular competition as highlighted earlier in the Theory section. Individuals are confronted with the dilemma of choosing between prayer and protest. Protest is a costly behavior that becomes progressively less risky as the number of participants increases. Hence, overall Mosque participation during the height of mass protests between the overthrow of Mubarak in 2011 to the beginning of El-Sisi’s presidency in 2014, declined. Prior to the Arab Spring, strength in religious beliefs were at high levels: the belief that things would be better if there were more people with strong religious beliefs decreased from 89.8% in 2005 to 83.4% in 2013. Additionally, the percentage of individuals with the belief that religious faith is an important quality in children decreased from 47.1% in 2005 to 27.7% in 2013. Muslims who say they attend the mosque at least some of the time decreased from around 85% in 2012-2014 to 75% in 2018-2019. Secularization In Egypt, as the regime experienced waves of regime changes and upheavals, the period between 2012-2016 witnessed efforts toward constitutional reform emphasizing the protection of civil liberties, the separation of powers, and the establishment of a democratic system of government. While Islam remained the state religion, the constitution also guaranteed freedom of religion and prohibited discrimination based on religion. The constitutional assembly was almost entirely composed of Islamists (Muslim Brothers, Salafis, and independent Islamists). Dozens of articles addressed individual rights and liberties of Egyptian citizens, which was more than the number of articles mentioning Islam. By enshrining these goals in the constitution, the government was held accountable, making failure to fulfill its constitutional obligations not just an act of inefficiency but anti-constitutional. Examples include Article 61, which demands to eradicate illiteracy within ten years; Article 66, which requires the state to provide opportunities for sports and physical exercise; and Article 184, which instructs the state to assimilate living standards across the country. While Islamist groups participated in the drafting of the constitution, the outcome reflected a broader commitment to democratic principles and social reforms driven by the demands of the people. In 2013, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi ousted Morsi and campaigned for the presidency on an anti-Islamist platform. He deemed the Muslim Brotherhood a terrorist organization, imposing restrictions on their operations and political activities. Liberals called the Brotherhood’s vision for Egypt “totally contradictory with the Egyptian national character,” which they argued respected pluralism of religion and the separation of religion and politics. The banning of the Muslim Brotherhood has likely contributed to the loss of faith in Islamist parties. El-Sisi also claimed that ‘the religious discourse in the Islamic World has lost the values of humanity in Islam’ and rejected the idea of an Islamic state. When he won the presidency in 2014, many moderate Muslims supported El-Sisi because he had taken a clear stand against Islamist radicalism and expressed a genuine desire to support a peaceful understanding of Islam. And in 2018, when El-Sisi ran again, he was re-elected with 97 percent of the vote, although the turnout was low and he faced virtually no competition. The crackdown against human rights defenders and independent rights organizations have made effective monitoring of the elections extremely difficult, especially with the number of organizations that were granted permission to monitor the elections being 44 percent fewer than in the last presidential election in 2014. This has resulted in elections facing criticism for not meeting the standards of a free and fair democratic process. This can also suggest that through negative partisanship, or the phenomenon of individuals forming their political opinions based on their opposition to certain individuals or parties, people viewed El-Sisi as either the best among limited options or endorsed his secularization efforts. Political Islam When governments weaponize a religion that the majority of their populations affiliate with, it is reasonable to link political Islam and individual piety to assert that piety levels and overall religiosity may decrease. This is a competitive argument because perceptions of Islam are directly shaped by how their governments implement Islamic laws, often at the expense of neglecting the needs of the people. Individuals are increasingly witnessing religion being wielded as a political tool. On one hand, they are promised welfare services in the name of Islam, while on the other hand, their repression is justified through the manipulation of Islamic texts. While El-Sisi initially presented himself as anti-Islamist, appearing on stage with the Coptic Pope, the Sheikh of Al-Azhar (the country's most esteemed institution of Islamic learning), and Galal al-Murra, a prominent Salafist, following the overthrow of President Mohamed Morsi, he privately holds conservative Islamic views. In A 2006 paper that Sisi wrote for the U.S. Army War College, he argued that democracy in the Middle East could only be of an Islamic nature, and that Islam provides the intellectual framework for his political beliefs. In addition, in 2011, when crowds protested against the military for imposing “virginity tests” on female protesters, Sisi declared that it was his responsibility to “decide if [protesters] were honorable.” However, the fluctuating influences of political Islam in Egypt between 2012-2018 indicate that it is not a strong enough condition on its own for political instability to decrease religiosity. Even the most liberal Egyptian party in 2012, the Free Egyptians Party, publicly defended a constitutional clause making the principles of Sharia the source of legislation. Even when the dominant strategy of the incumbent government was to combat political Islam—as has been the case since July 2013—the formal discourse of President El-Sisi included frequent mentions of the Qur'an and Hadith.33 The Muslim Brotherhood witnessed a consistent rise in support from July 2011 to February 2012 at 63%, followed by a sharp decline in April 2012 to 42%. Prior to the Brotherhood’s rise to power, many believed that its political inclusion would lead to its democratization and moderation. Throughout the eighteen days of demonstrations in January and February 2011 that toppled Mubarak, Brotherhood leaders were aware that the protests were not dominated by Islamist ideas but rather oriented toward the broad goals of freedom and social justice. As a result, Brotherhood leaders were deliberate in their strategies to appeal to voters by not expressing their Islamist views too overtly. This deception was caught on by Egyptians. Nevertheless, between 2011 and 2013, the old state chose to cooperate with Islamists, including the Brotherhood, to neutralize the revolutionary mood in the country. After coming to power, the Brotherhood quickly lost support among the main recipients of its social welfare network: the poor. The Brotherhood’s relationship with the poor was entirely clientelist and was concerned exclusively with creating an electoral base as opposed to developing a more substantive ideological or political relationship. It preferred to reproduce poverty as long as it translated into welfare recipients and, by extension, loyal voters. However, the strength of the argument that the presence of political Islam decreases religiosity diminishes when considering the current scenario, where political Islam exerts even more influence, and yet, religiosity has increased. This discrepancy suggests that the dynamics between political Islam and religiosity are subject to evolving perceptions of uncertainty. During the height of the revolution, Egyptians may have perceived their uncertainties about the future differently, driven by a sense of optimism and the belief in activism. In contrast, the present disillusionment with uncertainties about the future may be contributing to an enhanced role of religion in their lives. The increased religiosity could be a response to the perceived inadequacy of political solutions to address current challenges, prompting individuals to turn to religion as a source of guidance in times of persistent uncertainty. Conclusion I have posited that the conditions of political instability that decrease religiosity are controlled uncertainty and the secondary role of religion. When individuals are presented with concrete solutions to address challenges they attribute to their political circumstances, these solutions will assume greater significance than religious commitment. And when individuals lack access to these tangible solutions and experience disillusionment about the future, religious commitment tends to increase. The pivotal factor in this dynamic is individuals' perception of the future, and this analysis delved into how these perceptions manifested and endured during periods of political instability. Consequently, the outcome is a demotion of religion to a secondary role in individuals' lives, outcompeted by favorable solutions that emerge from the uncertainties they face. It's noteworthy that Egypt has faced challenges since the Mubarak regime, raising concerns about the possibility of a new Arab Spring. Despite the ongoing deterioration of human rights conditions, the intensity that characterized the Arab Spring has diminished. Reflecting on the revolution has yielded diverse opinions, with some viewing it as a success while others perceiving it as a failure. Although repression in Egypt may arguably be more severe today, the period between 2011 and 2016 marked a distinct phase. The ongoing debates surrounding the success or failure of the initial Arab Spring make it seem improbable for a similar movement to occur. Despite the immediate changes following the revolution, both Egypt and Tunisia continue to grapple with longstanding grievances. Tunisia, in particular, is confronted with economic challenges, with approximately 6,000 Tunisians joining ISIS, marking the highest per capita rate globally. Tunisians became disillusioned with post-revolution politics, especially well-educated youths, who experienced unemployment at extremely high rates. Despite the gradual political progress seen over the past seven years, economic rewards have yet to emerge, spurring some to radicalize. Some remaining questions that emerge are: Do individuals revert to heightened religious commitment after resolving political instability, or does the influence of tangible solutions have a lasting impact on their religious commitment? 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