An Attack on Island-Autonomy
November 3, 2008
Full Title: Why individual flourishing takes a lot more than the individual: An attack on island-autonomy pictures
In light of my post on the problems I had with the Singularity Summit, and the Singularity movement generally, I thought I’d share a short paper I wrote that fleshes out one area of my concern. Basically it’s an attack on island-autonomy through the lens of a science fiction novel.
Keep in mind, for any philosophy or ideology there are two things it important to distinguish between. One is the concepts they employ to explain their position. The second is the conception, or perhaps better still, the picture, that is created from the specific employment of those concepts. For instance, Aristotle’s virtue ethics employs the concept of the good life (eudaimonia). Now, the concept of the good life can mean a lot of different things. In other words, our conceptions of that concept can vary greatly. Some people think the good life is one filled with honor, others that it’s filled with volunteering all your time to help those less fortunate, and others still think it has to do with having good friends and intimate relationships. All these people are employing the same concept (the good life) but their conceptions differ.
In both Transhumanism and Singularitarianism (though I think much more in Transhumanism) the conception they have of the good life, one where my happiness can be achieved with no concern for the wellbeing of others, is untenable upon further reflection.
I would love feedback on this.
Title: Beggars in Spain: The values we ought to live by, the creatures we could be
Introduction and Overview
There are tensions in the philosophical principles and life-structuring narratives we hold. We want to find ourselves and yet we want to make ourselves anew.[1] We think a just world is one where every child has an equal opportunity to succeed and yet we work in order to ensure that our own children have better opportunities than we did – that they get the head start we wish we had. And, especially deep rooted in the American psyche, we want to be autonomous, where that conjures up visions of man-as-an-island, as someone who doesn’t depend on (or, God forbid, need!) anyone else. And we aspire to that ideal while also deeply and sincerely wanting to be a member of a loving supportive community – a community of individuals who help each other not because they’re in some way contractually obligated or morally bound to, but because they want to, because they take pleasure in the helping – in the loving.
How we come to understand the interplay between these final two discordant ideals in our lives such as to structure their value in our lives hierarchically is of profound importance as we form arguments concerning the permissibility (moral and otherwise) of human enhancement technologies. We aim at creating ourselves in the image of that which we find good and beautiful. Accordingly, we find the principles and narratives shaping our lives as good and beautiful – as worthy of our pursuing them because their actualization is seen as a manifestation of the good and beautiful that we seek. When one holds the principle “treat others as ends in themselves,” one thinks that a good principle to hold – that a life aiming to align itself with it is a better life than one without it.
How we come to view certain principles as good, and narratives as worth acting out, is complicated. It seems clear that some of these life-structuring notions and tensions are so embedded in our culture that they are never raised to the level of conscious reflection. In contrast to the culturally-indoctrinated ideals, others are consciously chosen and pursued only after critical reflection. The point however is that no matter how we come to identify certain ideals as good, once we do, they profoundly shape our lives.
How we resolve the island-autonomy/ social-community tension will be reflected in how we view ourselves in relation to others, which in turn will shape what we think we owe each other and what a flourishing, beautiful, and good life will look like to us. Thus, how we came to hold these conflicting ideals is, at this point, irrelevant. We hold them. We must now raise them to the level of conscious and critical evaluation. The views we have on enhancing ourselves and our progeny are saturated in a context founded on these deeper ideals that shape our conception of the good and beautiful life. In other words, our views on enhancement technologies are merely the result of applying these deep-set ideals to the real-world questions that confront us. As such, if we want to make good, just, and beautiful decisions at the level of application we must first and foremost think deeply about the ideals and tensions that shape our values, and more fundamentally, our lives.
In her novella Beggars in Spain, Nancy Kress grapples with just this tension. And, by constructing a world in which value and meaning are derived from things other than, and arguably more basic than, the contract, Kress makes a potent and moving case against our viewing ourselves as island-autonomists. In this paper I will discuss how Kress makes her case by exploring how she constructs the various sources of value for her characters. I will then discuss what her conclusion implies about what it means to be human and what it is we should be asking of ourselves and others as we venture further down our techno-laden rabbit hole.
The Construction of Value: Through an Attack on Objectivism
The first step is to get clearer on which island-autonomist view of a good human life Kress is specifically arguing against. As Kress has explicitly stated, she was “enraptured” with Ayn Rand in her early twenties. She found the emphasis on the individual’s responsibility to lead and make good their own life seductive. Eventually, however, she saw the fundamental flaws in Objectivism and decided to use her old view as a pole she would engage and critique in Beggars in Spain.[2] Now that I hope it’s clear what formal view she’ll be arguing against (Objectivism), it makes sense to say a few things about what that view consists in.
Objectivism, the philosophy of Ayn Rand, argues that the moral purpose of life is “the pursuit of one’s own happiness.”[3] To help add some substance to that rather formal account I find it useful to include a quote from John Galt, Rand’s protagonist in Atlas Shrugged, “I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask him to live for mine.” As I hope the quote suggests, the Objectivist account of how an individual ought to live their life fixates on individual achievement irrespective and independent of the doings of others. One will not live for another, nor want another to live for them. You’re on your own. If you want to interact with others, it’ll be through a contractual agreement made between equals. If there’s no explicit contract, there’s neither duty nor obligation to help, nor even, to interact. For Objectivists, you don’t owe anyone anything unless you explicitly agree to. In fact, if you do sacrifice your own ends for those of others, that’s immoral, as you’re going against the maxims that you, as a rational self-loving agent, ought to be living by. This, in more detail, is the view Kress wishes to critique.
In order to mount an attack on this view, Kress employs multiple techniques including what perhaps is the most obvious method – a final inner dialogue her protagonist, Leisha, has where she concludes that an ecology of help is how one ought to view the nature of human relations. I however find this final dialogue to be less powerful than her other more subtle method of critique. I want to argue that by contrasting the slogans and philosophical commitments Leisha says she holds with the way she actually behaves, Kress shows us that value construction is unavoidably and inextricably connected to our being active members of social communities filled with people we care about and goals we mutually pursue.
The Views She States, The Views She Lives
During a heated conversation with Tony about his creation of Sanctuary, an isolated area owned by the Sleepless from which they can safely live, create, and trade, Leisha is asked to spell out her beliefs. She says,
“I believe in voluntary trade that is mutually beneficial. That spiritual dignity comes from supporting one’s life through one’s own efforts, and trading the results of those efforts in mutual cooperation throughout the society. That the symbol of this is the contract. And that we need each other for the fullest, most beneficial trade.” (236)
From this we can easily see Leisha’s philosophical commitments. I will now go through what I take to be her two main commitments and show how, throughout her life, Leisha will find and construct value in ways that contradict those maxims. Additionally, I hope to show that the values that arise from deviations from the ones she advocates above are values we, as humans, think one ought to have. In this way Kress shows us how we are committed to non-island-autonomist values in our lives - not by making arguments in a philosophical vacuum, but instead by showing us a good life and asking us what makes it that way.
Maxim One: Mutually beneficial voluntary trade as the foundation of interaction
The main counterexample to this first maxim is exemplified in the relationship between Leisha and her non-genetically altered fraternal twin sister, Alice. The basis for their interaction is not rooted in a desire to trade, but instead, on love for the other as an end in herself.
When one places trade as the foundational motivation for interaction, one is viewing the other as primarily a means. By “means” I mean that one is viewing the other primarily as a tool or instrument one can use to achieve some end. In other words, when trade is my first goal, the value I assign to you will be derived from how you can be used to achieve that goal. In this way, I’ll see you as firstly a possible means to my end. In contrast, when I first look at you and see you as an end in yourself before turning to my goals, I respect and appreciate your worth irrespective of what you can do for me. Furthermore, in intimate relationships, I come to see the goals and values you hold as beautiful and good such as to want you to purse and achieve them even if their actualization does nothing for me – even if it provides me no commodifiable good.
This desire to see the other happy and fulfilled regardless of its impact on you is displayed in Leisha’s actions concerning Alice. In a conversation Leisha has with her father, Camden, Camden explains that Alice sleeps and isn’t special. (216) He says this after telling Leisha that she is very special and that one day she’d find her specialness and that it would be a “specialness the world hasn’t ever seen before.” (217) Leisha’s response to her father’s prediction was, “when I grow up, I’ll make my specialness find a way to make Alice special, too” and at that we’re told that “Daddy stopped laughing.” (ibid) Based on what principles and values would Leisha decide that finding the specialness of Alice would be worth pursuing? This sort of desire is, I think, clearly not coming from a view that sees others as primarily means or tools for one’s own ends. Nor is it the sort of desire that comes from someone who lives their life as an island. This instead is a desire motivated by love – Leisha loves her sister, she cares about her wellbeing and she wants to see her happy – irrespective of its effect on Leisha.
Camden (who stands as a character-manifestation of the island-autonomy/ Objectivist view) failed to understand two things. First, that an individual pursuing her own conception of the good life may see as constitutive of that good life the flourishing of those she cares about, where this in turn implies that the individual’s happiness cannot be achieved if she lives like an isolated island. And secondly, that the motivation for interacting with others is not most basically one of trade. Instead, our motivation is fueled by and sensitive to needs we have as social creatures who are invested in our fellow community members’ happiness. Sometimes we interact because we want to trade, but we go into that interaction already having views about the respect deserved of our peers as ends in themselves.
Another example of Leisha interacting without mutually beneficial voluntary trade as the impetus is highlighted in her first conversation with her peers at Harvard. After Hannaway bullies her about how she’ll outperform them with her “pretty little-girl hair and [her] pretty little-girl brain,” Leisha retorts that she will outperform him, but that after doing so she’d be glad to help him study so he can pass, too. (229) After Hannaway leaves she even reaffirms her commitment, “‘But I meant it’ Leisha said. ‘I will help him study.’” (ibid) How can we understand her wanting to help her peers based on the principles she expounded to Tony? They have nothing to trade that she needs. It isn’t mutually beneficial. The answer Kress leads us to is that there are other richer reasons for interacting than the ones that come from viewing oneself as an island that finds trade as the only motivation for interaction. We see ourselves as members of a community that is filled with people we care about. And, in caring about them, we care about their achievement of their own goals. We see value in things that can neither be traded nor commodified. We seek each other out because we are the sorts of creatures who need each other for many different reasons, only one of those being for trade.
By putting Leisha in these two situations and having her react in the ways she does, Kress shows us indirectly how we have values that can only be understood as coming from social and compassionate creatures. And in so doing, Kress suggests that we should not see the island-autonomist ideal as worth structuring our lives around.
Maxim Two: Spiritual dignity is derived from supporting one’s life through one’s own efforts and trading the results.
Leisha’s second maxim can be countered by showing that her own life, and her identity and dignity therein, are thoroughly indebted to the support and influence of others.
Leisha’s father had a monumental impact on her identity, values, and life goals. Not only did he introduce her to Yagaism , the philosophical movement whose ideals are identical to those of Objectivism (218-219), he provided her with the best schooling (217), encouraged her to succeed (216), and, in his own way, loved her. Even when she left home, it was her father’s voice that echoed in her head alongside her philosophical values. When Richard, Leisha’s old lover, visited her at Harvard and said he had decided they were too individualistic, Leisha’s response was one of sweeping disappointment, “she saw her father’s face: Excellence is what counts, Leisha. Excellence supported by individual effort….” (239)
My point in describing the above is to make the following (long) point: “spiritual dignity” for Leisha, since it’s derived from certain actions, is not an intrinsic worth one has such as to merit respect and esteem. Instead, dignity is the worth we get by doing good things. But, what we find to be good is based, as I tried to show in my introduction, on what deep-set ideals and beliefs we hold. The ideas and beliefs we hold are in large part based on cultural values and influences outside our control and efforts (for example, our parents [what ideals they instill in us, how they treat us, etc.]). So what we find to be good, and what Leisha thinks one has to do in order to merit dignity, are highly influenced by others. Thus, I want to argue, an account of spiritual dignity that neglects to recognize the impact the values and decisions of others have on our own life plan is, in meaningful ways, deficient. We do not develop a sense of dignity in isolation.[4]
Another way Kress puts pressure on Leisha’s second maxim can be best explained by asking a question: are there ever any meaningful efforts we achieve in island-like isolation? As a child, Leisha’s goals and desires depended on the help and cooperation of her father (among others). In order to get an education (which Leisha valued), she had to engage in a joint enterprise – she depended on the teachings of others and the security of a system that recognized and valued her efforts. In law she depended on an entire social and government system – on laws we work together to write and enact, on a system that is just. In her personal life she depended on the love, support, and empathy of others in order to have meaningful relationships, validate her own experiences as a Sleepless, and be comforted in times of crises. (224; 259-260) When she had goals, she enlisted the help of other Sleepless who had access to the information she needed, and “it had been given instantly. Without trade.” (232)
The point Kress makes is that we cannot pursue goals merely on our own efforts as islands.[5] We depend not only on the help and support of other individuals, but on the structures and institutions we’ve come together as a community to create. When we recognize the importance of our relationships, we can better appreciate how fragile and precious our spiritual dignity truly is. The island view of autonomy fails to do this, and thus, fails to recognize many of the values that make up a good life.
Conclusion: Final Questions
What does Kress’ conclusion imply about what it means to be human?
The best way to address this question is by first explaining what her conclusion does not imply. Kress is not suggesting that we align ourselves exclusively with some ‘we-are-just-one-piece-of-a-community’ ideal where everything is about the absolute solidarity of the group and the individual is a myth. As I mentioned at the start, Kress used Ayn Rand’s island-autonomy as one pole to which she responds. The other pole was Ursula LeGuin’s Anarres in The Dispossessed. Anarres is “LeGuin’s version of anarchy, which is an intensely social system … where solidarity is the basis for the construction of the society.”[6] Kress wants to explore the tension between two currents that run through our zeitgeist. She thinks submitting exclusively to either would be a mistake.
We, as individuals, are autonomous and we absolutely must be recognized as such. The issue, and critical question Kress asks us to face, concerns the sort of picture we have of what autonomy implies about both our understanding of self and our relations to others. In the United States especially we have very strong narratives that suggest autonomy in the island sense. The lone cowboy exploring the frontier, the one-man superhero who saves the whole world, the solo champion – these two-dimensional narratives give credence in our hearts and minds to the island conception of autonomy. However, as I hope this paper has suggested, these sorts of narratives are based on a misunderstanding of autonomy. My autonomy, my individuality, my specialness, does not come to be ex nihilo. All of these things originate in a social context. I can’t be special unless others recognize me as such. My autonomy, too, depends on my seeing you as respecting me. I have my own goals and dreams and quirks, and they really are mine (and I should feel a sense of pride in that individuality and my authorship of it), but it’s a misunderstanding to think that that autonomy is threatened or in tension with my simultaneously viewing myself as deeply dependent on others in my community.
As for what this implies for what it means to be human, I hope it’s becoming clear. Being human means being an autonomous social being. It is the clarification and then synthesis of these two, prima facie conflicting, ideals that allows us to grasp something fundamental about our nature. We are individuals with individual conceptions of the good, but those conceptions, and my seeing myself as the sort of creature who should pursue goodness and beauty, comes from my relationships to those in my community. We must recognize and value both dimensions of ourselves in order to truly appreciate what we have the potential to be – wonderful, colorful, diverse individuals who all participate in, and derive value from, the community from which we arise. This is the conclusion I think Kress wants us to reach.
What should we be asking of ourselves and others?
By appreciating the delicate relationship between our autonomy and our membership in a community, we can see that there are important questions we should be asking before we engage in new enterprises. The first of which is: in what ways does our pursuing a good life depend on others? In other words, what (in more detail) do we need from each other in order to make manifest our autonomy? When we answer that question we can then ask how specific technologies affect the satisfaction of those, our most basic human needs. If an enterprise, like human enhancement technologies, threatens to undermine our ability to relate and work together in the ways we need, we should consider that a grave threat to our ability to lead good lives as socially constructed autonomous individuals.
A second question we should be asking of each other concerns the narratives and principles we allow to dominate our culture. In Kress’ world, Yagaism employed rhetoric that suggested an incorrect picture of the nature of both autonomy and the good life. That philosophical tradition, though mistaken, was hugely influential in the lives of many. The lesson is that we should all examine what our principles and ideals really imply, and when we see misunderstandings manifested in the narratives and stories we tell each other, we should speak up and point them out. Batman has Alfred and Robin and Superman has Lois and Pete, and it’s important we remember and recognize that in the stories we tell about those we consider exemplars of autonomy.
Final thought
Beggars in Spain, by grappling with the island-autonomy/social-community tension leads us to examine which values and ideals we have committed ourselves to (consciously or not) and, in so doing, implores us to normatively evaluate these commitments. It is then up to us to decide: which values really are a part of a good life and which are misunderstandings or perversions of values we ought to have and cherish as the wonderfully complex, morally sensitive, and ethically beautiful creatures we ought to push ourselves to be.
[1] See Carl Elliott’s Better Than Well: American Medicine Meets the American Dream and A Philosophical Disease: Bioethics, Culture, and Identity
[2] http://www.lysator.liu.se/lsff/mb-nr28/Interview_with_Nancy_Kress.html
[3] http://www.aynrand.org/site/PageServer?pagename=objectivism_essentials
[4] One can also look to cases of trauma and abuse and see quite clearly that my ability to have a sense of dignity depends on those around me recognizing me as the sort of creature who can have that sense of dignity. See Susan Brison’s Aftermath: Violence and the Remaking of Self, Judith Herman’s Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence – from domestic to political terror, and Robert Stolorow’s Trauma and Human Existence: Autobiographical, Psychoanalytic, and Philosophical Reflections for rich accounts of this.
[5] For an interesting discussion of how even when we are being our most individualistic (when we are being creative) we depend in deep ways on the creativity of others, see Lawrence Lessig’s Code: Version 2.0
[6] http://www.lysator.liu.se/lsff/mb-nr28/Interview_with_Nancy_Kress.html