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Friday, August 31, 2012

(Intellectual) Property is Theft!

by Benny Mattis

If I were asked to answer the following question: What is slavery?  and I should answer in one word, It is murder!, my meaning would be understood at once.  No extended argument would be required...Why, then, to this other question: What is property? may I not likewise answer, It is robbery!,  without the certainty of being misunderstood; the second proposition being no other than a transformation of the first?
-Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, What is Property?


Propertarian and "right-libertarian" philosophy is generally based on one or both of two important principles.  The first of these, the principle of self-ownership, is the idea that an individual person has exclusive rights of control over their own body and the product of their labor.  John Locke, widely considered the father of classical liberalism and an undeniable influence in the American Revolution, is often credited with formalizing this theory of property.  He explains in his Second Treaty on Civil Government: "As much as a man tills, plants, improves, cultivates, and can use the product of, so much is his property."  Of course, there are multiple interpretations as to what what constitutes "improving" and "using the product," but the general ideas of self-ownership, and ownership of the fruits of one's labor, were and are incredibly important for any discussion of what property laws ought to be based on.

The second principle often employed in capitalist rhetoric, the principle of non-aggression, condemns all initiation of force or fraud against the person or property of another, even if such force is deemed "for the greater good."  From these two principles come the right-libertarian condemnation of the state, which is funded through taxation (i.e., the initiation of force against private citizens).  Usually, these principles go hand in hand--ownership is secured through the prevention of aggression/theft, and the prevention of aggression/theft in turn is justified through the principle of self-ownership.

However, patents (and copyrights) pose a problem for property.

Intellectual property introduces a contradiction into the nice interplay between the non-aggression principle and the principle of self-ownership, because it can only be secured through the initiation of force and the flagrant violation of physical property rights.  Think about the Apple-Samsung situation: viewed through the lens of physical property rights, Samsung has done nothing in aggression against Apple.  Apple, on the other hand, is violating Samsung's property rights by dictating how they can use their property ("don't cut your plastic in this special shape," etc.) as well as stealing from them outright. On the other hand, viewed through the lens of intellectual property, Samsung has violated Apple's self-ownership; ownership implies exclusivity to Apple.  Yet, this self-ownership can only be secured through coercive state intervention and forced re-distribution of Samsung's resources.  We have two types of property--physical and intellectual--that cannot coexist.

***

In An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, David Hume considers whether property would be necessary or even justifiable in a world where material scarcity were not a problem:
It seems clear that in such a happy state every other social virtue would flourish and be increased tenfold; but the cautious, jealous virtue of justice would never once have been dreamed of.  What point would there be in dividing up goods, when everyone already has more than enough?  Why institute property when there can't possibly be any harm in not doing so?  Why call this object 'mine' when just by stretching out my hand I could get another one that is like it and equally valuable?  In this state of affairs, justice would be totally useless; it would be an idle ceremonial, having no place in the list of virtues.
This seems to be the case with intellectual property; since it can be copied and re-copied indefinitely, "dividing up" information is an "idle ceremonial."

There is, however, a component of IP that cannot be shared through copying, and that is authorship.  Radiohead, one of my favorite bands, released their album In Rainbows for free on the internet, and information-copying made it available to everyone; Radiohead's authorship of the songs, however, could never be shared in such a way.  On the contrary, if everyone claimed authorship of the album, not even Radiohead would get the benefits of authorship (fame, pay for performances, etc.); sharing information multiplies wealth, but attempting to share a claim to authorship only renders such a title meaningless.  Sometimes, the claim to authorship ought to be meaningless; this might be the case with a community-driven project where nobody really put in any more work than anyone else.  But it is clear that, for better or worse, authorship is not unaffected by scarcity in the same way that authored information is.

This is why I think that intellectual property should be not abolished, but separated from physical property.  I think a sort of property dualism is appropriate:  physical property (a phone) traded with physical property (money), and intellectual property (a "stolen" design) traded with intellectual property (an acknowledgment on Samsung's part that they did, in fact, use Apple's ideas in their technology).  Likewise, intellectual theft (attempting to claim authorship of In Rainbows) might be punished through intellectual restitution (a public announcement that I am, in fact, a fraud, and that Radiohead are the true authors of the album).

"But wait!" cry the defenders of IP.  "That design took physical resources to make!"  But this objection misses the point: the design may have taken physical resources to discover, but, in using the design, other people are not in any way taking more physical resources than what has already been spent.  Thom Yorke, in writing songs for Radiohead, keeps the fruits of all the physical labor he put into writing his songs, including the neurological make-up that results from musical practice and songwriting. This physical and neurological being, as opposed to the information instantiated in it, is what required the consumption of physical resources to construct.

Of course, the value of this physical and neurological being is not to be underestimated or dismissed with a "You didn't build that."  A musical mind is necessary to understand, remix, and create music, and there is nothing wrong with paying an artist to use their talents in different ways (public performance, commissions, etc.).  This applies to all artists, including the professional engineers and researchers at Apple Inc.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

There Is Such A Thing as an Ethical Suspension of the Teleological

by Benny Mattis

Johannes de Silentio, a pseudonymous personality of Søren Kierkegaard, explores in Fear and Trembling the ethical problems raised by Abraham's binding of Isaac as described in Genesis chapter 22.  He does this "in order to see what a tremendous paradox faith is, a paradox which is capable of transforming a murder into a holy act well-pleasing to God...which no thought can master, because faith begins precisely where thinking leaves off" (55).  And while "this paradox cannot be mediated" or understood through reason (58), de Silentio nonetheless praises Abraham as an admirable servant of the Judeo-Christian god.

A Climactic Paradox

But how can a man be considered admirable for his attempt to slaughter his own son?  As de Silentio notes, 
The ethical as such is the universal, and as the universal it applies to everyone, which may be expressed from another point of view by saying that it applies every instant.  Whenever the individual after he has entered the universal feels an impulse to assert himself as the particular, he is in temptation, and he can labor himself out of this only by abandoning himself as the particular in the universal (56).
Surely, Abraham was in violation of the ethical-universal in his act of attempted filicide, and de Silentio agrees.  Why, then, does Abraham deserve any respect or admiration?  de Silentio suggests that Abraham's predicament was an instance of the "teleological suspension of the ethical."  In such a suspension of the "universal" ethical, Abraham's duty to God is set over and against the ethical injunction to love his son; the ethical actually becomes a temptation that Abraham must overcome in order to fulfill his duty to God.  "Faith is precisely this paradox," explains de Silentio,
That the individual as the particular is higher than the universal, is justified over against it, is not subordinate but superior...it is the particular individual who, after he has been subordinated as the particular to the universal, now through the universal becomes the individual who as the particular is superior to the universal. (57)
 De Silentio realizes that, observed rationally, a teleological suspension of the ethical is no different from an egotistical suspension of the ethical, i.e. sin.  After all, such a rational appraisal of one's actions can only be performed "by virtue of the universal," which is precisely what must be transcended in order for Abraham to fulfill his duty (57).  Yet it is the very courage to supersede the ethical, and to overcome his love for Isaac, that makes Abraham a "Knight of Faith" in de Silentio's eyes.  Abraham does not bind Isaac with reason, but in total unquestioning faith.

Will the Real Paragon Please Stand Up?

The knight of faith is to be viewed in contrast with other types of hero, one being the "tragic hero" who also supersedes an aspect of the universal, but only through a greater appeal to the universal.  One example of the tragic hero is the mythological figure of Agamemnon, the king who was told that he had to sacrifice his daughter for the greater good.  Unlike Abraham, Agamemnon is understood and sympathized with in his difficult decision to sacrifice his daughter; it is, after all, for the greater good of the country.

Abraham, on the other hand, is not justified even by an appeal to the "greater good;" in attempting to slaughter Isaac, he is in fact taking the entire promised nation of Israel in his hands ("Descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky"-Genesis 26:4 NIV).  Abraham's knowledge of these descendants make the sacrifice of Isaac tantamount to genocide; viewed through the lens of the ethical-universal, Abraham is committing an unjustifiable sin with which no rational person would sympathize.

Thus, the path of the knight of faith is an isolated one, overwhelmingly alienating in its absurdity:  
The tragic hero gives up the certain for the still more certain, and the eye of the beholder rests upon him confidently.  But he who gives up the universal in order to grasp something still higher which is not the universal--what is he doing?...The tragic hero has need of tears and claims them, and where is the envious eye so barren that it could not weep with Agamemnon; but where is the man with a soul so bewildered that he would have the presumption to weep for Abraham? (61)
Agamemnon's predicament suddenly seems trivial compared to that of Abraham, a true knight of faith and a hero of Judeo-Christian myth.  But how does this heroism relate to a Christian in the twenty-first century?

The Knight of Love

To ask of Abraham's relation to the Christian is to ask of Abraham's relation to Christ, which has generally been overshadowed by the similarities between Christ and Isaac--both were sons, both were to be sacrificed, both stories historically involve the concept of substitution, etc.  But what if there is an even more important relationship with Abraham, the so-called knight of faith?  Upon comparing the two, it seems like Jesus's life could be seen as a fulfillment of Abraham's knighthood--a fulfillment, as that of the Law, that is so extreme that it may appear in many ways to be an abolition.

This apparent abolition is evident in the movement of incarnation: Abraham "through the universal becomes the individual who as the particular is superior to the universal," whereas Jesus, through the incarnation, becomes the deity who as the particular is subject to the universal.  Abraham may "give up the universal in order to grasp something still higher which is not the universal," but Christ gives up that higher "something" for the mere universal!  Is this not even more absurd than Abraham's transgression?  Agamemnon may give up the universal for the more universal, and Abraham may give up the universal totally for a sacred Absolute, but Christ gives up the Absolute--divine bliss in direct union with God Himself--for love of the universal, the ethical, and the incarnate--even an incarnate that does not return his love, abandoning him to die on a cross.  In this way, Christ is even more of an absurd hero than Abraham--a fulfillment, even.

In fact, this fulfillment makes it clear just how much of a tragic hero (rather than a knight of faith) Abraham actually was.  Agamemnon had comfort in the reasonable universal when he went to kill his daughter; Abraham may not have had comfort in the universal, but he still had comfort in God.  The tragic hero sacrifices their child for the nation and God, and Abraham sacrifices child and nation for a relationship with God--Christ, the true knight, gives up his immediate relationship with God ("My god, my god, why have you forsaken me?") for the salvation of all nations and their children--even when they themselves condemn him to death on a cross.  He does this not out of "fear and trembling," but out of love (the core of the ethical-universal) for its own sake.

It appears that there are actually two types of knight of faith:  the Knight of Fear (Abraham) and the Knight of Love (Jesus).  The knight of love is the fulfillment of the knight of fear, virtuous by virtue of the absurd and alienated from the absolute through an absolute dedication to the ethical.

Indefinite Suspension

Christ's absolute dedication to the ethical is not limited to the movement of incarnation; it is, in fact, an over-arching theme of the Gospel.  Consider, for example, the teleological role of a messianic warrior-king, expected to bring perfect justice and liberation for oppressed Jews: 
He will raise a banner for the nations and gather the exiles of Israel; he will assemble the scattered people of Judah from the four corners of the earth...They will swoop down the slopes of Philistia to the west; together they will plunder the people to the east.  They will lay hands on Edom and Moab, and the Ammonites will be subject to them. (Isaiah 11:12-14 NIV)
With verses like these, the expectations of a warrior-king messiah--popular in the time of Christ--are hardly surprising.  Surely, if anyone's teleological role conflicted and superseded their ethical obligations, it would be a messiah chosen to carry out divine justice:
The Lord is angry with all nations; his wrath is upon all their armies.  He will totally destroy them, he will give them over to slaughter.  Their slain will be thrown out, their dead bodies will send up a stench; the mountains will be soaked with their blood...For the Lord has a day of vengeance, a year of retribution, to uphold Zion's cause. (Isaiah 34:2-8 NIV)
Yet Jesus does not carry out this murderous retribution!  Such a year of judgment would, in fact, also end up destroying the corrupt Pharisaic priesthood of Zion itself, finally completing Abraham's initial sacrifice of Isaac.  No, Christ does not sacrifice the nations through a teleological suspension of the ethical, but rather saves the nations himself through an ethical suspension of the teleological.  

This is, I think, what the true calling of the story of Abraham is for the Christian: that one ought not to stop at Abraham's tragic heroism in a teleological suspension of the ethical, but to go even further than Abraham in faith, choosing ethics even over a duty to God, in an ethical suspension of the teleological.  But are there any knights of love who follow this imperative today?  They may be found in the most unexpected of places...

Profanity - A Perfectly Ethical Adjustment to Living With a Criminal Sacred

"If I was told to do what all monotheists are told to do, and admire the man who said, 'Yes, I'll gut my kid to show my love of God,' I'd say, 'No, fuck you.'"

In these words, immortalized in one of many anti-theistic YouTube videos, Christopher Hitchens expresses his opinion on Abraham's attempted sacrifice of Isaac.  Hitchens likely meant for this statement to demonstrate his moral superiority over "all monotheists," but in light of the ethical suspension of the teleological, it would seem that his response is actually profoundly Christian.  Is this not similar to the response of Jesus to the teleological option of global retribution?  Christ's message of forgiveness and and love is, in effect, a big middle finger to the fetishization of divinely commanded murder.

Which brings us to a second aspect of the Knight of Love made apparent in the lives of many an antagonistic atheist:  like Jesus, they do good out of love for the good itself, rather than fear of divine retribution.  In the film "Collision," wherein Hitchens and pastor Douglas Wilson debate on whether Christianity is good for the world, Wilson informs Hitchens that "You have a very fine house, with no foundation...It's just sand under there.  I want to know not what you denounce, but why you denounce it."  Douglas here misses a key message of Christianity: the good is good regardless of whether it appeals to one's natural biological drives.  The good is justification for itself; there is no need for a "why" that appeals to more base desires.  In fact, the pursuit of virtue usually entails a good deal of suffering--as Christian philosopher Brian Glenney remarks in an interview with Gordon College's Tartan, Christianity "Does violence to the self, more violence than suicide."

The thoughtful atheist, however, is not surprised in the least at this message, and yet many of them strive to do good anyway.  Consider Penn Jillette's address to the freethinkers at Reason Rally 2012: "We are doing good because it's good, and we are doing right because it's right, and not for reward or punishment...If you are doing something for reward or punishment, you do not have morality."  Once again, it seems that many an atheist are more Christian than Johannes de Silentio.

The Godly Godless:  Chickens or Eggs?

In an article entitled "Atheists for Jesus," outspoken atheist Richard Dawkins suggests that Jesus "Was a theist because, in his time, everybody was."  This may seem like supreme blasphemy, but we have seen that atheists can, in many ways, be even more Christian than their theistic counterparts.  Or is it the other way around--are Christians actually more atheistic than the atheists, since the New Testament is so forward in acknowledging the suffering of a good life?  In any case, there are curious connections between these philosophies, many of which have been explored by Christian Atheists such as Thomas J.J. Altizer, Paul van Buren, and Slavoj Žižek.

Returning to the topic of Kierkegaard's work, it seems to be incomplete in its narrow focus on Abraham's particularity.  Kierkegaard was fascinated with the life of religious enthusiasm; his preoccupation with the religious, however, may have obscured the more irreligious aspects of Christianity.  Nonetheless, these facets remain at least as crucial to the attainment of spiritual well-being and the full affirmation of an ethical life.  



Sources

The Holy Bible, New International Version.  Ed. Barker, Kenneth L.  Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2002.  Print.

Kierkegaard, Søren.  "Fear and Trembling."  Existentialism: Basic Writings.  Guignon, Charles, and Derk Pereboom, eds.  Indianapolis: Hackett, 2001.  Print.