With the perpetrators of these obscene acts of torture and politically motivated killings free to boast about their heinous deeds, does this not mean that humanism has failed to make and impact on modern times? The Nazi-inspired Holocaust preceded these events in Indonesia by only a few decades and yet the outcries against that barbarism failed to influence the progress of these equally barbaric and heartless acts. Subsequent to the Indonesian killing spree we have the tacit approval by the Phillipines President of the murder of drug dealers. What will it take for Humanism to triumph and make human beings treat each other with dignity and respect? Should not the powers of the World Court in the Hague be extended and empowered to address these issues of gross disrespect for Human Rights? Could the United Nations not force perpetrators to stand trial, thereby removing them from the false protection of corrupt governments? That would require international arrest warrants to be respected and enforceable in all countries, albeit by force; but entering a sovereign state to arrest suspects against their will, or that of their government is against current International Law provisos. Would these Laws need to change also?
Last month saw the return of ‘Black Mirror’, a British science fiction television series, created by Charlie Brooker. The much-anticipated fourth series continued its theme of how current technological advancements may progress in near distant realities, and the possible implications they may have on civil societies.
One re-occurring advancement, which is seen throughout the anthology series, is the creation of ‘human cookies’: a digital copy of human consciousness. Brooker first introduced this concept in the 2014 Christmas special, ‘White Christmas’, where it was revealed that technology had developed a blank chip called a ‘cookie’ that could be implanted with the purpose of absorbing and copying human consciousness. Once removed, the cookie could then be transferred into a hub, to be used as the software for a ‘smart home’. The idea follows that the chip would absorb the person’s preferences: for example, their preferred temperature in their home or the time they would like to wake up, and effectively work as a personal assistant to their original host. This digital copy is represented as a sentient consciousness, capable of independent thought, and in this case terror over its existence.
This idea is seen again in two episodes of the fourth season: where digital copies, or ‘sentient code’ is used as a player in a video game, a way to extend the ‘life’ of a comatose patient, and to create an authentic hologram of a convicted killer for a tourist attraction. By the season finale it is revealed that the UN had made it illegal to not only delete or erase a copy, but to also transfer human consciousness into limited formats. The copies need to be able to express at least five emotions for it to be considered humane, suggesting that digital copies have been afforded different levels of legal protection.
While the technical possibilities of the creation of sentient code, and their corresponding legal protections are far from reach, their representation within the series certainly raises ethical questions concerning the present day creation and treatment of emerging Artificial Intelligence (AI) technologies. If one is to create a mirror image of humanity, encompassing key traits, which distinguish humans from other beings, should they warrant similar protections within a human rights framework? There are a few things to ponder here.
If one were to realistically consider the human rights framework being extended to AI, this would mean viewing this technology as something more than pure machinery. When considering ‘Posthuman Rights’, writer Woody Evans asks: “if a thing exists, does it have the right to continue to exist, and would such right hinge on it’s being more than a thing”. Perhaps evidence for such a view can be found within the application of such technology in the fields of healthcare, law enforcement and public service administration; such fields of profession which arguably require authentic human emotions, such as empathy. If humanity programs AI and equips the technology with a set of mirrored traits to enable integration with humanity in this way, does this make the machinery more than a thing?
But embracing AI as a subject within a human rights framework is only one way of looking at the situation. For example Secretary General of Amnesty International, Salil Shetty, spoke at the AI for Good Global Summit held in Geneva, where he considered the human rights impact the emergence of AI could have on the global community. He supports “a future where AI is a technology where human rights is a core design and use principle” and to make his case, he put forward two alternate ways in which their integration could affect humanity.
In one scenario, the use of AI and mass automation could be used to work towards reducing the inequality we see around the world today. He argues that Governments and Companies could support automation that takes workers out of “dangerous and degrading jobs” and implement both educational and economic policies to create “opportunities for dignified and fulfilling jobs”.
But he warns that it is the responsibility of both Governments and Companies to integrate ethical considerations into their policies, and warns that if we continue down our current path we could see ourselves in a society where worker’s rights continue to be precarious, but hundreds of millions of jobs could be lost to automation. Furthermore he warns, “AI systems may become the gatekeepers deciding who can access healthcare and who cannot, who qualifies for a job or a mortgage and who does not”. While this may seem like an excellent premise for season 5 of black mirror, its suggests that not only are humanity considerations imperative in the creation of AI policies and codes of practice going forward, but also that such realities as those seen in science fiction may not be so far out of reach.
The discipline of law sits in an interesting place. It shares qualities with several other disciplines, such as science and philosophy, but doesn’t quite fit in with any of them. Too practical for philosophy, not practical enough for science. As such, it’s difficult to decide where to classify the subject in relation to others that are more concrete. Few, if any other fields of study have this issue, partly because they tend to fit neatly into their boxes, but also due to law having such an overarching practical influence on every individual. Here, I would like to explain some of the reasons why law can never be a science, not even a social science, and why it should be considered as a humanities field of study.
Science is the study of the way the world is. It is entirely a posteriori – a highly empirical method of knowledge acquisition. Philosophy is also a study of the way the world is, but uses a priori thinking to come up with assertions about what is the case, and even then is highly open to debate and interpretation far more so than science is. Law combines the two methods in an interesting way, at times the ratio between the two is one such way, other times it is another – depending on which area of law concerned. Ultimately, to decide which category law sits in – science or humanity – we must look at what the law is trying to achieve.
The dictionary definition doesn’t do much to help with this, but I believe it’s reasonable to assert that the law is there to regulate the behaviour of a population in order to maintain function of society. This can be achieved through granting pleasures (food, housing etc), preventing pains (medical treatment, abuse/exploitation, physical & mental harm), and maintaining free will. Already here, we have three very philosophically charged terms concerning morality. Morality can be defined in the dictionary as “principles concerning the distinction between right and wrong or good and bad behaviour” – but what is right and what is good may not be either A) the same or B) what needs to be in place to maintain efficient function of society.
The law is therefore tasked with attempting to actualise what needs to be in place to maintain sufficient societal function and to do that, there has to be knowledge of what humans require in order to function efficiently as a group, and that incorporates the studies of psychology, sociology and, I would argue, a bit of history and anthropology. We need to find answers to questions like “what makes people want to work together?” and “what hasn’t worked in the past?”. Only one of the above mentioned disciplines count as a science, and that is psychology. Psychology is a tentative “science” however, with human behaviour being able to be manipulated and changed quite significantly, however it does yield quantifiable results in a manner that sociology may struggle to match. Sociology is instead a social science, and the facts discovered through its study are fluid and highly subject to change over time and place. We can retrospectively observe this phenomenon, with social acceptance of slavery and homosexuality for instance – two practices that had their legal status reversed. It is hard to decide in such cases whether society makes the law or the law makes society.
What is clear though, is that the law is subject to change. It is very much a “here and now” set of rules, something that is both beneficial and potentially dangerous. It attempts to cement morality in a way that is compatible with human society both psychologically and sociologically, and attempts to make the world a pleasant place to live in for all, and punish those who threaten that status quo.
One of the key distinctions between imaginary and ideology is the fact that we do not have to hold our imaginary accountable.
There are no bounders within our imaginary, ‘imagine you are designing a world, you consciously creating each aspect, but sometimes it almost feels like it’s almost creating itself’.
In our imaginary, our mind continuously ‘create’ and ‘perceive’ our reality simultaneously and our mind does this so well that we aren’t even aware of it.
In Wittgenstein’s ‘Tractatis Logico-Philosophhicus’, he argues that language works by triggering the picture of our understanding of how things are in the world. He believes that words enable us to make pictures of facts.
Interestingly, Wittgenstein was inspired while reading a newspaper article about a Paris court case in which, in order to explain with greater efficacy, the details of the accident that had taken place was reproduced visually using model cars and pedestrians.
This illustrates how lawyers can get right into the middle of that process, by taking over the ‘creating’ part.
They create this world of the dream, which I considered as ‘legal presumptions’, and create an imaginary narrative, by bringing the subject into the dream, to persuade and convince the target audiences by twisting the facts, adding stock stories, and subsequently let them make their decisions with their subconscious.
The court will eventually come up with a judgment. The decision will have an illocutionary or perlocutionary effect, which in a way attempts to amend certain things or may poses a consequence. In the end, depending on what the court’s decision is, aren’t they just trying to implant another person’s idea into our collective thoughts?
While I can choose more relevant movies such as Gary Fleder’s ‘Runaway Jury’ or more recently, David Dobkin’s ‘The Judge’ and Courtney Hunt’s ‘The Whole Truth’ in related to storytelling, I decided to talk about a sci-fi thriller – ’10 Cloverfield Lane’ instead.
Imagine after getting in a car accident, you are held in a shelter by this man who claims the outside world is taken over by aliens. He acts weird, especially the fact that he has storages of supply and everything prepare as he claims that he knew this day would come.
Why am I in this room? What’s this place? How did I get in here? Who’s that creepy yet somewhat reasonable guy?
Questions after questions as the guy who claimed he saved you becomes more and more suspicious. Is he lying to keep you trapped in his place? Is he doing this because you looked like his daughter who is not with him anymore?
Director Dan Trachtenberg was playing the audiences’ mind throughout the whole movie. This is the difference between a horror movie and a thriller. A thriller creates a psychological type of fear that make audiences think and wonder how the characters are going to find their way out. It wasn’t until it was revealed that the guy who sounded insane was actually telling the truth the whole time, that the audiences start getting their questions answered.
The overall screenplay structure and outlining had been very well written in a way that it demonstrates how powerful storytelling can be, especially how it can play with the audiences’ mind.
Watch Dan Trachtenberg’s ’10 Cloverfield Lane’ trailer here:
Absorbing Power: The Courts and Hate Speech
In Judith Butler’s ‘Burning Acts, Injurious Speech’, she references the case of R.A.V. v. St. Paul to illustrate the ways in which the courts reabsorb power to incite violence. In this case, a white teenager from Minnesota, burned a cross in front of a house occupied by an African-American family. The defendant was charged and eventually convicted, by the St. Paul City Council in 1990, making it an offence to communicate racially offensive messages. The United States Supreme Court reversed the State Supreme Court decision. One of the most baffling aspects of Butler’s comments on this case, relates to the way in which the court’s use of language transformed the act of burning the cross on an African-American family’s property to the following – “Let there be no mistake about our belief that burning a cross in someone’s front yard is reprehensible” (the words of the majority opinion of the court). This transformation of language strips away any contextual meaning, and denies the racist history of the act of cross burning. John Onyando stated that “there is growing evidence that the government is using prosecution for hate speech as a tool to silence its opposition critics”, and I would have to agree with this. Butler’s example, serves as a constant reminder, as with all of the themes discussed throughout the LW928 module – the imaginary, legal fictions, and performativity, that law’s power reigns. In law’s quest to punish those who spread racist, transphobic, or otherwise out-of-fashion speech, it denies the weaker members of the community e.g. the poor, political minorities, and women, of the protection it claims to afford.
The Divine Comedy is a literary masterpiece wrote by the genie of Dante Alighieri in the first half of the 14th century (1306/1307 and 1321). The Comedy symbolises humankind’s journey for redemption through the three afterlife kingdoms: Inferno, Purgatory and Paradise.
While Purgatory and Paradise are embedded with theological and philosophical considerations, Inferno is a testimony of the political corruption at that time. Italy was the battlefield for the political fights between the Pope and the Emperor. It was one of the most merciless ‘Games of Thrones’ in medieval history.
Through his journey in the ‘infernal burella’, Dante tells the story of many political and religious figures, who – blinded by political ambitious – committed murders, cannibalism, treason, and suicide all in the name of ‘worldly power’.
In a sense, Dante’s Inferno is the first attempt to challenge the dominant social imaginary through storytelling. Dante is aware that unless humanity achieves spiritual redemption, his world will be forever lost in the wood of sins and corruption.
Each girone (the circle that constitutes Hell) introduces characters that embed a specific characteristic of the dominant imaginary that needs to be criticised. The only exception can be found in Canto V (chapter V), in which – only on this occasion- Dante took pity of two condemns: Paolo and Francesca di Rimini.
“Love which quickly takes a gentle heart, took him for my fair shape.
Love which does not allow not to love back, took me for him.
Love lead us to one single death” (vv. 103-105, Canto V, Inferno)
Canto V is the testimony of Dante’s powerful narrative technique that triggers empathy in the readers. Even though Paolo and Francesca committed adultery and therefore had to be put in the circle of the lustful, their love story is so moving that the readers conceive them as the innocent victims of a dreadful/unjust fate.
Francesca di Rimini was a beautiful noble girl – destined to become a nun – but she was kidnapped and forced to marry the violent Gianciotto Malatesta, Paolo’s older brother. While living together, Paolo and Francesca fell in love. Unfortunately, the brother discovered their affair and killed the two lovers, condemning his brother and his wife to an eternity in Hell. Nevertheless, Paolo and Francesca’ sin becomes secondary to the readers because what really matters is that their life was brutally interrupted. Paolo and Francesca can be finally together and free to live their love but they have to go through eternal suffering.
In this Canto, Dante uncommonly employs a sweet, romantic and poetic language. The tercets are characterised by a slow rhythm that creates emphasis and pathos to the story. The readers are capable of creating an emotional connection with the characters and cannot help identifying themselves with the pain and sorrow these two star-crossed lovers have to go through every day to be together.
Paolo and Francesca’ story is an outstanding example of the emotional power of language that may open doors to change and better justice.
When Johann Wolfgang von Goethe published his novel ‘The Sorrows of Young Werther’ in 1774, he would not have thought that this piece would bring many of its readers to kill themselves. However, that was exactly what happened – but not because they found it dead boring, quite the contrary. Lovesick Werther, the hero of the novel – spoiler alert – shoots himself in the end. This, in combination with the popularity of the book, unfortunately led to quite a few copycat suicides among its deeply impressed readers. As the plot of Goethe’s novel was the source of inspiration for these deaths, this kind of connection between a published work and a wave of suicides has since been known as the ‘Werther effect’.
Thus, a piece of fiction can have considerable power. It can make the difference between life and death, between existence and non-existence of a person. Similar to literary fiction turning into reality (see the Werther example), legal fictions can also strongly influence our life. Some scholars take the view that legal fictions are mere tools or placeholders within the law that are necessary for it to work (that is, to fulfil its function). Nevertheless, fictions like the ‘legal person’ can shape the way we perceive and treat others – they can, for example, enhance their value in our view.
This March, legal personhood was granted to the Whanganui river in New Zealand. This was done to protect the river’s health and to preserve it for future generations. So, the government probably had positive effects of the personhood fiction on reality in mind. Moreover, the legal personality of the river should reflect the view of the local indigenous people that the river is a living entity in itself, is their ancestor, and is incapable of being owned as property. In our view, this is a fiction that has a – hopefully powerful – influence on how people treat the river. In the view of the indigenous people, the personality of the river might not be fictional at all, but real. Over time, while being obligated to treat the river better (like a person), we will possibly also perceive it as a gradually less fictional and more real person. This effect of a fiction would at least be more pleasant than the ‘Werther effect’.
The destructive function that shadows the constructive promise of legal interpretation stands out as one of the key provocations in Cover’s ‘Violence and the Word’ (1986). I wish to raise here a couple of questions relating to the limits of the ‘world-destroying’ violence with which the author tries to displace the ‘world-making’ fixation of the jurisprudence of Dworkin and White.
The first concerns the intrinsic limits of ‘common meaning’ that Cover suggests to be implied in the unhealable rift that separates law and the criminal. For Cover, the prisoner’s ‘co-operation’ with the legal system evidences not so much his/her repentance as the coercive domination of the machinery, which extinguishes the possibility of cohabitation in a normative universe. Already thinned by the institutional division of will and labour, the ‘common meaning’ of law is further delimited by the wound that law burns into the ‘body of the condemned’ (Foucault). My question: would this ‘hole’ mark the horizon of the nomos (‘the one ends here; there lies the other’), or might it further indicate an impossibility within the nomos (‘there is no “one” to begin with’)? Is a world being destroyed (‘I am if you are not’), or might it already be destroyed (‘you are not and neither am I’)?
The second concerns the possibility of resistance, of which Cover cites three instances: martyrdom, rebellion, and revolution. These scenes evince a militant refusal to accept the substitution of one law with the other (‘I would rather die than be you’) or even a repetition of world-destroying violence (‘be me or die’). They suppose the sacrifice of the outlaw or the coup sought by a counter-community. They rehearse the destructive function of law. But not every prisoner is destroyed by law. Aung San Suu Kyi survived her 15-year house-arrest. Indeed, criminal recalcitrance suggests the very longevity of the condemned. Sade’s libertinism resumed between his incarceration, not to say it flourished then — in those 27 years behind bars he wrote the copious pornography that were destined to outlive him and the regimes which sanctioned him. So if worlds survive law, is law’s operation ‘world-destroying’? Or does this characterisation, however well-intentioned, collude with law by concealing its limits? And, with Sade in mind, could life resist law without destroying it? Give in to law without giving in?
Double standards for men and women when it comes to sexuality have been around for a long time. We all know the typical picture of a man whose masculinity is enhanced by having a high number of sexual partners, whilst a woman’s virtue is negatively affected when her number of sexual partners rises. The modern movement against what we like to call ‘slut shaming’ aims to eliminate these biases and double standards and to let women employ their sexuality on an equal level to men. In other words, whatever opinion you have of the number of sexual partners of men, the same should apply for women. Whether you think positively or negatively about (casual) sexual encounters, what’s important is that it applies equally regardless of sex or gender.
However, this double standard is still embedded in our culture and generally speaking it does still exist. This is what I thought about today when we discussed the topic of pornography and its supposed degrading force on women. There has been a large movement of women, feminists and other ‘allies’ that write porn off as intrinsically biased towards gender norms and as enhancing those stereotypes.
However, I don’t feel we can say this about pornography in general. Maybe around the time and Langton wrote ‘Speech Acts and Unspeakable Acts’ (1993), the overwhelming majority of pornography did depict women in a less than favorable light. It may have given women a submissive role that could have been picked up by men as ‘the way women should behave’.
Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe because of the stereotypes surrounding women and because of the double standard between men and women, women felt degraded by these images. Because what is really degrading about a woman engaging in a sexual act with a man? We do not see it as degrading to the male participant. Men are completely free to engage in casual sexual activity without anyone batting an eye.
In addition, pornography has become much more diverse. Different people fantasize about different things and for every category of fantasy there is probably an innumerable amount of visual images available that portray that particular sexual fantasy.
Of course there are types of sexualizations that are troubling. Depicting (and ‘romanticizing’) rape as something sexually arousing (to both the perpetrator and the victim) is not a positive way of putting sexuality into imagery. First and foremost there should be consent between the parties engaging in any type of physicality. Equally, putting minors at the center of sexualization is unacceptable. Sex is something to be had between consenting adults.
But if all parties are, in fact, consenting adults, who is anyone to say their depiction is wrong? We can see promiscuity as degrading, or we can see it as empowering. Or as neither of those things. But nothing is offensive unless someone is offended. Can we not choose to not be offended? If we assume that men and women are on equal footing and different people simply like different things, can we not just choose which ‘type’ of (if any) pornography we want to watch?
It’s difficult to enhance a stereotype that does not exist, or no longer applies. So if we stop seeing sex as something to be ashamed of, the visual depiction of it might stop being shameful.