''Social capital is a set of shared values or resources that allows individuals to work together in a group to effectively achieve a common purpose. Social capital can also be thought of as the potential ability to obtain resources, favors, or information from one's personal connections''.
Investopedia
The misery is doubtless as physical as a toothache, but a brain, of its own nature, gropes for reasons for its misery. Feeling the sensation fear, the mind suggests every possible calamity: the sensation shame, remorse and one remembers every mistake and misdeed of a lifetime, and grovels to the earth in abasement. I, the ceaselessly industrious, could do no work of any kind. I was so weak that the knife and fork sank from my hands too tired to eat. I could not read nor write nor paint nor sew nor talk nor listen to talking, nor anything...I went to bed crying, woke in the night crying, sat on the edge of the bed in the morning and cried from sheer continuous pain. Not physical, the doctors examined me and found nothing the matter. The only physical pain I ever knew, besides dentistry and one sore finger, was having the baby, and I would rather have had a baby every week than suffer as I suffered in my mind. A constant dragging weariness miles below zero. Absolute incapacity. Absolute misery. To the spirit it was as if one were an armless, leg-less, eyeless, voiceless cripple.
Charlotte Perkins Gilman
"All monsters are descendants of tyrants, sovereigns, and, most importantly, a power turned malignant. Throughout these histories of aberrance, going astray always carries with it an immediate political exile. The abnormal is deemed apolitical, beyond the bounds of politics and its Right''.
"'Describing the parties’ choice as a rational choice subject to the reasonable constraints imposed by the original position allows Rawls to invoke the theory of rational choice and decision under conditions of uncertainty. In rational choice theory there are a number of potential “strategies” or rules of choice that are more or less reliably used depending on the circumstances. One rule of choice—called “maximin”—directs that we play it as safe as possible by choosing the alternative whose worst outcome leaves us better off than the worst outcome of all other alternatives. The aim is to “maximize the minimum” regret or loss to one’s position (measured in terms of welfare or, for Rawls, one’s share of primary social goods). To follow this strategy, Rawls says you should choose as if your enemy were to assign your social position in whatever kind of society you end up in. By contrast another strategy leads us to focus on the most advantaged position and says we should “maximize the maximum” potential gain—“maximax”—and choose the alternative whose best outcome leaves us better off than all other alternatives. Which, if either, of these strategies is more sensible to use depends on the circumstances and many other factors.
A third strategy advocated by orthodox Bayesian decision theory, says we should always choose to directly maximize expected utility. To do so under conditions of uncertainty of outcomes, the degree of uncertainty should be factored into one’s utility function, with probability estimates assigned to alternatives based on the limited knowledge that one has. Given these subjective estimates of probability incorporated into one’s utility function, one can always choose the alternative that maximizes expected utility. Since it simplifies matters to apply the same rule of choice to all decisions this is a highly attractive idea, so long as one can accept that it is normally safe to assume that that the maximization of expected utility leads over time to maximizing actual utility.
What about those extremely rare instances where there is absolutely no basis upon which to make probability estimates? Suppose you don’t even have a hunch regarding the greater likelihood of one alternative over another. According to orthodox Bayesian decision theory, the “principle of insufficient reason” should then be observed; it says that when there is no reason to assign a greater likelihood to one alternative rather than another, then an equal probability is to be assigned to each potential outcome. This makes sense on the assumption that if you have no more premonition of the likelihood of one option rather than another, they are for all you know equally likely to occur. By observing this rule of choice consistently over time, a rational chooser presumably should maximize expected individual utility, and hopefully actual utility as well.
What now is the appropriate decision rule to be used to choose principles of justice under conditions of complete uncertainty of probabilities in Rawls’s original position? Rawls argues that, given the enormous gravity of choice in the original position, plus the fact that the choice is not repeatable (there’s no opportunity to renegotiate or revise one’s decision), it is rational for the parties to follow the maximin strategy when choosing between the principles of justice and principles of average or aggregate utility (or any other principles that do not guarantee basic rights, liberties, opportunities, and a social minimum). Not surprisingly, following the maximin rule of choice results in choice of the principles of justice over the principles of utility (average or aggregate); for unlike utilitarianism, justice as fairness guarantees equal basic liberties, fair equal opportunities, and an adequate social minimum for all citizens.
Why does Rawls think maximin is the rational choice rule? Recall what is at stake in choice from the original position. The decision is not an ordinary choice. It is rather a unique and irrevocable choice where the parties decide the basic structure of their society, or the kind of social world they will live in and the background conditions against which they will develop and pursue their aims. It is a kind of superchoice—an inimitable choice of the background conditions for all one’s future choices. Rawls argues that because of the unique importance of the choice in the original position—including the gravity of the choice, the fact that it is not renegotiable or repeatable, and the fact that it determines all one’s future prospects—it is rational to follow the maximin rule and choose the principles of justice. For should even the worst transpire, the principles of justice guarantee an adequate share of primary goods enabling one to maintain one’s conscientious convictions and sincerest affections and pursue a wide range of permissible ends by protecting equal basic liberties and fair equal opportunities and guaranteeing an adequate social minimum of income and wealth. The principles of utility, by contrast, provide no guarantee of any of these benefits.
Rawls says that in general there are three conditions that must be met in order to make it rational to follow the maximin rule (TJ 154–55/134 rev.). First, there should be no basis or at most a very insecure basis upon which to make estimates of probabilities. Second, the choice singled out by observing the maximin rule is an acceptable alternative we can live with, so that one cares relatively little by comparison for what is to be gained above the minimum conditions secured by the maximin choice. When this condition is satisfied, then no matter what position one eventually ends up in, it is at least acceptable. The third condition for applying the maximin rule is that all the other alternatives have worse outcomes that we could not accept and live with. Of these three conditions Rawls later says that the first plays a minor role, and that it is the second and third conditions that are crucial to the maximin argument for justice as fairness (JF 99). This seems to suggest that, even if the veil of ignorance were not as thick and parties did have some degree of knowledge of the likelihood of ending up in one social position rather than another, still it would be more rational to choose the principles of justice over the principle of utility.
Rawls contends all three conditions for the maximin strategy are satisfied in the original position when choice is made between the principles of justice and the principle of utility (average and aggregate). Because all one’s values, commitments, and future prospects are at stake in the original position, and there is no hope of renegotiating the outcome, a rational person would agree to the principles of justice instead of the principle of utility. For the principles of justice imply that no matter what position you occupy in society, you will have the rights and resources needed to maintain your valued commitments and purposes, to effectively exercise your capacities for rational and moral deliberation and action, and to maintain your sense of self-respect as an equal citizen. With the principle of utility there is no such guarantee; everything is “up for grabs” (so to speak) and subject to loss if required by the greater sum of utilities. Conditions (2) and (3) for applying maximin are then satisfied in the comparison of justice as fairness with the principle of (average or aggregate) utility.
It is often claimed that Rawls’s parties are “risk-averse;” otherwise they would never follow the maximin rule but would take a chance on riskier but more rewarding outcomes provided by the principle of utility. Thus, John Harsanyi contends that it is more rational under conditions of complete uncertainty always to choose according to the principle of insufficient reason and assume an equal probability of occupying any position in society. When the equiprobability assumption is made, the parties in the original position would choose the principle of average utility instead of the principles of justice (Harsanyi 1975).
Rawls denies that the parties have a psychological disposition to risk-aversion. They have no knowledge of their attitudes towards risk. He argues however that it is rational to choose as if one were risk averse under the highly exceptional circumstances of the original position. His point is that, while there is nothing rational about a fixed disposition to risk aversion, it is nonetheless rational in some circumstances to choose conservatively to protect certain fundamental interests against loss or compromise. It does not make one a risk averse person, but instead it is normally rational to purchase auto liability, health, and home insurance against accident or calamity (assuming it is affordable). The original position is such a situation writ large. Even if one knew in the original position that the citizen one represents enjoys gambling and taking great risks, this would still not be a reason to gamble with their rights, liberties and starting position in society. For if the high risktaker were born into a traditional, repressive, or fundamentalist society, they might never have an opportunity for gambling and taking other risks they normally enjoy. It is rational then even for high risktakers to choose conservatively in the original position and guarantee their future opportunities to gamble or otherwise take risks.
Harsanyi and other orthodox Bayesians contend that maximin is an irrational decision rule, and they provide ample examples. To take Rawls’ own example, in a lottery where the loss and gain alternatives are either (0, n) or (1/n, 1) for all natural numbers n, maximin says choose the latter alternative (1/n, 1). This is clearly irrational for almost any number n except very small numbers. (TJ 136 rev.). But such examples do not suffice here; simply because maximin is under most circumstances irrational does not mean that it is never rational. For example, suppose n>1 and you must have 1/n to save you own life. Given the gravity of the circumstances, it would be rational to choose conservatively since you are guaranteed 1/n according to the maximin strategy, and there is no guarantee you will survive if you choose according to the principle of insufficient reason.
No doubt maximin is an irrational strategy under most circumstances of choice uncertainty, particularly under circumstances where we will have future opportunities to recoup our losses and choose again. But these are not the circumstances of the original position. Once the principles of justice are decided, they apply in perpetuity, and there is no opportunity to renegotiate or escape the situation. One who relies on the equiprobability assumption in choosing principles of justice in the original position is being foolishly reckless given the gravity of choice at stake. It is not being risk-averse, but rather entirely rational to refuse to gamble with one’s basic liberties, fair equal opportunities and adequate resources needed to pursue one’s most cherished ends and commitments, simply for the unknown chance of gaining the marginally greater social powers, income and wealth that might be available to some in a society governed entirely by the principle of utility.
Rawls exhibits the force of the maximin argument in discussing liberty of conscience. He says (TJ, sect. 33) that a person who is willing to jeopardize their right to hold and practice their conscientious religious, philosophical and moral convictions, all for the sake of gaining uncertain added benefits via the principle of utility, does not know what it means to have conscientious beliefs, or at least does not take such beliefs seriously (TJ 207–08/181–82 rev.). A rational person with convictions about what gives life meaning is not willing to negotiate with and gamble away the right to hold and express those convictions and the freedom to act on them. After all what could be the basis for negotiation, for what could matter more than the objects of one’s most sincere convictions and commitments? Some people (e.g. some nihilists) may not have any conscientious convictions (except the belief that nothing is worthwhile) and are simply willing to act on impulse or on whatever thoughts and desires they happen to have at the moment. But behind the veil of ignorance no one knows whether they are such a person, and it would be foolish to make this assumption. Knowing general facts about human propensities and sociability, the parties must take into account that people normally have conscientious convictions and values and commitments they are unwilling to compromise. (Besides, even the nihilist should want to protect the freedom to be a nihilist, to avoid ending up in an intolerant religious society.) Thus it remains irrational to jeopardize basic liberties by choosing the principle of utility instead of the principles of justice.
None of this is to say that maximin is normally a rational choice strategy. Rawls himself says it “is not, in general, a suitable guide for choices under uncertainty” (TJ 153). It is not even a rational strategy in the original position when the alternatives for choice guarantee basic liberties, equal opportunities, and a social minimum guaranteed by the principle of average utility''.
Stanford
Rawls’s difference principle says:
Social and economic inequalities are to be arranged so that they are to the greatest benefit of the least advantaged…(TJ 302/266 rev.)
"The principle addresses differences or inequalities in the distribution of the primary goods of income and wealth and powers and positions of office and responsibility. It basically requires that a society is to institute the economic system that would make the least advantaged class better off than they would be in any other feasible economic system, compatible with maintaining citizens equal basic liberties and fair equality of opportunity. Rawls defines “least advantaged” as “those belonging to the lowest income class with the least expectations” (JF 59). Initially in Theory these were either people with one-half of the median income, or those with the income and wealth of unskilled workers (TJ 82–83) who as a class presumably have the least share of the primary goods of income and wealth, and powers and positions of office. Subsequently Rawls emphasized that for purposes of the difference principle the least advantaged are “fully cooperating” (JF 179), and “full and active participants in society” whose “physical needs and psychological capacities are within the normal range” (CP, 259) and who do their fair share in contributing to economic activity and the joint social product. Rawls thus regards “distributive shares” under the difference principle as the benefits that accrue to persons for doing their part in socially productive cooperation. The class of unskilled workers receiving minimum income thus satisfies his definition of least advantaged (TJ 98/84 rev.). Those who are able but unwilling to work where there is much work available “must somehow support themselves” (JF 179; see also PL 182n).
Rawls has been widely criticized for defining the least advantaged in terms of their (minimum) share of primary social goods of income and wealth, since this does not account for the special needs and care required for those with serious disabilities. (Kittay 1999; Nussbaum 2006; Sen 2009) In response Rawls agrees that using the same index of primary social goods for people with serious disabilities as for normally functioning people would be unfair. He says “I agree with Sen that basic capabilities are of first importance and that the use of primary goods is always to be assessed in light of assumptions about those capabilities.” (PL 183). This is ambiguous, but it’s notable that the moral powers of practical reason are themselves capabilities which ground the primary social goods, and also define the parties’ fundamental interests and specify the basic liberties and their significance in the two fundamental cases. (PL ch.8) Rawls further maintains that disability care and payments to meet the needs of severely handicapped citizens, especially those permanently unable to work, are not ascertained by the difference principle; they are to be determined by principles of health care required by the fair equality of opportunity principle and other special assistance principles (including perhaps the basic needs principle), which he leaves unspecified (PL 272n). As a principle for structuring and regulating basic economic institutions on grounds of reciprocity and mutual respect among those who contribute to social and economic cooperation, the difference principle itself is not an appropriate or adequate principle for compensation and care for mental and physical handicaps and other serious disabilities.
Rawls contends it is an empirical question which economic system satisfies the difference principle. He claims however that under ideal conditions of a well-ordered society, where the principles of justice are generally accepted, either a “property-owning democracy” or liberal (market) socialism are most likely to satisfy the difference principle, to the exclusion of laissez-faire capitalism, command economy communism, and even the modern capitalist welfare state. Property-owning democracy (POD) differs from the capitalist welfare state mainly in that it is not marked by such broad discrepancies in income and wealth, but instead provides for widespread private ownership of productive wealth and means of production, including workers’ opportunities for greater freedom and control in the workplace. Thus, akin to market socialism, POD is not marked by sharp divisions between capital and labor but manifests broad distribution of economic powers and positions, as well as a more equal distribution of income and wealth (see JF 135–140, 158–162, 178). For these reasons, and since a property-owning democracy also secures the fair value of equal political liberties and fair equality of opportunities, Rawls contends a property-owning democracy provides a more secure basis for citizens’ sense of self-respect than does welfare-state capitalism (see Freeman 2007b, 219–235; Freeman 2013, 2018). Others reply that liberal socialism better realizes Rawls’ principles of justice. (See Edmundson 2017, contending that the fair value of equal political liberties cannot be sustained in a private property economy.)
Rawls relies on the maximin rule of choice to argue against the principle of utility. Since the maximin rule and the difference principle both require maximizing the minimum position, it seems natural to assume that the maximin choice rule leads directly to choice of the difference principle in the original position. Though Rawls might have conveyed this impression in Theory (§26), he later says that in fact the maximin rule alone cannot be used to justify the difference principle (JF, 43n, 94–95). For when the difference principle is compared with those “mixed conceptions” of economic justice that protect basic liberties and provide some form of equal opportunities and guarantee an adequate social minimum on grounds of restricted utility, then the third condition for applying maximin is not satisfied (see the section on The Argument from the Maximin Criterion in the main text). The third condition for the maximin rule implies that there can only be one acceptable alternative for choice. If there is a second alternative the consequences of which rational persons can live with and accept if they end up in the least advantaged position (for example it protects basic liberties and opportunities, and guarantees a social safety net adequate to “the fruitful exercise of basic liberties”), then the maximin rule is not a rational rule of decision. For then there is no likelihood of grave risks to one’s future prospects.
“Mixed conceptions” of justice (see TJ §49) protect the basic liberties, and some conception of fair equal opportunities, and guarantee a decent social minimum of income and wealth sufficient to meet basic needs and adequately exercise basic liberties. But they determine the social minimum in some way other than the difference principle. For example, the social minimum may be determined by balancing citizens’ moral intuitions regarding a decent minimum; or according to the rule that the adequate social minimum is one-third of the median market income in society; or the lowest minimum that meets basic needs essential to a decent human life and which assures that the strains of commitment are not excessive. (Waldron, 1986, discussed by Rawls, JF 127–128) Once the social minimum so defined is satisfied mixed conceptions then rely upon the principle of average utility (or some alternative) to decide economic policies and distributions. Rawls calls this the “principle of restricted utility,” (JF 120, 126) since the pursuit of maximum social utility is restricted by the basic liberties, fair opportunities, and a decent social minimum. This is one of several possible mixed conceptions that combine the first principle of justice with a principle of distributive justice with a social minimum other than the difference principle (TJ, 124/107 rev.). Rawls apparently regards the capitalist welfare state as based in mixed conceptions that incorporate such a principle of restricted utility (JF 120–130, 139–140) but do not otherwise impose restrictions on economic inequalities.
Rawls concedes that “mixed conceptions are much more difficult to argue against than the principle of utility,” since “the strong arguments from liberty cannot be used as before” (TJ, 316/278 rev.). He discusses mixed conceptions in Theory, §49, and devotes more attention to them later in Justice as Fairness: A Restatement (§§34–38). Rawls provides several grounds that should lead the parties in the original position to agree on the difference principle – primarily publicity, stability, and reciprocity – and he adds several more specific arguments that speak against choice of the principle of restricted utility (TJ 49; JF sect.38). Mention has already been made of his argument (TJ §29) that the difference principle affirms the sense of self-respect of the least advantaged since, unlike the principle of utility, it treats them as ends in themselves and not as means to the greater well-being of the more advantaged. The force of this argument from self-respect is perhaps not as strong when the difference principle is compared with a principle of restricted utility that guarantees equal basic liberties, fair opportunities, and a decent minimum meeting basic needs. Still Rawls contends that because a welfare state capitalist economy governed by restricted utility does not put any restrictions on inequalities, “there may develop a discouraged and depressed underclass many of whose members are chronically dependent on welfare. This underclass feels left out and does not participate in the public political culture” (JF §42.3). Their sense of self-respect is likely to be undermined since they feel that though they are in society they are not members of it.
The main argument in favor of the difference principle depends on a strong idea of reciprocity (JF §36). In a society structured by the difference principle gains to those more advantaged are never made at the expense of those less advantaged; instead, any gains to the more advantaged always conform to rules that benefit also the least advantaged, and do so more than any other alternative measure. By contrast restricted utility, even if it provides a social minimum, still permits disadvantages and losses to the worst off so that those better off may prosper. Any degree of inequality is allowed in the name of maximizing utility so long as it does not violate the social minimum. Such a situation, Rawls contends, would be morally unacceptable to free and equal persons in a well-ordered society since it does not evince “reciprocity at the deepest level,” and is hence rationally unacceptable to the parties in the original position.
There are different ways to conceive of an economic system based in reciprocity. Even a laissez-faire entitlement system of free transfer and exchange that satisfies Pareto efficiency satisfies reciprocity in a very weak sense assuming no one is made worse off than some baseline since everyone is presumably made better off by the exchanges and transfers they make. But the Pareto principle and laissez-faire entitlement principles are compatible with enormous gains to the more advantaged while the least advantaged gain only minimally, if at all. This is “trickle-down,” where the poor in effect cannot advance unless the rich substantially benefit, and where benefits to the rich need not benefit the poor at all. The kind of reciprocity provided by the principle of restricted utility is more robust than laissez-faire and the Pareto principle since it guarantees a social minimum meeting basic needs and allowing for the “fruitful exercise” of the basic liberties. Everyone has a stake in the economic system at least to the degree that it meets these conditions. But, beyond this point wealth and income are generated and distributed so as to maximize overall wealth and therewith (presumably) overall utility. Further gains to those better off need not advance the position of the least advantaged, and indeed sometimes may come at their expense so long as the social minimum is maintained''.
''Even Nietzsche knew of the vomit inducing nature of the citizen who voraciously consumes death as an utterly alienated practice of being informed, and treating it as the “latest delicacy.”
The ocular mechanism can only operate along the lines of recognizing, categorizing, and subjectivating. Ocularity cannot gaze upon itself. The eye of power never turns against itself, but those it gazes upon can stare back.
We are told we must publicly grieve for those who partied at the gates of an open-air concentration camp, while ensuring that any tear shed for those living under a permanent state of exception is qualified with a litany of excising maneuvers and condemnations.
These enemies remain perfectly amorphous and undefinable, so as to ensure they are everywhere like vapor – perhaps even under the corpses of children. We are told that those who dissent stand guilty of valorizing terrorism, which is a powerfully meaningless term in the mouths of defense bureaucrats. And yet we are told that they are unquestionably stable, and we are exasperated, desperate, and hysterical – perhaps we are even dangerous.
The assertion of danger is for the vanquisher alone to attest. The ocular mechanism is wielded by power alone, and this is not a technology of governance that can become a ground of contestation and reappropriation. This risk assessment by the victorious remains their tool, and theirs alone.
Entire populations must be held out and suspended in the realm of death, because the occupier attests that their own vitality depends on it.
A nuclear weapon does not have to be deployed from a submarine; it does not even need to be present in the theater of war. It is instead a biopolitical paradigm that operates within the enduring state of exception it initiated. Palestine, disciplinarily, is the most heavily surveilled occupied population on Earth. The dovetailing of the panoptic world and the biopolitical fabric of technologies of devastation produces—for us in the imperial core—the conditions of maintaining a norm. Our comfort is always safeguarded by this subtle slaughter.Every quotidian instance in the imperial core carries with it a fragment of atrocity''.
Will Conway
"After Germany’s defeat in the First World War, Uexküll had become increasingly antisemitic and began channeling this conviction in his academic writing (Mildenberger and Herrmann, 2014b, pp. 294, 295). A second edition of the book published in 1933 included a partially rewritten section on “the diseases of the state [Die Krankheiten des Staates],” which identifies members of foreign races who are detrimental to the state as “parasites” (von Uexküll, 1933, pp. 59, 72). Uexküll concludes the book by praising the “ingenious doctor” into whose care Germany has delivered itself as a “deeply sick patient”—a reference to Adolf Hitler (von Uexküll, 1933, p. 79; Winthrop-Young, 2010, pp. 226, 227). These connections between romanticist holism and fascism in Uexküll’s work are deeply disconcerting (cf. Harrington, 1996)''.
TF
Feiten
Scarcity, then, is mostly an illusion, a cultural creation. But because we live, almost wholly, in a culturally constructed world, our experience of this scarcity is quite real—real enough that nearly a billion people today are malnourished, and some 5,000 children die each day from hunger-related causes. So our responses to this scarcity—anxiety and greed—are perfectly understandable. When something is abundant, no one hesitates to share it. We live in an abundant world, made otherwise through our perceptions, our culture, and our deep invisible stories. Our perception of scarcity is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Money is central to the construction of the self-reifying illusion of scarcity.
Money, which has turned abundance into scarcity, engenders greed. But not money per se—only the kind of money we use today, money that embodies our cultural sense of self, our unconscious myths, and an adversarial relationship with nature thousands of years in the making. All of these things are changing today. Let us look, then, at how money came to so afflict our minds and ways, so that we might envision how the money system might change with them.
"It is said that money, or at least the love of it, is the root of all evil. But why should it be? After all, the purpose of money is, at its most basic, simply to facilitate exchange—in other words, to connect human gifts with human needs. What power, what monstrous perversion, has turned money into the opposite: an agent of scarcity?
For indeed we live in a world of fundamental abundance, a world where vast quantities of food, energy, and materials go to waste. Half the world starves while the other half wastes enough to feed the first half. In the Third World and our own ghettos, people lack food, shelter, and other basic necessities and cannot afford to buy them. Meanwhile, we pour vast resources into wars, plastic junk, and innumerable other products that do not serve human happiness. Obviously, poverty is not due to a lack of productive capacity. Nor is it due to a lack of willingness to help: many people would love to feed the poor, to restore nature, and do other meaningful work but cannot because there is no money in it. Money utterly fails to connect gifts and needs. Why?
For years, following conventional opinion, I thought the answer was “greed.” Why do sweatshop factories push wages down to the bare minimum? Greed. Why do people buy gas-guzzling SUVs? Greed. Why do pharmaceutical companies suppress research and sell drugs that they know are dangerous? Greed. Why do tropical fish suppliers dynamite coral reefs? Why do factories pump toxic waste into the rivers? Why do corporate raiders loot employee pension funds? Greed, greed, greed.
Eventually I became uncomfortable with that answer. For one thing, it plays into the same ideology of separation that lies at the root of our civilization’s ills. It is an ideology as old as agriculture’s division of the world into two separate realms: the wild and the domestic, the human and the natural, the wheat and the weed. It says there are two opposing forces in this world, good and evil, and that we can create a better world by eliminating evil. There is something bad in the world and something bad in ourselves, something we must extirpate to make the world safe for goodness.
The war against evil imbues every institution of our society. In agriculture, it appears as the desire to exterminate wolves, to destroy all weeds with glyphosate, to kill all the pests. In medicine it is the war against germs, a constant battle against a hostile world. In religion it is the struggle against sin, or against ego, or against faithlessness or doubt, or against the outward projection of these things: the devil, the infidel. It is the mentality of purifying and purging, of self-improvement and conquest, of rising above nature and transcending desire, of sacrificing oneself in order to be good. Above all, it is the mentality of control.
It says that once final victory over evil is won, we will enter paradise. When we eliminate all the terrorists or create an impenetrable barrier to them, we will be safe. When we develop an irresistible antibiotic and artificial regulation of body processes, we will have perfect health. When we make crime impossible and have a law to govern everything, we will have a perfect society. When you overcome your laziness, your compulsions, your addictions, you will have a perfect life. Until then, you are just going to have to try harder.
In the same vein, the problem in economic life is supposedly greed, both outside ourselves in the form of all those greedy people and within ourselves in the form of our own greedy tendencies. We like to imagine that we ourselves are not so greedy—maybe we have greedy impulses, but we keep them under control. Unlike some people! Some people don’t keep their greed in check. They are lacking in something fundamental that you and I have, some basic decency, basic goodness. They are, in a word, Bad. If they can’t learn to restrain their desires, to make do with less, then we’ll have to force them to.
Clearly, the paradigm of greed is rife with judgment of others, and with self-judgment as well. Our self-righteous anger and hatred of the greedy harbor the secret fear that we are no better than they are. It is the hypocrite who is the most zealous in the persecution of evil. Externalizing the enemy gives expression to unresolved feelings of anger. In a way, this is a necessity: the consequences of keeping them bottled up or directed inward are horrific. But there came a time in my life when I was through hating, through with the war against the self, through with the struggle to be good, and through with the pretense that I was any better than anyone else. I believe humanity, collectively, is nearing such a time as well. Ultimately, greed is a red herring, itself a symptom and not a cause of a deeper problem. To blame greed and to fight it by intensifying the program of self-control is to intensify the war against the self, which is just another expression of the war against nature and the war against the other that lies at the base of the present crisis of civilization.
Greed makes sense in a context of scarcity. Our reigning ideology assumes it: it is built in to our Story of Self. The separate self in a universe governed by hostile or indifferent forces is always at the edge of extinction, and secure only to the extent that it can control these forces. Cast into an objective universe external to ourselves, we must compete with each other for limited resources. Based on the story of the separate self, both biology and economics have therefore written greed into their basic axioms. In biology it is the gene seeking to maximize reproductive self-interest; in economics it is the rational actor seeking to maximize financial self-interest. But what if the assumption of scarcity is false—a projection of our ideology, and not the ultimate reality? If so, then greed is not written into our biology but is a mere symptom of the perception of scarcity.
An indication that greed reflects the perception rather than the reality of scarcity is that rich people tend to be less generous than poor people. In my experience, poor people quite often lend or give each other small sums that, proportionally speaking, would be the equivalent of half a rich person’s net worth. Extensive research backs up this observation. A large 2002 survey by Independent Sector, a nonprofit research organization, found that Americans making less than $25,000 gave 4.2 percent of their income to charity, as opposed to 2.7 percent for people making over $100,000. More recently, Paul Piff, a social psychologist at University of California–Berkeley, found that “lower-income people were more generous, charitable, trusting and helpful to others than were those with more wealth.”(1) Piff found that when research subjects were given money to anonymously distribute between themselves and a partner (who would never know their identity), their generosity correlated inversely to their socioeconomic status. (2)
While it is tempting to conclude from this that greedy people become wealthy, an equally plausible interpretation is that wealth makes people greedy. Why would this be? In a context of abundance greed is silly; only in a context of scarcity is it rational. The wealthy perceive scarcity where there is none. They also worry more than anybody else about money. Could it be that money itself causes the perception of scarcity? Could it be that money, nearly synonymous with security, ironically brings the opposite? The answer to both these questions is yes. On the individual level, rich people have a lot more “invested” in their money and are less able to let go of it. (To let go easily reflects an attitude of abundance.) On the systemic level, as we shall see, scarcity is also built in to money, a direct result of the way it is created and circulated.
The assumption of scarcity is one of the two central axioms of economics. (The second is that people naturally seek to maximize their rational self-interest.) Both are false; or, more precisely, they are true only within a narrow realm, a realm that we, the frog at the bottom of the well, mistake for the whole of reality. As is so often the case, what we take to be objective truth is actually a projection of our own condition onto the “objective” world. So immersed in scarcity are we that we take it to be the nature of reality. But in fact, we live in a world of abundance. The omnipresent scarcity we experience is an artifact: of our money system, of our politics, and of our perceptions.
As we shall see, our money system, system of ownership, and general economic system reflect the same fundamental sense of self that has, built into it, the perception of scarcity. It is the “discrete and separate self,” the Cartesian self: a bubble of psychology marooned in an indifferent universe, seeking to own, to control, to arrogate as much wealth to itself as possible, but foredoomed by its very cutoff from the richness of connected beingness to the experience of never having enough.
The assertion that we live in a world of abundance sometimes provokes an emotional reaction, bordering on hostility, in those of my readers who believe that harmonious human coexistence with the rest of life is impossible without a massive reduction in population. They cite Peak Oil and resource depletion, global warming, the exhaustion of our farmland, and our ecological footprint as evidence that the earth cannot long support industrial civilization at present population levels.
This book offers a response to this concern as part of a vision of a sacred economy. More importantly, it addresses the “how” questions as well—for example, how we will get to there from here. For now I will offer a partial response, a reason for hope.
It is true that human activity is vastly overburdening the earth today. Fossil fuels, aquifers, topsoil, the capacity to absorb pollution, and the ecosystems that maintain the viability of the biosphere are all being depleted at an alarming rate. All the measures on the table are far too little, far too late—a drop in the bucket compared to what is needed.
On the other hand, an enormous proportion of this human activity is either superfluous or deleterious to human happiness. Consider first the armaments industry and the resources consumed in war: some $2 trillion dollars a year, a vast scientific establishment, and the life energy of millions of young people, all to serve no need except one we create ourselves.
Consider the housing industry here in the United States, with the enormous McMansions of the last two decades that again serve no real human need. In some countries a building that size would house fifty people. As it is, the cavernous living rooms go unused, for people feel uncomfortable in their inhuman scale and seek out the comfort of the small den and the breakfast nook. The materials, energy, and maintenance of such monstrosities are a waste of resources. Perhaps even more wasteful is the layout of suburbia, which makes public transportation impossible and necessitates inordinate amounts of driving.
Consider the food industry, which exhibits massive waste at every level. According to a government study, farm-to-retail losses are about 4 percent, retail-to-consumer losses 12 percent, and consumer-level losses 29 percent. (3) Moreover, vast tracts of farmland are devoted to biofuel production, and mechanized agriculture precludes labor-intensive intercropping and other intensive production techniques that could vastly increase productivity. (4)
Such figures suggest the potential plenty available even in a world of seven billion people—but with a caveat: people will spend much more time (per capita) growing food, in a reversal of the trend of the last two centuries. Few realize that organic agriculture can be two to three times more productive than conventional agriculture—per hectare, not per hour of labor. (5) And intensive gardening can be more productive (and more labor-intensive) still. If you like gardening and think that most people would benefit from being closer to the soil, this is good news. With a few hours’ work a week, a typical suburban garden plot of perhaps a thousand square feet can meet most of a family’s vegetable needs; double that and it can provide substantial amounts of staples too, like potatoes, sweet potatoes, and squash. Is the vast transcontinental trucking system that brings California lettuce and carrots to the rest of the country really necessary? Does it enhance life in any way?
Another type of waste comes from the shoddy construction and planned obsolescence of many of our manufactured goods. Presently there are few economic incentives, and some disincentives, to produce goods that last a long time and are easy to fix, with the absurd result that it is often cheaper to buy a new appliance than to repair an old one. This is ultimately a consequence of our money system, and it will be reversed in a sacred economy.
On my street, every family possesses a lawnmower that is used perhaps ten hours per summer. Each kitchen has a blender that is used at most fifteen minutes per week. At any given moment, about half the cars are parked on the street, doing nothing. Most families have their own hedge clippers, their own power tools, their own exercise equipment. Because they are unused most of the time, most of these things are superfluous. Our quality of life would be just as high with half the number of cars, a tenth of the lawnmowers, and two or three Stairmasters for the whole street. In fact, it would be higher since we would have occasion to interact and share.(6) Even at our current, gratuitously high rate of consumption, some 40 percent of the world’s industrial capacity stands idle. That figure could be increased to 80 percent or more without any loss of human happiness. All we would lose would be the pollution and tedium of a lot of factory production. Of course, we would lose a vast number of “jobs” as well, but since these are not contributing much to human well-being anyway,..we could devote them to...other needs of today that go tragically unmet for lack of money.
A world without weapons, without McMansions in sprawling suburbs, without mountains of unnecessary packaging, without giant mechanized monofarms, without energy-hogging big-box stores, without electronic billboards, without endless piles of throwaway junk, without the overconsumption of consumer goods no one really needs is not an impoverished world. I disagree with those environmentalists who say we are going to have to make do with less. In fact, we are going to make do with more: more beauty, more community, more fulfillment, more art, more music, and material objects that are fewer in number but superior in utility and aesthetics. The cheap stuff that fills our lives today, however great its quantity, can only cheapen life.
Part of the healing that a sacred economy represents is the healing of the divide we have created between spirit and matter. In keeping with the sacredness of all things, I advocate an embrace, not an eschewing, of materialism. I think we will love our things more and not less. We will treasure our material possessions, honor where they came from and where they will go. If you have a treasured baseball mitt or fishing rod, you may know what I’m talking about. Or perhaps your grandfather had a favorite set of woodworking tools that he kept in perfect condition for fifty years. That is how we will honor our things. Can you imagine what the world would be like if that same care and consideration went into everything we produced? If every engineer put that much love into her creations? Today, such an attitude is uneconomic; it is rarely in anyone’s financial interest to treat a thing as sacred. You can just buy a new baseball mitt or fishing rod, and why be too careful with your tools when new ones are so cheap? The cheapness of our things is part of their devaluation, casting us into a cheap world where everything is generic and expendable.
Amidst superabundance, even we in rich countries live in an omnipresent anxiety, craving “financial security” as we try to keep scarcity at bay. We make choices (even those having nothing to do with money) according to what we can “afford,” and we commonly associate freedom with wealth. But when we pursue it, we find that the paradise of financial freedom is a mirage, receding as we approach it, and that the chase itself enslaves. The anxiety is always there, the scarcity always just one disaster away. We call that chase greed. Truly, it is a response to the perception of scarcity.
Let me offer one more kind of evidence, for now meant to be suggestive rather than conclusive, for the artificiality or illusory nature of the scarcity we experience. Economics, it says on page one of textbooks, is the study of human behavior under conditions of scarcity. The expansion of the economic realm is therefore the expansion of scarcity, its incursion into areas of life once characterized by abundance. Economic behavior, particularly the exchange of money for goods, extends today into realms that were never before the subject of money exchanges. Take, for example, one of the great retail growth categories in the last decade: bottled water. If one thing is abundant on earth to the point of near-ubiquity, it is water, yet today it has become scarce, something we pay for.
Child care has been another area of high economic growth in my lifetime. When I was young, it was nothing for friends and neighbors to watch each other’s kids for a few hours after school, a vestige of village or tribal times when children ran free. My ex-wife Patsy speaks movingly of her childhood in rural Taiwan, where children could and did show up at any neighbor’s house around dinner time to be given a bowl of rice. The community took care of the children. In other words, child care was abundant; it would have been impossible to open an after-school day care center.
For something to become an object of commerce, it must be made scarce first. As the economy grows, by definition, more and more of human activity enters the realm of money, the realm of goods and services. Usually we associate economic growth with an increase in wealth, but we can also see it as an impoverishment, an increase in scarcity. Things we once never dreamed of paying for, we must pay for today. Pay for using what? Using money, of course—money that we struggle and sacrifice to obtain. If one thing is scarce, it is surely money. Most people I know live in constant low-level (sometimes high-level) anxiety for fear of not having enough of it. And as the anxiety of the wealthy confirms, no amount is ever “enough.”
From this perspective, we must be cautious in our indignation at such facts as, “Over two billion people live on less than two dollars a day.” A low cash income could mean that someone’s needs are met outside the money economy, for example through traditional networks of reciprocity and gifts. “Development” in such cases raises incomes by bringing non-monetary economic activity into the realm of goods and services, with the resulting mentality of scarcity, competition, and anxiety so familiar to us in the West, yet so alien to the moneyless hunter-gatherer or subsistence peasant.
Ensuing chapters explain the mechanisms and meaning of the centuries-old conversion of life and the world into money, the progressive commodification of everything. When everything is subject to money, then the scarcity of money makes everything scarce, including the basis of human life and happiness. Such is the life of the slave—one whose actions are compelled by threat to survival.
Perhaps the deepest indication of our slavery is the monetization of time. It is a phenomenon with roots deeper than our money system, for it depends on the prior quantification of time. An animal or a child has “all the time in the world.” The same was apparently true for Stone Age peoples, who usually had very loose concepts of time and rarely were in a hurry. Primitive languages often lacked tenses, and sometimes lacked even words for “yesterday” or “tomorrow.” The comparative nonchalance primitive people had toward time is still apparent today in rural, more traditional parts of the world. Life moves faster in the big city, where we are always in a hurry because time is scarce. But in the past, we experienced time as abundant.
The more monetized society is, the more anxious and hurried its citizens. In parts of the world that are still somewhat outside the money economy, where subsistence farming still exists and where neighbors help each other, the pace of life is slower, less hurried. In rural Mexico, everything is done mañana. A Ladakhi peasant woman interviewed in Helena Norberg-Hodge’s film “Ancient Futures” sums it all up in describing her city-dwelling sister: “She has a rice cooker, a car, a telephone—all kinds of time-saving devices. Yet when I visit her, she is always so busy we barely have time to talk.”
For the animal, child, or hunter-gatherer, time is essentially infinite. Today its monetization has subjected it, like the rest, to scarcity. Time is life. When we experience time as scarce, we experience life as short and poor.
If you were born before adult schedules invaded childhood and children were rushed around from activity to activity, then perhaps you still remember the subjective eternity of childhood, the afternoons that stretched on forever, the timeless freedom of life before the tyranny of calendar and clocks. “Clocks,” writes John Zerzan, “make time scarce and life short.” Once quantified, time too could be bought and sold, and the scarcity of all money-linked commodities afflicted time as well. “Time is money,” the saying goes, an identity confirmed by the metaphor “I can’t afford the time.”
"The first part of the Critique, the ‘Transcendental Aesthetic’, has two objectives: to show that we have synthetic a priori knowledge of the spatial and temporal forms of outer and inner experience, grounded in our own pure intuitions of space and time; and to argue that transcendental idealism, the theory that spatiality and temporality are only forms in which objects appear to us and not properties of objects as they are in themselves, is the necessary condition for this a priori knowledge of space and time (see Space; Time).
Much of the section refines arguments from the inaugural dissertation of 1770. First, in what the second edition labels the ‘Metaphysical Exposition’, Kant argues that space and time are both pure forms of intuition and pure intuitions. They are pure forms of intuition because they must precede and structure all experience of individual outer objects and inner states; Kant tries to prove this by arguing that our conceptions of space and time cannot be derived from experience of objects, because any such experience presupposes the individuation of objects in space and/or time, and that although we can represent space or time as devoid of objects, we cannot represent any objects without representing space and/or time (A 23–4/B 38–9; A 30–1/B 46). They are pure intuitions because they represent single individuals rather than classes of things; Kant tries to prove this by arguing that particular spaces and times are always represented by introducing boundaries into a single, unlimited space or time, rather than the latter being composed out of the former as parts, and that space and time do not have an indefinite number of instances, like general concepts, but an infinite number of parts (A 24/B 39–40; A 31–2/B 47–8).
Next, in the ‘Transcendental Exposition’, Kant argues that we must have an a priori intuition of space because ‘geometry is a science which determines the properties of space synthetically and yet a priori’ (B 40). That is, the propositions of geometry describe objects in space, go beyond the mere concepts of any of the objects involved – thus geometric theorems cannot be proved without actually constructing the figures – and yet are known a priori. (Kant offers an analogous but less plausible argument about time, where the propositions he adduces seem analytic (B 48).) Both our a priori knowledge about space and time in general and our synthetic a priori knowledge of geometrical propositions in particular can be explained only by supposing that space and time are of subjective origin, and thus knowable independently of the experience of particular objects.
Finally, Kant holds that these results prove transcendental idealism, or that space and time represent properties of things as they appear to us but not properties or relations of things as they are in themselves, let alone real entities like Newtonian absolute space; thus his position of 1768 is now revised to mean that space is epistemologically but not ontologically absolute (A 26/B 42; A 32–3/B 49–50; A 39–40/B 56–7). Kant’s argument is that ‘determinations’ which belong to things independently of us ‘cannot be intuited prior to the things to which they belong’, and so could not be intuited a priori, while space and time and their properties are intuited a priori. Since they therefore cannot be properties of things in themselves, there is no alternative but that space and time are merely the forms in which objects appear to us.
Much in Kant’s theory has been questioned by later philosophy of mathematics. Kant’s claim that geometrical theorems are synthetic because they can only be proven by construction has been rendered doubtful by more complete axiomatizations of mathematics than Kant knew, and his claim that such propositions describe objects in physical space yet are known a priori has been questioned on the basis of the distinction between purely formal systems and their physical realization.
Philosophical debate, however, has centred on Kant’s inference of transcendental idealism from his philosophy of mathematics. One issue is the very meaning of Kant’s distinction between appearances and things in themselves. Gerold Prauss and Henry Allison have ascribed to Kant a distinction between two kinds of concepts of objects, one including reference to the necessary conditions for the perception of those objects and the other merely leaving them out, with no ontological consequences. Another view holds that Kant denies that things in themselves, and not merely their concepts, are spatial and temporal, and that spatial and temporal properties are, literally, properties only of our own representations of things. Kant makes statements that can support each of these interpretations; but proponents of the second view, including the present author, have argued that it is entailed by both Kant’s argument for and his use of his distinction, the latter especially in his theory of free will (see §8).
The debate about Kant’s argument for transcendental idealism, already begun in the nineteenth century, concerns whether Kant has omitted a ‘neglected alternative’ in assuming that space and time must be either properties of things as they are in themselves or of representations, but not both, namely that we might have a priori knowledge of space and time because we have an a priori subjective representation of them while they are also objective properties of things. Some argue that there is no neglected alternative, because although the concepts of appearances and things in themselves are necessarily different, Kant postulates only one set of objects. This author has argued that the ‘neglected alternative’ is a genuine possibility that Kant intends to exclude by arguing from his premise that propositions about space and time are necessarily true: if those propositions were true both of our own representations and of their ontologically distinct objects, they might be necessarily true of the former but only contingently true of the latter, and thus not necessarily true throughout their domain (A 47–8/B 65–6). In this case, however, Kant’s transcendental idealism depends upon a dubious claim about necessary truth.'
''Kant's methodological innovation was to employ what he calls a transcendental argument to prove synthetic a priori claims.
A transcendental argument is, in philosophy, a form of argument that is supposed to proceed from a fact to the necessary conditions of its possibility. A transcendental argument is simply a form of deduction, with the typical pattern: q is true only if p is true; q is true; therefore, p is true.
Complex-systems theories of creativity emerged in the 1980s, acknowledging creativity as a socially situated process. Psychological studies recognized that people work within particular social structures, which influences creativity (Amabile, 1983, 1996) and creative products are evaluated by members of a person’s field through consensual assessment (Feldman et al., 1994). The material environment remains mostly disregarded. Amabile (1998) argued the physical workplace setting does not play any significant role in creativity. Csikszentmihalyi (1996, p. 135) suggested the material environment is important for creativity, but it may be impossible to empirically explain how it might catalyze creative processes. Developments in 4E cognition have informed complex systems frameworks for two recent studies of embodied creativity. Both examined the materiality of creative practices compared across domains of visual and performing arts, design, writing, and science. First, Glăveanu et al. (2013) proposed an action framework based on Dewey’s (1934) experiential learning theory to guide qualitative analysis of interviews conducted with 60 artists, musicians, designers, writers, and scientists. They propose that creative acts typically begin with an impulse, which varies by domain (e.g., to express, to solve a problem, etc.). Material and methodological constraints on creative acts constitute experiences through which the creator gains awareness until eventually achieving emotional fulfillment and professional satisfaction. Malinin (2016) included the architectural environment in her analysis of accounts by creative professionals for evidence of embedded, embodied, and enactive cognition. The resulting theoretical framework, grounded in Gibson’s (1977) affordance theory, describes how creative niche construction (umwelt) is constituted through person-environment coupling. She found creatives habitually exploit features and qualities of their material environments to engender, sustain, and curtail different modes of creativity, enhancing creative productivity. The materiality of creative practices across domains is apparent in both studies of creativity in situ, suggesting it may be time to finally leave behind purely mental models that focus on divergent and convergent thinking in favor of DST approaches. Furthermore, the theoretical frameworks developed from these studies suggest that person-material-environment interactions – doing-and-undergoing (Glăveanu et al., 2013) or perceiving-in-action (Malinin, 2016) – constitute transformative creative experiences.
The idea that creativity is emergent and distributed between people and artifacts is not a new concept in improvisational performing arts, such as comedy theater (Sawyer, 1999; Sawyer and DeZutter, 2009), music (Walton et al., 2014, 2015, 2018; Schiavio and Van der Schyff, 2018; van der Schyff et al., 2018), or partner-dance (Kimmel et al., 2018; McClure, 2018). Sawyer’s (1999) seminal study of theatrical improvisational was informed by Hutchins’s (1995) theory of distributed cognition. Hutchins argued that the best way to understand embodied activity is to study real world processes by observing people in their workplaces. Through this methodology he illustrated how real-world problem solving, which he called “cognition-in-the-wild,” is distributed between people and artifacts. Improvisational creativity is unique; the process is the creative product and activities are interactional and unpredictable (Sawyer and DeZutter, 2009). Temporal, observational studies of improvisational performances reveal some common principles about person-environment interactions during this type of creativity:
• Creative synergies emerge without prior planning or scripting and cannot be attributed to the intentions or actions of any particular participant (Sawyer and DeZutter, 2009; Kimmel et al., 2018).
• There is moment-to-moment contingency where each action depends on the one just prior and any action can be changed by subsequent actions (Sawyer and DeZutter, 2009; van der Schyff et al., 2018).
• Cultivation of embodied perception — acquired through a repertoire of bits/motifs (relatively stable interactional routines) — increases potential for novelty (Sawyer and DeZutter, 2009; Kimmel et al., 2018; McClure, 2018).
• Interactions constitute micro-affordances, which enact meaning for participants (Sawyer and DeZutter, 2009; Kimmel et al., 2018).
• Creativity is a complex system constrained by interactions (Sawyer and DeZutter, 2009); constraint lies in the structure of the partnership (Walton et al., 2015; McClure, 2018; van der Schyff et al., 2018) and the setting (van der Schyff et al., 2018; Walton et al., 2018).
• Higher level structures emerge, exhibiting global system behavior (Sawyer and DeZutter, 2009); the creative group becomes so tightly coordinated that they behave as a single entity and not a collection of individuals (Walton et al., 2014, 2015).
• Social and material interactions are reciprocal; the creative process is transformative (Glăveanu et al., 2013; van der Schyff et al., 2018).
Design creativity has also been examined as a type of improvisational performance between actor and materials of a creative situation (Schön, 1983; Pereira and Tschimmel, 2012; Choi and DiPaola, 2013; Rietveld and Brouwers, 2017; Baber et al., 2019). Baber et al. (2019) used a RECS framework to study jewelry design. They analyzed data from interviews, motion capture, and sensors fitted to tools to understand how artifacts (tools, equipment, materials, and workplace) shape creative activity, finding jewelry design involves more technological reasoning than abstract reasoning. They propose that (a) creativity is a physical act where action and perception are intertwined, (b) creativity emerges through incremental insight as responses to changing situational cues, (c) it involves a repertoire of responses to situational cues and constraints, and (d) constraints are necessary, but too many inhibit creativity. Like research on improvisational arts, their study demonstrates how creativity is emergent and distributed between actor and artifacts. Pereira and Tschimmel (2012) also found jewelry making to be an emergent phenomenon. They suggest perception is at the core of creativity, which might emerge through confused perception (such as Beethoven’s deafness), malfunctioning perception (such as with mental illness), and intentional perception, developed through expertise and use of strategies like associative and analogical thinking. Rietveld and Brouwers (2017), in their ethnography of architectural practice, noted that architects also continually shift perspectives to perceive new affordances in a creative situation. Some ways this is done in both jewelry making and architecture include ideation drawing and tool use.
Baber et al. (2019) propose that designers instantiate events by creating ideation sketches. Chemero (2000), Chemero et al. (2003) defines events as “changes in the layout of affordances” in the actor-environment system. Affordances are relations between the particular skills and abilities of the actor with respect to features and qualities of the environment (Chemero, 2003). Ideation drawings create changes in the affordances of the design situation, helping the designer explore concepts and perceive new opportunities to act upon. Drawings can expand the problem space because they allow designers to abstract ideas, emphasizing or disregarding aspects of the problem (Pereira and Tschimmel, 2012). In architecture, drawings and model making are both abstractions; the designer is unable to perceive affordances from the creative product itself because others build it after the design is finalized. Construction drawings are a blueprint from which to build the final product, but ideation drawings are physical forms of problem solving. Models serve a similar role in architecture, as abstracted, physical ideation (Yaneva, 2009, p. 57; Malinin, 2016). In jewelry making, however, the designer is able to also directly work with the materials of the final product.
Research on improvisational performance and design practices provides evidence that creativity does not begin with an idea in the head that is subsequently realized; it emerges through interactions with others and artifacts of the material environment. There is some evidence to suggest that other forms of creativity are similarly emergent and distributed, such as scientific (Watson, 1968; Gruber, 1981; Glăveanu et al., 2013; Malinin, 2016) and literary (Kipling, 1937; Glăveanu et al., 2013; Malinin, 2016) domains. Studies of real-world creativity also demonstrate how the phenomenon is transformative. Expertise changes perceptional abilities, instantiating events change affordances to be perceived, affordances provide opportunities for actions that shape creative products, which, in turn, change the creator. Creativity, thusly, can be characterized as a dynamical system encompassing brain, body and world — in line with the RECS perspective. However, the question of whether creativity requires mental representation remains.
