Announcement

I have decided to discontinue blukeko.

I am very grateful to the many people who have contributed to this blog over the last year and a half. I am also grateful to the people who have read it, and who have, in some cases, offered their thoughts on the pieces that I have posted.

Thank you, and take care.

Review: Creating Capabilities

Max Harris reviews Martha Nussbaum’s recent book, Creating Capabilities.

Martha Nussbaum is a prolific and versatile thinker. In recent years she has written on the liberal arts education, the rights of animals and the disabled, the role of emotions in law and political theory, and freedom of religion, amongst other topics. Nussbaum is perhaps best known, however, for her work on the ‘Capabilities Approach’ to human development (much of which has been done jointly with Amartya Sen), an approach that highlights the fundamental opportunities that should be available to all individuals if they are to live a decent and dignified existence. And it is this Capabilities Approach that is the focus of Creating Capabilities, a slim 189-page work of hers, published this year by Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.

Creating Capabilities is split into eight chapters, followed by a short conclusion and postscript. The preface and first four chapters, which make up 100 pages of the book, clarify the core of the Capabilities Approach to human development and distinguish the Capabilities Approach from alternative theoretical frameworks. Chapter One paints a portrait of Vasanti, an Indian woman in her early thirties, and explores movingly how the Capabilities Approach can account for the deprivation suffered by Vasanti in her life. Chapter Two restates the theory succinctly from a level of greater abstraction, introducing concepts such as internal capabilities (essentially traits and abilities internal to individuals), basic capabilities (‘the innate faculties of the person that make later development and training possible’), functionings (a realization of the opportunities inherent in capabilities), and human dignity. With these concepts sketched out, Nussbaum dives into a little more detail. She lists the ten capabilities that form the basic minimum of her theory – life, bodily health, bodily integrity, imagination and thought, emotions, practical reason, affiliation, the opportunity to live with other species, play, and the ability to control one’s environment – and notes that two of them play an overarching role (affiliation and practical reason), before observing (drawing on the recent work of Wolff and de-Shalit) that deprivation of one capability can undermine the enjoyment of others and fulfilment of one capability can facilitate the appreciation of others. Chapter Three is more explicitly normative, and advocates for the centrality of the capabilities perspective over competing conceptions of development: the GDP approach, utilitarian theories, and resource-based approaches. It explains how the Capabilities Approach builds upon the flaws of these alternative conceptions, by recognising the heterogeneity of opportunities, underscoring the need to focus on distribution of opportunities, and rejecting a reliance on preferences as a guiding anchor for any political theory. Nussbaum responds to the objection that a Capabilities Approach encounters difficulties of practical measurement, and further strengthens the case for the Capabilities Approach by demonstrating how the approach is related to, and supplements, the popular international human rights movement.

Chapters Five, Six and Seven are short contributions of 10-20 pages in length that canvas how the Capabilities Approach relates to ideas of the nation, notions of global justice, and intellectual history. The contributions involve a more sophisticated contextualising of the Capabilities Approach than the first four chapters, and build on the initial exposition of those earlier chapters. In these chapters Nussbaum explores where the Capabilities Approach is nestled in the recent debates about nationalism and internationalism, and how the Capabilities Approach fits into a broader historical narrative of writing on the good life, natural law, and active government.

In Chapter Eight, a longer discussion entitled ‘Capabilities and Contemporary Issues’, Nussbaum turns from looking back to intellectual history and issues of recent relevance to looking forward: in this chapter she analyses how the Capabilities Approach is important for the understanding of the philosophical, political, and constitutional challenges that confront us now and that may confront us in the future. Nussbaum addresses a range of issues, amongst them disadvantage, gender, disability, education, animal entitlements, and environmental quality. Her aim in this section is to show that the Capabilities Approach offers a meaningful framework for tackling these issues. Nussbaum also observes very constructively that an examination of these issues highlights areas where the Capabilities Approach may require further elaboration: in particular Nussbaum mentions matters of constitutional structure and the need to develop work around human psychology. Nussbaum closes the book with an uplifting conclusion, which notes that readers are the ‘authors of the next chapter in this story of human development’; a practically helpful postscript that encourages readers to join the Human Development and Capability Association, a group that hopes to transcend intellectual divisions that hinder informed debate on development; and two appendices on the related work of James J. Heckman and Amartya Sen, in addition to a bibliography and a set of chapter notes.

In terms of overall style and structure Creating Capabilities is an impressive piece of writing. Nussbaum moves relatively effortlessly from the micro-level story to the macro-level assessment, and eases across disciplinary boundaries, drawing deftly upon law, public policy, philosophy, and history. Her knowledge of constitutional law is particularly notable given that she has no formal legal training. Throughout the book, Nussbaum’s effective expression supports her weaving together of different arguments, with well-chosen adjectives often adding power to the message that she conveys. The book also flows well as a whole, reading like ‘a book’ – and not just a collection of essays, artificially drawn together. (A surprising number of recent works of political philosophy are powerful and pertinent, but lack continuity and a sense of wholeness: Jeremy Waldron’s recent book on torture as well as Amartya Sen’s The Idea of Justice both fall into this category.) On rare occasions, Nussbaum’s style falters: for instance, in her awkward reference to her own work in the third person in the postscript. But overall, this is a powerful work stylistically that strikes a judicious balance between accessibility and sophistication.

In relation to substance, Creating Capabilities persuasively puts to bed competing approaches to development (especially the approach grounded in GDP), thoughtfully responds to objections to the Capabilities Approach, and then uses the approach to provoke questions and probe fruitful new lines of inquiry. It is a good primer for all those interested in the Capabilities Approach, and for those already familiar with Nussbaum’s theory, the book develops the theory in interesting ways. There are, of course, some questions that linger in one’s mind upon putting down Creating Capabilities. First, is it really true that it is only the making available of opportunities, and not the actual realization of these opportunities (what Nussbaum calls 'functionings’ instead of capabilities), that is important? Nussbaum may somewhat fetishize the importance of choice in this regard, which is a little surprising, given that in her analysis of adaptive preferences she stresses that individual choices should not be given definitive normative weight. Secondly, what is the real relationship between the Capabilities Approach and human rights? What can the Capabilities Approach offer that is not offered by sophisticated theories of human rights? Nussbaum claims that the Capabilities Approach ‘articulates more clearly than most standard rights accounts the relationship between human rights and human dignity’, and that the Capabilities Approach avoids the view that government is a barrier to the realization of entitlements. However, Nussbaum’s first claim here seems to ignore much recent mainstream work in the field of human rights that is explicitly grounded in dignity, and the second claim is grounded in a very outdated view of human rights theory; few modern theorists working in human rights would peddle the conception of government that Nussbaum attaches to the human rights movement. Nussbaum’s next installment might benefit from a fuller explanation of what the Capabilities Approach really adds to some of the richer and more nuanced human rights scholarship that has emerged in recent years.

Few books can answer all possible questions that readers have, however; even fewer can do so in a succinct 189 pages. Taken as a whole, this book does a commendable job of covering the genealogy, content, and implications of the Capabilities Approach in such few words. And the fact that it provokes such questions in readers’ minds is a credit to the book itself. In sum, Creating Capabilities is well worth a read – for philosophers, development practitioners, political leaders, and students alike.

To find out more about Martha Nussbaum, and for a list of her publications, click here.

It is not dying

Creative thought is very important. Properly treated, it can positively inform our efforts at promoting well-being...
Spirituality is, I would suggest, a form of creative thought - and, like other forms of creative thought, we might expect it to benefit us. But spiritual claims are contentious, and it is clear that they can lead to harmful consequences. It is important, then, that we critically evaluate spirituality and spiritual claims against human well-being.

Consider the following example:

A young man has a spiritual experience. This experience convinces him that his consciousness, like that of the people around him, is only one fragment of a greater consciousness that all minds participate in. This greater consciousness, which he names 'the It', once existed as one - or so he supposes. But as one... it was ill at ease. And so, it divided itself into many fragments, and by its subjectivity it hid from itself...

How might we evaluate this spiritual belief against human well-being? A range of considerations might be made...
We might begin by considering how this belief bears on the young man's own well-being. We might wonder how seriously he takes his belief. If the answer is 'too seriously', we might question his mental health...
We might look at the ways in which this belief could prove useful to the young man. It could, for example, inform his understanding of the world around him. It could also inform his understanding of himself. It is, I think, important that we do not discount the ways in which different perspectives can contribute to our understanding. We should, however, be mindful of the ways in which beliefs such as these might preclude the exploration of other perspectives.
This belief might also result in more tangible benefits for the young man: we might, for example, expect the belief that we all participate in one consciousness ('the It') to encourage the young man to relate more positively to other people - which will likely impact positively on his well-being. (This, it is worth noting, would benefit the people around him, as well.) We might, however, expect his belief that 'the It' divided itself into fragments in order to hide from those parts of itself that it found distasteful to work against this suggestion... (In which case, parts of the belief might still be salvageable: the young man might be encouraged to critically assess those parts of his belief that do not cohere, or that do not promote human well-being: Why must he understand 'the It' as hiding from itself? Why not understand subjectivity as its way of better being with itself? Or, exploring itself?)
We might then turn our attention, more fully, to the social implications of the young man's belief. We might try to imagine the various actions that this belief might inspire him to undertake. We might look at the implications that those actions would have for him, and for the people around him.
We might also seek an appreciation of the broader implications of beliefs such as this one. We might be concerned with the implications that such beliefs hold for the perception of rational thought - and the consequences that other people will experience because of this...

...where I belong, I'm right

Education should be extensive.

Self-determination can only be fully realised through education. Education should be compulsory from a very young age and into young adulthood, school days should be longer than they currently are, and education itself should encompass more than it currently does.

One reason that self-determination requires such a high level of education is that most of what occurs during a child's development bears on its realisation. So much of a child's development is left to his or her parents.  Many well-intentioned parents act in ways that undermine those efforts that are directed at this outcome, and many more fail to act in ways that would promote it. For these reasons, parents should not be allowed to play as significant a role as they currently do in their children's development.

It could be argued that limiting the role that parents are able to play in their children's development would compromise those many other things that family facilitates. This is, I think, the strongest objection to my claim that parents should not be allowed to play as significant a role as they currently do in their children's development. But I would suggest that there is nothing that home life can provide that well-designed education could not.
A related claim is that the love that (most) parents feel for their children is especially effective as a means to administering that which those children need. I would argue, however, that the love that any given parent feels for his or her child is not, in itself, enough to ensure that that child receives the education that he or she requires to realise him- or herself as a person.

The raising of children is an activity that connects, in a number of ways, to the well-being of parents. It could be argued that to diminish the role of parents would be to undermine their well-being. I do think that the well-being of parents should inform our thinking on education. However (and for a number of reasons*) I think that children's interests should be prioritised over the interests of their parents...

It seems to me that the role that we currently allow parents to play in their children's development has implications for equality. We should be concerned about inequality only insofar as it impacts negatively on the realisation of human well-being - but (and, again, for a number of reasons) I would suggest that it does.
It is very important that we ensure that the changes that we would make to education really would achieve the ends at which they were being directed. To ensure this, we would have to proceed slowly, and carefully.

Education should be extensive. It should invest individuals with the ability to determine their own lives.

* One reason is that education can be understood as something that we owe to those who we have brought into, or who we have allowed to be brought into, existence (and the responsibility for discharging this duty would, it might seem, fall most heavily on a child's parents...).

Mini-interview: Jamie Donnell

Jamie Donnell is a magician.

Why do you call yourself the Cosmic Magician?

I have been put here, by the Universe, to reveal its secrets. That's why I call myself the Cosmic Magician. I am cosmic, because I am the Universe. And I am a magician... because that is what the Universe wants me to be.

Hamilton is an... unusual choice of place for...

You know, I've thought about that. I have. I don't know why I've been put here in Hamilton. It seems strange to me, too. But who am I to question the Universe? Really? I mean, I'm only a magician.

What exactly is it that the Universe wants you to reveal?

Well... I can't put it into words, you know? It's the sort of thing that can only be communicated through magic. Magic tricks, you know? If I was to tell you - well, I couldn't. It doesn't work like that. You'd be better to ask me what it isn't.

If the Universe reveals its secrets through magic - well, that doesn't suggest that it wants us to take things very seriously, does it?

That's right! That's it. 'It doesn't matter. None of it matters.' That's the point...
Ha. And I thought it couldn't be put into words!

This interview was conducted by Martin Thespin.

Interview: Alan Duff

Alan Duff is one of New Zealand’s most prominent writers. He is the author of numerous books, including Once Were Warriors and What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?

Tell me about the people and ideas that have influenced you.

My educated father was a major influence on my thinking. Open-minded, curious, interested, widely read, he was my hero. In stark contrast to the ill-disciplined, heavy drinking, violent Māori side of my family – but I hasten to add I love my Māori family and not all were like this – who had no notion of respect, education or the concept of knowledge for its own sake. I am only sorry I took so long to grow up instead of taking on Dad's lessons earlier.

What have you found most rewarding about being a New Zealand writer?

I am not well-regarded by the critics but I do know I'm a pretty good writer. The most rewarding aspect has been meeting interesting people and, aside from the Left, I have found all these Kiwis to be open-minded and unthreatened. Many remain good friends.

A number of your stories communicate strong ideas. In what ways is fiction suited to conveying ideas?

Fiction lends itself too easily to soapbox types like myself. My editors are brutal with the red pen on all my works. But as a vehicle to get my ideas across only movies beat it and they are almost invariably a shallow impression whilst a book runs deep.

Out of Warriors I was able to establish Books in Homes which now has 100,000 children on the programme, and has given out over eight million books, without the help or moral support of Māori leaders. I should have written about corrupt Māori leaders in my novels. One day, I might. If it wasn't for business sponsors, not least Mainfreight, we would not have made it.

I think it is important that novelists try and influence or even change society. Who else will or can? Though we are far less important nowadays.

Do you set out to communicate ideas with your writing – or do you discover those ideas as your write?

I do not start out with any agenda. Language is my main aim, trying to find the right voice and the right rhythm.

I have no time for academic writing, nor academic analysis of literature. I have always tried to write for ordinary people while trying to maintain a certain artistic standard. Unfortunately, the Left have seized the high ground when it comes to 'literature' and I am no fan of that lot. They are seriously good haters. And any ideological idea not theirs is rejected and thence attacked relentlessly. I have called academia intellectual cowards before and nothing has happened to change my mind. They are self-serving and irrelevant to the world I inhabit and love. I represent ordinary people.

Do you think that writers have responsibilities to their readers?

I feel a great responsibility to readers, both to entertain them but without being a Jeffrey Archer. And I always lift the bar with each book even if my critics are convinced I have lowered it to unacceptable levels. They know not what they miss. The next generation will find out they have been hoodwinked by these cruel, mediocre people. Of course I try to enlighten the readers and believe the simpler the better, that less is best.

The Duffy Books in Homes programme is a well-motivated charity. Tell me about the relationship between your understanding of responsibility and your decision to establish the Alan Duff Charitable Foundation.

Books in Homes is something I am very proud of. Despite the lack of support from Māoridom, from the academics, from the socialists and the self-proclaimed defenders of the downtrodden, we did it with our Team. Out of tens of millions of dollars we have received zero from any of the above-mentioned groups or individuals. Our support has come from business people and individual sponsors who care about their country. I repeat: zero support has been forthcoming from the Left or Māori leaders. We operate in 547 schools in NZ, 190 Early Childhood Centres, and 20 schools in America are on our rapidly expanding programme over there, thanks to Mainfreight. Going wide of the Establishment is one of our secrets. Also successive governments have been highly supportive.

To find out more about Duffy Books in Homes, click here.

I watch the night receive the room of my day

I have been thinking about spirituality. As always when I think about spirituality, I have been thinking in questions.

Are we pushing our understanding of the 'spiritual' further and further away from rational analysis? Are we doing this because we need whatever it is that 'the spiritual' contains?

Another question: Can such a removed 'spirituality' satisfy its purpose - or, the purpose for which we would use it?

...I'm right...

Education should be comprehensive.

The realisation of human well-being is contingent on individuals being able to determine their own lives. Some aspects of well-being require self-determination - and others might benefit from it. Self-determination can also enable individuals to promote the well-being of other people.*

Education should invest individuals with creative and critical thinking skills. Such skills are necessary for self-determination. They are also necessary to ensure that individuals are equipped to evaluate and respond to the world in ways that are likely to benefit themselves and the people around them - whatever else they might be taught.

Education should also nurture a concern for people. Among those ideals that we might promote in connection with this concern are compassion, empathy, and responsibility. Children should come to view themselves, and other people, as inherently valuable.
Education should be as wide-ranging as possible. What we are able to teach people is, of course, limited. For this reason, two considerations might usefully guide us in determining the content of education. Firstly, we should try to give individuals an appreciation of the nature and extent of human knowledge. Secondly, we should do what we can to enable them to inquire, in the right way, into any field that they might seek knowledge from.

Education should be comprehensive. It should promote the well-being of the individuals who are receiving it, and of the individuals who live alongside them.

* I do think that, if they were able to, most people would choose to be for other people as well as themselves.

Mini-interview: Shane Hansen

Shane Hansen is a New Zealand artist.

Tell me about the people and ideas that have influenced your art.

I am a very visual person. I am always looking around and taking things in, generating ideas inside my head 24/7. Everything influences my art, from the mundane to the magnificent – a steel staircase with a rusty bolt, a scrunched McD’s cup that is full of ants, a floorboard that’s been eaten by bora, etc. I’m not influenced by any particular artist, although I do like how Gordan Walters contemporized the koru. I’m more influenced by everything around me, day-to-day living.

In saying that, my whanau influences my art greatly. They inspire me every day. The events in our lives, the love we share, it is all inspiring stuff. My grandfather and father were huge influences on my art when I was young. They were amazing artists and I used to watch them draw and paint. For birthdays I would always get hand painted birthday cards from them and my presents would always be sketch pads and pencils, so the encouragement was ever-present.

My dad took us into the outdoors a lot and taught us about the flora and fauna. That’s stuck with me and is evident in my work. I especially loved the subtle beauty of our bird life – understated and quietly sophisticated.

I have always been a visual person, so I loved comics as opposed to books. I spent hours looking through Asterix and copied the illustrations of the incredible Uderzo. When I was in my teens I graduated to Hergé’s Tintin, which was a more sophisticated style. I loved the simple use of line and colour to create a realistic image. Even today I enjoy reading Tintin and Asterix.

In my late teens I got into ‘50s and ‘60s style. This included Elvis, advertising imagery, products and clothing. I would often include style lines from corvettes and caddies in my fashion designs. I loved the colour blocking and use of chrome on everything. I was into the old adverts and packaging; the illustration style really caught my eye along with the catchy phrasing. There was a real purity and sense of innocence that shone through the style of illustration. The use of clean, flowing, well-balanced black brush strokes contrasting with the white background was something that appealed.

My Māori heritage has definitely influenced my work, especially of late. It’s something that was never nurtured or fostered, but comes instinctually from inside. I have a natural feel for it. The shapes and lines I use come from being Māori. I connect with the works in marae in a sort of spiritual way, even though I have had no education in the Māori arts and no real understanding of my whakapapa. It is something that flows out of me and it feels right.

 

 

Much of your work is informed by commercial considerations. In what ways do such considerations enhance your creative process and in what ways do they inhibit it?

Considering something commercially is good, as it means that I sell a lot of work and can survive doing what I love. I’m a commercial person also, so the way I approach my pieces is: if I like it, if I would buy it and hang it on my wall, I know others will do the same. I really don’t think this approach has an effect on my creative process as I only truly create and sell what I love myself. I wouldn’t do it or sell it if I didn’t love it or connect with it. Everything I do has a personal connection to me and tells a story, even if it can be viewed as being rather commercial. Funds are a hindrance at times, but that’s just one of those things. I have a project I would really love to do, but need a spare $10,000 to make it happen. It’s hard to justify that sort of spend when it might not even work.

I also have pieces that I have done, or are working on, that have no commercial intent. These are more unrefined, confronting and darker. These are really personal pieces and would have a very limited appeal (probably just me). These help me express what I might not be able to through my other work. They are more of an expression of my current state of mind.

 

 

Many of your pieces are very striking – but after capturing the viewer’s attention, their intricacies interact in such a way that invites contemplation. Do you deliberately set out to achieve this effect? What do you think the effect itself accomplishes?

Yes. I like people to engage with the work. I like there to be hidden treasures that people discover by accident and then want to look deeper to see what else is there. I like the term ‘less is more’ relating to my work. The detail with my work is in the simplicity of it. I intentionally don’t use heaps of tones, colours or shading in my pieces as I want to strip them back as much as possible - have the appearance of a nice, clean, vibrant, sharp graphic image, but hidden inside is the message and the story. Working on the different materials helps to achieve this. Letting the raw material show through is really important as it adds the depth to the work – and makes the viewer examine the material, rather than passing over it as they would a canvas. The material I paint on is just as important as the work going on top.

I like that people look at my works and don’t feel threatened or out of their depth. I like that it brightens their soul and makes them nostalgic. I like that they can appreciate it as a visually pleasing image, with or without having to understand the deeper meaning. I like that people feel I am approachable, because my work is approachable.

I also like that the viewer connects with my work and likes to tell me a story of how it relates to them. It’s been amazing as I have met many people who have purchased my work and have told me very personal stories about their lives and how my work has connected to them. I think that’s the best part of what I am doing, being able to have that special connection.

I think the effect brings the viewer into my world and creates a dialogue between myself and the viewer, Māori and Pākehā and our connection as kiwis. I see my work as a therapy. It helps me to feel peace of mind and body. It takes away my stress and insecurities. It opens me up to the viewer thus opening them up to me and my work.

 

To what extent do you try to shape your audience’s response to each of your works?

I try to leave it up to the audience to determine what they see and feel. I think if I tried too hard to get the response from them that I wanted, I would be disappointed. It’s interesting, as people have informed me about parts of my works that I had not realized were there. It was something done subconsciously and has been brought to my attention by the viewer. I definitely want them to respond to my work, but the desired response is up to them and I am always keen to see whether it is the same as mine.

To find out more about Shane Hansen, and to see more of his work, visit www.shanehansen.co.nz.

Editorial

There are, I have been told, people who ‘don’t respond well to “should”s’. Some people, it would seem, find ethical imperatives unengaging – opposed, even, to the way that they would relate with the world. But I would argue that such ‘should’s are both necessary and desirable.

Ethical considerations can be brought to bear on every aspect of our lives – and there are reasons for thinking that, in societies like ours, they should be…

It is not the case that individual actions affect only the person who is acting. We are all interconnected, and even self-regarding actions have some implications for other people. Our actions do so much to determine the quality of our own lives, and that of the lives of those around us; for this reason, ethical considerations are very important.

You could argue that subtle suggestion is likely to be more effective at communicating ethical imperatives than the use of ‘should’s. There is, of course, a lot to be said for the claim that effective forms of persuasion should be sought out, and utilized… And it does seem to me that people are much more likely to act on conclusions that they feel they have arrived at for themselves. But I would suggest that direct efforts at persuasion are less likely to be manipulative, and more likely to be engaged with critically – in a way, that is, which is more likely to lead to beneficial outcomes, and less likely to result in negative ones.

It could be argued that my suggestion that ethical considerations need to inform all of our actions diminishes individual freedom: individuals, it might seem, are not really free if they are required to act in certain ways… But if individual freedoms are valuable, it is because they are conducive to the realization of human well-being. It is, I would suggest, somewhat obvious that individual freedoms frequently work against human well-being. We must concede, then, that freedom alone is unable to achieve that end at which we have been, or should have been, directing it… If individual freedoms are going to be upheld, ethical considerations – considerations that, because they connect to human well-being, are able to address the negative consequences of those freedoms – must also be affirmed.

Ethical imperatives are incredibly important: they are necessary to the realization of human well-being. For this reason, we must engage with them – critically, but with a view to determining which ones are worth acting on…

All of us should make sure that we do!