Schranken-Schranke

Kasus	Singular	Plural
Nominativ	die Schranken-Schranke	die Schranken-Schranken
Genitiv	der Schranken-Schranke	der Schranken-Schranken
Dativ	der Schranken-Schranke	den Schranken-Schranken
Akkusativ	die Schranken-Schranke	die Schranken-Schranken

"Aqui jaz, muito a contragosto, ..."

"Aqui jaz, muito a contragosto, ..."

"(...) when push comes to shove..."

Baby, I've got silver and I've got gold
But when push comes to shove, this is getting old
I wouldn't have it any other way
No, I wouldn't have it any other way
And when you call I'll be there
There...
I wouldn't have it any other way


When push comes to shove significa 'quando empurrão encontra empurrão', 'quando empurrão vai de encontro a encontrão', 'impulso contra impulso'. Ou, melhor dito: when things get a little pressed; when the situation gets more active or intense.


Ele tem prata e ouro. O  mundo material não é problema. Talvez seja um executivo, um workaholic. Eles são casados há um tempo e não é o dinheiro que falta aos dois. Entre eles, empurrão encontra empurrão e isso já está ficando velho. Mas ele não gostaria que fosse de qualquer outra forma. Não, ele não gostaria. E quando ela ligar, ele estará lá. Ele não gostaria que tudo tivesse sido de qualquer outra forma.
 
Ana, I wouldn't have it any other way. Eu te amo, minha pequena.

Você se masturba com meu corpo.

"Não há conversa, diálogo sexual. Apenas monólogo. Isso é sexo? Não. Você apenas se masturba com meu corpo."

Quebrando o tabu - descriminalização das drogas

“If you can’t control drug use in a maximum security prison, how could you control drugs in a free society?” Anthony Papa, no filme Quebrando o tabu.

Transmissão de sessões de Tribunais por televisão e rádio na Alemanha

§ 169

Die Verhandlung vor dem erkennenden Gericht einschließlich der Verkündung der Urteile und Beschlüsse ist öffentlich. Ton- und Fernseh-Rundfunkaufnahmen sowie Ton- und Filmaufnahmen zum Zwecke der öffentlichen Vorführung oder Veröffentlichung ihres Inhalts sind unzulässig.

Gerichtsverfassungsgesetz

 

Cf. STERN, Klaus. Band IV/1; 194p.

Princípio de Ubiquidade da Justiça - Pontes de Miranda

Princípio de Ubiqüidade da Justiça^[1]

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[1] PONTES DE MIRANDA, Francisco Cavalcanti. Comentários à Constituição de 1967. São Paulo: Revista dos Tribunais, 1968. 100p.

Ad argumentandum tantum / arguendo

Arguendo is a Latin legal term meaning for the sake of argument. The phrase "assuming, arguendo, that ..." is used in courtroom settings and academic legal settings to designate provisional and unendorsed assumptions that will be made at the beginning of an argument in order to explore their implications. Making an assumption arguendo allows an attorney to pursue arguments in the alternative without admitting even the slightest possibility that those assumptions could be true. Often, these assumptions would be that the facts or legal arguments endorsed by a hostile party were true.

Thus, an attorney in a criminal case may say, for example, that "assuming, arguendo, that my client stole the car, it would be clear that my client would have been justified in doing so in order to save a life." If the client would be shielded from legal consequences as a result even if he or she had committed the crime, this form of argument allows an attorney to suggest that it would be pointless to pursue the matter of whether the client committed the crime, as it would lead to the same legal consequences regardless of which set of facts was assumed to be true.

For a real-life example in a civil case, see Tiffany and Company's Reply Brief, Tiffany Inc. v. eBay, Inc., 08-3947-CV (U.S. Court of Appeals for the 2nd Circuit 2008): "In any event, assuming arguendo that requiring eBay to take remedial measures would impair eBay's business, that fact cannot relieve eBay of its legal obligations." p. 23, second paragraph.

Particularly in an appellate court, a judge may ask an attorney what the effects of a different set of assumptions, made arguendo, about the facts governing a situation might be. This is especially useful in exploring whether different fact patterns might limit the proper scope of a possible holding in a given case.

Peter Singer's Antinatalism II

June 16, 2010, 4:16 pm

‘Last Generation?’: A Response

By PETER SINGER

The Stone is a forum for contemporary philosophers on issues both timely and timeless.

Tags:

children, Environment, Philosophy, Population, reproduction

The role of philosophers — and I take it, of The Stone — is to stimulate people to think about questions that they might not think about otherwise.  That so many people were roused to comment on my piece, “Should This Be the Last Generation?” — despite comments being closed at one point — suggests that it achieved this aim.  That said, it would have been good if some of those commenting had read the piece with a little more care, and all the way through.

The comments show two common misunderstandings of what I was trying to do.  As an example of the first, Rob Cook of New York writes that “this piece frames overpopulation and environmental destruction in the wrong terms. It assumes that developed countries cannot cut down on consumption.”  But “Last Generation?” isn’t a piece about overpopulation or environmental destruction, and it makes no assumptions about whether developed countries can cut down on consumption.  It just isn’t about that question at all.  It asks a deeper question, one not dependent on the environmental constraints on our planet, nor on the number of people now on Earth.  Even if there were only 1 million humans on this planet, all living at the level of an average citizen of, say, Switzerland, we could still ask whether it would be a good thing to have children in order to continue the species.

Philosophers frequently set out views that are opposed to their own and seek to present them in their strongest possible form.

Perhaps I muddied the waters by mentioning climate change.  I used the example of an imaginary response to the problem of climate change because those who believe that we have no reason to bring children into existence just because they will live good lives have — at least in theory — an easy solution to the problems our greenhouse gas emissions are causing to future generations:  if we could make sure, without killing or coercing anyone, that there would  be no future generations, we could happily continue with our polluting ways.
This was not, of course, intended to be a realistic solution to the problem of climate change.  It was, as I said, a thought experiment to test our attitudes to one of the views I had been discussing.  I expected that most people would reject this as an appallingly selfish way of allowing us to emit all the greenhouse gases without constraint, and that this would show that most of us dothink that it is a good thing to bring more human beings into the world.  That, in turn, would suggest that most of us do think life is worth living, and it leads us back to the problem of the asymmetry with which I began — why many people think it is wrong to bring a child who will live a miserable life into the world, but do not think that the fact that a child will live a good life is reason enough for bringing a child into the world.  (For the world as it is today, any suggestion that it is desirable to bring a child into the world is likely to be met by a reference to the environmental problems that the existing population is causing; but in order to focus on the philosophical issue rather than the practical one, the question can also be considered in the hypothetical situation, in which our planet has only 1 million people on it.)
This brings me to the second common misunderstanding found in the comments.  I was surprised by how many readers assumed that my answer to the title question of my essay was “Yes.”  Perhaps they stopped reading before they got to the last paragraph, in which I say that I think that life is, for most people, worth living, and that a world with people in it is better than one without any sentient beings in it.

The claims made by some readers that my essay reveals philosophers to be gloomy, depressed people are wide of the mark.

So yes, Jon Norsteg of Pocatello, ID, I share your view that “life is not a desert of misery with rare good patches.”  To answer Gabi of London, UK, I’m glad that I have children — and grandchildren — and as far as I can see they are all leading worthwhile lives.  Perhaps you and other readers assumed that because I gave a sympathetic account of the views defended by David Benatar in his book, “Better Never to Have Been,” I was endorsing his position.  But philosophers frequently set out views that are opposed to their own, and seek to present them in their strongest possible form, in order to see if their own views can stand up to the best counter-arguments that can be put.  Philosophy is not politics, and we do our best, within our all-too-human limitations, to seek the truth, not to score points against opponents.  There is little satisfaction in gaining an easy triumph over a weak opponent while ignoring better arguments against your views.
By the end of my essay, it should have been clear that although I think Benatar puts up a better case for his conclusions than many people would imagine could be made, I do not think that he is right.  Nevertheless, I hope those with a serious interest in these issues will  read Benatar’s book.  They may end up disagreeing with him, but I doubt that they will think his position absurd.
The claims made by some readers that my essay reveals philosophers to be gloomy, depressed people are therefore wide of the mark.   Even further astray, however, are the suggestions that those who believe that life is not worth living are somehow committed by this position to end their own lives. Mmrader of Maryland, for instance, asks:  “If you think life is so pointless and painful, with most pleasure a fleeting illusion, why are you still here?”  I don’t, of course, think life is so pointless and painful, but someone who did might still decide to stick around — might indeed think that it would be wrong not to stick around — because he had the ability to reduce the amount of pain that others experience.
I also want to assure the many readers who pointed out that humans are not the only sentient beings, that the author of “Animal Liberation” has not suddenly forgotten this important fact.  He just wanted to focus on the issue under discussion, and to avoid mixing it with the separate issues of whether nonhuman animals would be better off in a world without human beings in it, and if so, whether the gains for nonhuman animals would be sufficient to outweigh the losses to human beings.  Hence the suggestion that we compare a world with humans in it to one that has no sentient beings at all.
The sheer number of comments received is one sign that the essay raised an issue that people find perplexing.  Another sign of this is that a number of readers thought that Benatar’s position is absurd, whereas others thought it self-evident.  Since we do not often discuss such fundamental questions — D. Lee of New York City is right to suggest that there is something of a taboo on questioning whether life is worth living — I thought it would be interesting to take an online poll of readers’ opinions on some of the key questions.  But for technical reasons that proved impossible, and hence the questions appeared at the end of the essay, with an invitation to readers to answer them.  Only a few did, but many more expressed a general attitude, for or against the idea that existence is generally bad and we should not bring more children into the world.
On the negative side, I thought MClass (location: “gallivanting around Europe”) expressed it well when he or she wrote:

My life’s low points are nowhere near as severe many other people’s; but that’s actually not the point. My own conclusion was “Why take the risk?” especially with my own kids — if the natural instinct of parents is to prevent the harm and promote the good of their offspring, why would I even contemplate bringing my kids into a rickety planet to be raised by imperfect parents.
I love my kids so much that I didn’t have them.

On the positive side, many readers expressed satisfaction with the lives that their children are leading, and saw this as an indication that their decision to have children was justified.  Suzanne from Wisconsin offered the distinct idea that there is objective value in some human activities, when she writes that “it would be tragic if no one was left to love/make art, music literature, philosophy, etc.”

I have argued for a broader view that takes into account the preferences of all sentient beings, and seeks to satisfy them to the greatest extent possible.

I wanted to know how those commenting were split on this fundamental issue of whether life is on the whole good or bad and whether we should have children, so I asked Julie Kheyfets, a Princeton senior, to go through the 1040 comments that were posted through midnight on June 9 and classify them on the basis of the attitudes they expressed.   She found that 152 of them did not address that issue at all, and another 283 addressed it but were undecided or neutral.  Of the remainder, 145 claimed that existence is generally bad and that we should not bring more children into the world, whereas 460 held that existence is generally good and that we should bring more children into the world.  In percentage terms, excluding those who did not address the issue at all, 52 percent of respondents held a positive attitude toward human existence; 16 percent held a negative attitude and 32 percent were neutral or undecided.
Since readers have the opportunity to recommend comments by other readers, I also asked Ms. Kheyfets to count the recommendations.  This yielded a higher score for those with negative views of existence, in part because fewer readers recommended comments that were neutral or undecided.  Excluding once again those comments that did not address the issue, 1870 readers recommended comments expressing negative views of our existence or opposing bringing children into the world, which was 29 percent of all recommendations, while 3109 or 48 percent took a positive view of our existence or favored bringing children into the world, with 23 percent  of comments neutral or undecided.
None of this allows us to draw any conclusions about the attitudes of people other than those who chose to comment, or recommend comments, but at least among that group, there is more support for a negative view of human existence and against having children than one might have expected.   (I put this forward purely as an interesting fact about this group of people; I am not suggesting that it has any bearing on whether that view is sound.)
Alas, to respond adequately to the many readers who understood exactly what I was attempting to do, and had serious points to make about it, would take more time than I have available.  Several readers suggested that my essay somehow ignored evolution, but my topic was what we ought to do, and as all the best writers on evolution — from Charles Darwin to Richard Dawkins — make clear, our knowledge of evolution does not tell us what we ought to do.
Among the many significant philosophical challenges in these comments I will only mention the one that came from those who, like Abe of Boston, asked whether happiness is the only metric by which to measure life.  That’s the view of the classic utilitarian tradition that traces its roots to the work of Jeremy Bentham, but many contemporary utilitarians, including myself, do not accept that view.  I have argued for a broader view that takes into account the preferences of all sentient beings, and seeks to satisfy them to the greatest extent possible.  But other utilitarians — or more broadly, consequentialists — take a more pluralistic view, including other values like justice, love, knowledge and creativity in their account of what is intrinsically good.  And of course many philosophers are not consequentialists at all.  If I spoke mostly of happiness and suffering in the essay, that is because most people do take these as important, and in a short essay it is impossible to discuss every aspect of these large questions.

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These issues do matter.  Even if relatively few people engage in ethical thinking before deciding whether to reproduce, the decisions are important for those who do.  And since public policies affect the birthrate, we ought to be giving some thought to whether it is, other things being equal, good for there to be fewer people.  Of course, in our present environmental crisis other things are not equal, but the underlying question of the value of bringing human beings into the world should still play a role in decisions that affect the size of future generations.
If you find these questions interesting, there is a lot more to read.  The current philosophical debate owes most to Derek Parfit.  Part IV of his “Reasons and Persons” presents the issues about bringing people into existence in all their baffling complexity.  And for those who asked “What is a good life, anyway?” don’t miss the brief Appendix I (that’s the letter “I”, not a roman numeral).
There are also two relevant articles in the online Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. I suggest you go first to Lukas Meyer’s article on “Intergenerational Justice,” at and then for a discussion of a more specific problem related to this issue, go to the article on “The Repugnant Conclusion” by Jesper Ryberg, Torbjörn Tännsjö, and Gustaf Arrhenius.

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Peter Singer is Professor of Bioethics at Princeton University and Laureate Professor at the University of Melbourne. His most recent book is “The Life You Can Save.”

Peter Singer's Antinatalism

June 6, 2010, 5:15 pm

Should This Be the Last Generation?

By PETER SINGER

The Stone is a forum for contemporary philosophers on issues both timely and timeless.

Tags:

children, Ethics, Philosophy, Population

Have you ever thought about whether to have a child? If so, what factors entered into your decision? Was it whether having children would be good for you, your partner and others close to the possible child, such as children you may already have, or perhaps your parents? For most people contemplating reproduction, those are the dominant questions. Some may also think about the desirability of adding to the strain that the nearly seven billion people already here are putting on our planet’s environment. But very few ask whether coming into existence is a good thing for the child itself. Most of those who consider that question probably do so because they have some reason to fear that the child’s life would be especially difficult — for example, if they have a family history of a devastating illness, physical or mental, that cannot yet be detected prenatally.

All this suggests that we think it is wrong to bring into the world a child whose prospects for a happy, healthy life are poor, but we don’t usually think the fact that a child is likely to have a happy, healthy life is a reason for bringing the child into existence. This has come to be known among philosophers as “the asymmetry” and it is not easy to justify. But rather than go into the explanations usually proffered — and why they fail — I want to raise a related problem. How good does life have to be, to make it reasonable to bring a child into the world? Is the standard of life experienced by most people in developed nations today good enough to make this decision unproblematic, in the absence of specific knowledge that the child will have a severe genetic disease or other problem?

If there were to be no future generations, there would be nothing for us to feel to guilty about. Is there anything wrong with this scenario?

The 19th-century German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer held that even the best life possible for humans is one in which we strive for ends that, once achieved, bring only fleeting satisfaction. New desires then lead us on to further futile struggle and the cycle repeats itself.
Schopenhauer’s pessimism has had few defenders over the past two centuries, but one has recently emerged, in the South African philosopher David Benatar, author of a fine book with an arresting title: “Better Never to Have Been: The Harm of Coming into Existence.” One of Benatar’s arguments trades on something like the asymmetry noted earlier. To bring into existence someone who will suffer is, Benatar argues, to harm that person, but to bring into existence someone who will have a good life is not to benefit him or her. Few of us would think it right to inflict severe suffering on an innocent child, even if that were the only way in which we could bring many other children into the world. Yet everyone will suffer to some extent, and if our species continues to reproduce, we can be sure that some future children will suffer severely. Hence continued reproduction will harm some children severely, and benefit none.

Erin Schell

Benatar also argues that human lives are, in general, much less good than we think they are. We spend most of our lives with unfulfilled desires, and the occasional satisfactions that are all most of us can achieve are insufficient to outweigh these prolonged negative states. If we think that this is a tolerable state of affairs it is because we are, in Benatar’s view, victims of the illusion of pollyannaism. This illusion may have evolved because it helped our ancestors survive, but it is an illusion nonetheless. If we could see our lives objectively, we would see that they are not something we should inflict on anyone.
Here is a thought experiment to test our attitudes to this view. Most thoughtful people are extremely concerned about climate change. Some stop eating meat, or flying abroad on vacation, in order to reduce their carbon footprint. But the people who will be most severely harmed by climate change have not yet been conceived. If there were to be no future generations, there would be much less for us to feel to guilty about.
So why don’t we make ourselves the last generation on earth? If we would all agree to have ourselves sterilized then no sacrifices would be required — we could party our way into extinction!
Of course, it would be impossible to get agreement on universal sterilization, but just imagine that we could. Then is there anything wrong with this scenario? Even if we take a less pessimistic view of human existence than Benatar, we could still defend it, because it makes us better off — for one thing, we can get rid of all that guilt about what we are doing to future generations — and it doesn’t make anyone worse off, because there won’t be anyone else to be worse off.

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Is a world with people in it better than one without? Put aside what we do to other species — that’s a different issue. Let’s assume that the choice is between a world like ours and one with no sentient beings in it at all. And assume, too — here we have to get fictitious, as philosophers often do — that if we choose to bring about the world with no sentient beings at all, everyone will agree to do that. No one’s rights will be violated — at least, not the rights of any existing people. Can non-existent people have a right to come into existence?
I do think it would be wrong to choose the non-sentient universe. In my judgment, for most people, life is worth living. Even if that is not yet the case, I am enough of an optimist to believe that, should humans survive for another century or two, we will learn from our past mistakes and bring about a world in which there is far less suffering than there is now. But justifying that choice forces us to reconsider the deep issues with which I began. Is life worth living? Are the interests of a future child a reason for bringing that child into existence? And is the continuance of our species justifiable in the face of our knowledge that it will certainly bring suffering to innocent future human beings?

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What do you think?
Readers are invited to respond to the following questions in the comment section below:
If a child is likely to have a life full of pain and suffering is that a reason against bringing the child into existence?
If a child is likely to have a happy, healthy life, is that a reason for bringing the child into existence?
Is life worth living, for most people in developed nations today?
Is a world with people in it better than a world with no sentient beings at all?
Would it be wrong for us all to agree not to have children, so that we would be the last generation on Earth?

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Peter Singer is Professor of Bioethics at Princeton University and Laureate Professor at the University of Melbourne. His most recent book is “The Life You Can Save.”

Gustavo Dudamel at the Proms - Arturo Márquez - Danzón Nº 2

Resenha Crítica - Filme O prisioneiro da grade de ferro

Resenha Crítica

 Filme: O prisioneiro da grade de ferro

O filme relata, ainda que não concentradamente, a vida de diversos prisioneiros. Celso Pereira de Alburqueira Jonas de Freitas Lins, José Eliano da Silva, Rubens Lima da Silva, João Vicente Lopes, são alguns deles. Somos levados a diversos âmbitos da vida em reclusão.

No filme, o Rap, a religião, e outras atividades são mostradas como tentativas de tornar a vida na prisão um pouco menos desagradável. Trata-se, mormente, de um esforço para transformar a vida na prisão em algo um pouquinho mais semelhante à vida fora dela. As formas de destilar cachaça, a precariedade das medidas profiláticas, dentre tantas outras coisas, mostram a dificuldade de empreender esta tarefa. Supostamente, o filme deveria ser um auto-retrato. Todavia, nesse ponto ele deixa a desejar. A meu ver, permanece a sensação de que o retrato não é sincero, completo. Sentimo-nos, ainda, de fora, estranhos. Os atos de violência são citados, fotos são mostradas, mas nada é filmado. Tem-se, ainda, a sensação de que só se mostra o que se pode, de que há muito ali que não é mostrado. Um auto-retrato do preso é algo como tornar-se preso por duas horas. É ver aquilo que só eles vêem, sem cortes, sem pudores, sem censuras.

A passagem dos ratos, em que os presos mostram a enxurrada de camundongos em meio aos quais eles vivem, lembra um livro de Véronique Vasseur. Em 2000, ela publicou Médecin-chef à la prison de la santé, explicando os horrores da prisão La Santé. Nele, ela retrata como os presos eram obrigados a usar suas próprias vestes para tampar buracos nas paredes das celas, a fim de evitar a entrada de ratos. Os demais insetos eram onipresentes. E, por fim, os presos mais fortes estupravam e violavam de diversas formas os mais fracos, tornando-os seus escravos, para realizar diversas tarefas e afazeres. Apenas em 1999, 124 presos se mataram na prisão La Santé.

Os presos do carandiru também vivem em meio a ratos. Salta aos olhos, por exemplo, a AIDS e o pavilhão em separado dos homossexuais. Pouco foi falado sobre isso. As relações afetivas dos presos também foram pouco exploradas.

Fica evidenciado pelo filme que o carandiru era tudo menos um ambiente de ressocialização. Privando os presos de pequenos prazeres, de atividades mínimas que dêem a eles a sensação de não estarem presos, relega-se aos presos um “salve-se quem puder”. O universo da prisão passa a ter regras próprias e o preso a viver sob ditames alheios ao que prega o Estado.

Se roubar é proibido e se por isso o réu se torna preso, pouco dessa regra vale lá. Temos hoje um sistema carcerário que faz tudo menos mostrar ao preso as vantagens ou, ao menos, as desvantagens de violar regras. O preso ainda é tratado de maneira paternalista. No filme, fica claro o caráter pífio dos livros que estão à disposição dos presos. Não há estrutura para que eles retomem suas vidas.

Por outro lado, sendo a prisão um universo hermético, enclausurado em si mesmo, abandona-se àquele que está cumprindo pena, de modo que ele, dependente da própria sorte, é obrigado, mais dentro do que fora, a transgredir para sobreviver. Será razoável pregar princípios éticos dentre de uma instituição que não os respeita? Será, ademais, exigível a observância de determinadas regras de conduta frente àquele que, ao tentar cumpri-las, coloca em risco sua própria vida? Ela diz ao preso que ele não pode roubar e que por isso é punido, mas ela impede que presos roubem uns dos outros, que se agridam, que violentem uns aos outros?

O Xadrez 209 é o retrato de uma sociedade que retira o infrator do convívio social para jogá-lo em meio ao caos. A falta de autonomia, a ausência da possibilidade de desenvolver as próprias habilidades, a crueldade e animosidade entre os guardas e os presos e dos presos entre si demonstram o quanto as prisões brasileiras carecem de fundamentos teleológicos e axiológicos.

Logo ao entrar na prisão, todos já são informados: não há trabalho para todos. A pergunta que se deve colocar é: será possível ser digno numa prisão indigna? Não se aprende nada de proveitoso, nenhum ofício ou mister a poder ser utilizado no futuro. O preso sairá não apenas como entrou na prisão, mas pior do que quando o fez. Não é em vão que o palestrante do carandiru diz que seria puro sadismo desejar, aos recém-chegados ao presídio, boas-vindas. Na verdade, na prisão não se respeita os mínimos pressupostos de convivência conjunta (Mindestbedingungen des Zusammenlebens, como diz o penalista alemão, radicado na Suiça, Günter Stratenwerth). Se o preso já não sabia respeitar as regras de direito penal, não é na prisão que o aprenderá. Lá, ele verá a vida na sua crueldade e rudeza mais absolutas. Viverá momentos agonizantes. E viverá, como criticava Saramago, cada vez mais completamente como um animal e menos como um ser-humano. É essa a prisão que nós cultivamos e que custeamos, onerosa e dispendiosamente. O mais caro desse preço, no entanto, nós não pagamos em dinheiro, nem em tributos. Mas sim por meio das altas taxas de reincidência e dos crimes que se multiplicam assim como as cadeias. O exercício do poder punitivo, nos moldes como implementados aqui, são não apenas não-eficientes, como extremamente irracionais e contra-produtivos. Eles parecem agravar boa parte do quadro negativo que se nos apresenta e não o contrário.

Vigiar e Punir - Estudo Dirigido

ESTUDO DIRIGIDO

FOUCAULT, Michel. “Instituições completas e austeras”, in Vigiar e Punir: Nascimento da prisão. 36ª ed. Petrópolis, Vozes, 2009. 217-242pp.

Surveiller et punir já se tornou uma obra célebre. O objeto deste trabalho é o capítulo intitulado Instituições completas e austeras (no original, Des institutions complètes et austères). Com base nas instruções deste estudo dirigido, tentaremos realizar as tarefas propostas satisfatoriamente.

Tema Central e Síntese

Foucault traça uma espécie de genealogia da prisão e mostra como ela possui um poder total sobre os indivíduos. Trata-se de uma instituição "omni-disciplinar," uma reforma completa da personalidade. E esse fato assume diversas formas. Em primeiro lugar, temos o isolamento em face de outros prisioneiros e do mundo. Segundamente, de facto, non de iure, impõe-se ao preso o trabalho, com base no regulamento do tempo do prisioneiro e da vida nas prisões. Foucault fala ainda, neste ponto, da passagem do tempo na prisão como um elemento segregador e punitivo. Terceiramente, a prisão é o instrumento para a modulação da pena. Ela assume a operação da sentença ao executá-la e toma formas próprias, a ponto de ser um universo hermético em si mesmo. Sem embargo, a qualidade e a duração da detenção são determinadas pela prisão, não pelo crime. A prisão supervisiona a moral do preso depois do crime, que excede à própria detenção, porque é também um workshop e um hospital, onde a cura e a normalização supostamente ocorrerão. Tal amálgama escabroso, tal combinação é conhecida como a penitenciária.

Esses acréscimos à prisão não são facilmente aceitos, a despeito da idéia de que a prisão não deve ser mais do que uma privação de liberdade. Prisão é o lugar de observação do indivíduo, uma questão de vigilância e de conhecimento. Para isso, Foucault diz no final do trecho, a maioria das prisões é modelada conforme o panóptico. Naturalmente, isso será melhor explicado no capítulo específico destinado ao panóptico. A natureza vigiadora da prisão já assume seus contornos aqui e, nesse diapasão, dá razão de ser à estrutura do panóptico.

 Para Foucault, como o corpo torturado do criminoso desapareceu, a alma do delinqüente apareceu. Isso é contextualmente entendido com base nos capítulos anteriores do livro, dedicados à tortura. Ele quer dizer que a prisão suplantou a tortura e, com base nese “método civilizado de punição”, foram criados, presumidamente, mecanismos adequados para poder disciplinar. A prisão, porquanto, é o lugar em que a punição é organizada em silêncio como um tratamento, que então se torna parte do conhecimento privilegiado de uma parte da sociedade. As ciências penais e o aparato do Judiciário, nesse sentido, de alguma forma se escondem atrás das leis e dispositivos legais e corroboram o sistema.

Conclusões do autor

Foucault aponta para a crueldade do sistema prisional e para a desumanização no preso. Supostamente, a prisão foi um avanço em face da tortura e de outras penas corporais e vexatórias, mormente em virtude da implementação de teses idealistas. Contudo, para o filósofo francês, o sistema está a “(...) fazer da prisão um local de constituição de um saber que deve servir de princípio regulador.”[1]

Isso não apenas torna a prisão um universo fechado em si mesmo, como trata de reproduzir as estruturas sociais na própria prisão que, alegadamente, deveria socializar o preso. Isso se dá, ademais, de forma exasperada, porque ocorre com base na vigilância constante e na punição que é exercida por direito próprio (sui iuris), tendo pouca ou nenhuma relação com a pena ela própria. Fala-se, porquanto, segundo Foucault, de uma instituição voltada para a anulação da individualidade, reprodutora das relações de poder que em primeiro lugar podem ter causado o fato punível e que faz com que “A técnica penitenciária e o homem delinqüente” sejam “de algum modo irmãos gêmeos.”[2]

Conclusões do leitor

Não é a primeira vez que leio Vigiar e Punir. Hoje, tenho uma visão um pouco diferente de outrora. Talvez a influência de Kant faça com que entenda a punição, não, necessariamente, como um injusto. Ao contrário, a punição pode, quando devidamente aplicada, significar respeito ao infrator. Quer dizer tratá-lo como um fim em si mesmo. Ao invés da indiferença, a hostilidade, assim como os sentimentos positivos, pode resultar no tratamento do sujeito enquanto alguém que possui deveres e direitos, enquanto alguém capaz de se autodeterminar, pois dotado da autonomia da vontade (Autonomie des Willens). O infrator escolhe realizar certos atos. Todavia, como Onora O’Neill[3], a ilustre kantiana contemporânea, membro da House of Lords, adverte, não somos sujeitos racionais puramente, nem completamente determinados em bases a priori. Fatos empíricos repercutem na ética. Somos determinados não apenas a priori, mas também a posteriori. Não é razoável supor o contrário. Logo, a autonomia do sujeito deve ser vista à luz de nossas capacidades finitas. É o que o direito do trabalho já faz. Não há como se dizer que o trabalhador que celebra contrato com cláusulas abusivas aquiesceu, assentiu. Ele o fez, on pain of starvation. Logo, sua autonomia se encontrava tolhida. Este é um ponto a ser levado em conta, uma adaptação a Kant que se faz mister acrescentar.

Por outro lado, certamente, não estão com razão aqueles que pensam que prender uma segunda vez é sempre errado. Zaffaroni chegou a defender, num determinado momento, que, se alguém é preso e, depois de solto, volta a delinquir, então ele não poderia ser preso. Isso porque se a pena só tem finalidade preventiva e ela não funcionou uma vez, não adiantaria prendê-lo de novo, pois ela não serviria ao seu propósito preventivo.

A pena pode ser bastante efetiva e o Estado pode fazer tudo que está ao seu alcance e, ainda assim, um determinado indivíduo reincidir. Faz parte, inclusive, da sua autonomia, e da sua aptidão para escolhas. E é bom que ele possa decidir como agirá, do contrário estaríamos diante de uma lamentável e escabrosa realidade digna de A Clockwork Orange (Laranja Mecânica), o filme de Stanley Kubrick.

O problema das prisões, ao contrário do afirmado por Foucault, não está nelas próprias, é dizer, as prisões não precisam ser simplesmente extintas, mas sim tratar os presos como sujeitos, é necessário lhes dar respeito e impor deveres. Assim como, outrossim, o Estado deve fazê-lo antes de prender o jovem.

Ao invés de só exigir que o mancebo não crimine, é preciso dar condições para que todos os indivíduos tenham opções de vida dignas. Não tenho dúvidas de que as prisões brasileiras e a sociedade brasileira são desumanas e de que não tratam seus membros como cidadãs e cidadãos. Entretanto, o problema não está, como quer Foucault, no aspecto estrutural das prisões, tomadas enquanto tais, mas na forma que elas se dão atualmente, mormente neste país. Muitas prisões francesas ou alemãs de hoje não padecem, a meu ver, de tantos problemas quanto as daqui. Talvez, Foucault diria que sim, se estivesse vivo. Está aqui nossa divergência. Punição e vigilância não são inexoravelmente ruins e antiéticos. Podem significar respeito em face de alguém que violou uma regra e que, por isso, deve ser punido. Em síntese, a prisão não é, necessariamente, “uma cela fechada, um sepulcro provisório”[4], como Foucault parece tentar defender.

---

[1] 237p.

[2] 241p.

[3] O’Neill, Onora. Constructions of reason: explorations of Kant's practical philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989.

[4] 225p.

How does Scanlonian Contractualism differ from other social contract theories? Contractarianism, Kantian contractualism, Rawlsian Contractualism.

2. How does Scanlonian Contractualism differ from other social contract theories? Contractarianism, Kantian contractualism, Rawlsian Contractualism.

Contractualism appeals to the idea of a social contract. It attempts to derive the content of morality (and, in some versions, also the justification for holding that we are obligated to follow morality) from the notion of an agreement between all those in the moral domain. Contemporary moral philosophy offers several other interpretations of the social contract tradition. It is useful to distinguish Scanlonian Contractualism from these alternatives.

Contractarianism has its roots in Hobbes, whose account is based on mutual self-interest. Morality consists in those forms of cooperative behaviour that it is mutually advantageous for self-interested agents to engage in. (The most prominent modern exponent is David Gauthier. See Gauthier 1986.)

By contrast, any form of contractualism is grounded on the equal moral status of persons. It interprets this moral status as based on their capacity for rational autonomous agency. According to contractualism, morality consists in what would result if we were to make binding agreements from a point of view that respects our equal moral importance as rational autonomous agents. Contractualism has its roots in Rousseau, rather than Hobbes: the general will is what we would jointly will if we adopted the perspective of free and equal citizens. Contractualism offers an alternative to contractarianism. Under contractarianism, I seek to maximise my own interests in a bargain with others. Under contractualism, I seek to pursue my interests in a way that I can justify to others who have their own interests to pursue.

We next distinguish two broad classes of contractualist theory: Kantian and Scanlonian. Kantian contractualists seek principles to which all rational agents would agree, under certain idealised conditions. In order to reach such an agreement, Kant notoriously needs to abstract away from many (some would say too many) concrete features of our moral lives. (See Onora O'Neill's gloss on the notion of agreement in Kantian ethics; O'Neill 2003).

Scanlon's account differs from Kant in various respects. In particular, it offers a substantive account of the normative force of morality, based on the value of a relation of mutual respect. Reasonableness is not taken to be something that can be demonstrated outside the moral point of view. Another difference is that Scanlon's contractualism seeks principles that no one can reasonably reject, rather than principles all would agree to.

However, Scanlon's contractualism has Kantian elements, as it seeks a free agreement that elucidates both freedom and equality. We might say that Contractualism gives expression to ideas latent in Kant's discussions of the Categorical Imperative (especially in the Formula of Humanity and the Formula of the Kingdom of Ends, rather than the more familiar Formula of Universal Law).

The most influential recent contractualist is John Rawls. Rawls's contractualism differs from Scanlon's in two key ways. (1) Rawls's contract is more Kantian, as he seeks principles everyone would agree to, rather than principles no-one could reasonably reject. (This contrast is especially marked if we consider Rawls's Dewey Lectures, where his work is at its most Kantian.) (2) Rawls's contract is political — it aims to set the general social framework for a liberal society, rather than determining moral principles. As a result, Rawls places the parties to his agreement behind a veil of ignorance, where they do not know many key facts about their own identity. This is to ensure that the resulting principles of justice embody Rawls's commitment to liberal neutrality. For Rawls, we ought to follow the principles that it would be rational for everyone to choose, if they had to choose those principles without knowing anything about themselves or their circumstances. Because each person knows that they could end up being anyone, each must have concern for all. In essence, Rawls uses self-interest behind a veil of ignorance to represent a commitment to justice, construed as fairness to all.

Scanlon, by contrast, invokes no veil of ignorance. I know my own circumstances. It is not self-interest combined with ignorance of self that makes me take account of everyone's interests, but rather my concern to justify myself to everyone else. This motivation is a key feature of Scanlon's contractualism. All social contract theorists — even contractarians — agree that agents want to justify themselves to others. However, for the contractarian, such a desire is merely strategic — justification is instrumentally useful because it enables me to get others to do what serves my interests. For the Scanlonian contractualist, by contrast, agents are morally motivated by an intrinsic desire to justify themselves to others. Having this desire is part of what it is to be a moral agent.

Despite these differences, Scanlonian Contractualism does have several points in common with other contractualist theories. In particular, Scanlonian Contractualism aspires to provide a non-utilitarian theory that grounds moral status on a universal trait of persons — rational moral agency — and thus provides general principles whose scope is global. It is to this contrast with utilitarianism that we now turn. 

(Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Contractualism. Ashford, Elizabeth; Mulgan, Tim.)

Rawls' "difference principle"

Pphilippe van Parijs says, in The Cambridge Companion to John Rawls, that:

The core of the principle [so called 'difference principle'] is a simple and appealing idea: that social and economic inequalities should be evaluated in terms of how well off they leave the worst off. (...) For it avoids, at the same time, the absurdity of equality at any price and the outrageousness of maximising the aggregate no matter how distributed.

Túmulo de Kant e célebre frase da Crítica da Razão Pura

Placa da Universidade de Caliningrado, Rússia (antiga Königsberg). De lá, Kant nunca saiu e lá ele está enterrado. O excerto na lápide é a célebre passagem da Kritik der reinen Vernunft que diz: „Zwei Dinge erfüllen das Gemüt mit immer neuer und zunehmender Bewunderung und Ehrfurcht, je öfter und anhaltender sich das Nachdenken damit beschäftigt: der bestirnte Himmel über mir und das moralische Gesetz in mir.“ Trad.: "Duas coisas enchem a alma de nova e crescente admiração e reverência, quanto mais intensa e freqüëntemente o pensamento delas se ocupa: o céu estrelado sobre mim e a lei moral dentro de mim."

Cicero and Menschenwürde

"(...) tum ut pro dignitate cuique tribuatur; id enim est iustitiae fundamentum" De Officiis, I, 42.

Günter Dürig. Gesammelte Werke (1952-1983). SÖR 463. 1984. 135p.

"Die normative Aussage des objektiven Verfassungsrechts, dass die Würde des Menschen unantastbar ist, beinhaltet eine Wertaussage, der ihrerseits eine Aussage über eine Seinsgegebenheit zugrunde liegt: "Diese Seinsgegebenheit, die unabhängig von Zeit und Raum 'ist' und rechtlich verwirklicht werden "soll", besteht in folgendem: Jeder Mensch ist Mensch kraft sines Geistes, der ihn abhebt von der unpersönlichen Natur und ihn aus eigener Entscheidung dazu befähigt, seiner selbst bewusst zu werden, sich selbst zu bestimmen und sich und die Umwelt zu gestalten."

Nulidade e Anulabilidade em alemão

Nulidade e Anulabilidade em alemão - Nichtigkeit und Vernichtbarkeit

Atenas deve muito à Esparta - Brief an der Vater

Foi a estupidez, a grosseria, a rudeza dos espartanos que venceu os persas na assim chamada segunda guerra médica e que possibilitaram o glória da Atenas do período clássico. Nunca se esqueça que apesar de toda a estupidez, de toda a brutalidade, a falta de sensibilidade, a visão desrespeitosa, cheia de animosidade, foram os espartanos que possibilitaram o espasmo ateniense, o jorro de gozo, de arte, de filosofia, de política. Esse grande orgasmo só foi possível à uma Esparta recalcada, arbitrária, incoerente, cheia de repressões inúteis e mal fundamentadas.

Non liquet - Roman Law - rem non liquere

"It was however possible, by leave of the magistrate, for the iudex to be released on his swearing 'rem non liquere' in which case a new iudex was appointed, a case of translatio iudicii." W.W. Buckland. A Textbook of Roman Law. 656p.


Lewis & Short, A Latin Dictionary. Liqueo:


B. In partic.: non liquet, it doth not appear, a legal formula by which the judge declared that he was unable to decide respecting the guilt or innocence of the accused.—Hence also, in gen., it is not evident, it is doubtful: “non liquere dixerunt (judices),” Cic. Clu. 28, 76: “cum id de quo Panaetio non liquet, reliquis ejusdem disciplinae solis luce videatur clarius,” id. Div. 1, 3, 6: “juravi, mihi non liquere,” Gell. 14, 2, 25: “non liquet mihi,” Quint. 9, 3, 97.—So, on the contrary, liquet: “cum causam non audisset, dixit sibi liquere,” Cic. Caecin. 10, 29: “quid maxime liquere judici velit,” Quint. 3, 6, 12: “de quo liquet,” id. 3, 6, 35: “si liquebit mundum providentia regi,” id. 5, 10, 14: “mirabatur, id. cuiquam pro percepto liquere, stellas istas non esse plures, etc.,” Gell. 14, 1, 11.

TOLERATION OF THE INTOLERANT - A THEORY OF JUSTICE (CHAPTER 35) - JOHN RAWLS

35. TOLERATION OF THE INTOLERANT


Let us now consider whether justice requires the toleration of the
intolerant, and if so under what conditions. There are a variety of
situations in which this question arises. Some political parties in
democratic states hold doctrines that commit them to suppress the
constitutional liberties whenever they have the power. A~ain, there
are those who reject intellectual freedom but who nevertheless hold
positions in the university. It may appear that toleration in these
cases is inconsistent with the principles of justice, or at any rate not required by them. I shall discuss the matter in connection with
religious toleration. With appropriate alterations the argument can
be extended to these other instances.
Several questions should be distinguished. First, there is the question
whether an intolerant sect has any title to complain if it is not
tolerated; second, under what conditions tolerant sects have a right
not to tolerate those which are intolerant; and last, when they have
the right not to tolerate them, for what ends it should be exercised.
Beginning with the first question, it seems that an intolerant sect
has no title to complain when it is denied an equal liberty. At least
this follows if it is assumed that one has no title to object to the
conduct of others that is in accordance with principles one would
use in similar circumstances to justify one's actions toward them. A
person's right to complain is limited to violations of principles he
acknowledges himself. A complaint is a protest addressed to another
in good faith. It claims a violation of a principle that both parties
accept. Now, to be sure, an intolerant man will say that he acts in
good faith and that he does not ask anything for himself that he
denies to others. His view, let us suppose, is that he is acting on the
principle that God is to be obeyed and the truth accepted by all.
This principle is perfectly general and by acting on it he is not
making an exception in his own case. As he sees the matter, he is
following the correct principle which others reject.
The reply to this defense is that, from the standpoint of the
anginal position, no particular interpretation of religious truth can
be acknowledged as binding upon citizens generally; nor can it be
agreed that there should be one authority with the right to settle
questions of theological doctrine. Each person must insist upon an
equal right to decide what his religious obligations are. He cannot
give up this right to another person or institutional authority. In
fact, a man exercises his liberty in deciding to accept another as an
authority even when he regards this authority as infallible, since in
doing this he in no way abandons his equal liberty of conscience
as a matter of constitutional law. For this liberty as secured by
justice is imprescriptible: a person is always free to change his faith
and this right does not depend upon his having exercised his powers
of choice regularly or intelligently. We may observe that men's having an equal liberty of conscience is consistent with the idea that all men ought to obey God and accept the truth. The problem of liberty is that of choosing a principle by which the claims men make on one another in the name of their religion are to be regulated.
Granting that God's will should be followed and the truth
recognized does not as yet define a principle of adjudication. From
the fact that God's intention is to be complied with, it does not follow that any person or institution has authority to interfere with
another's interpretation of his religious obligations. This religious
principle justifies no one in demanding in law or politics a greater
liberty for himself. The only principles which authorize claims on
institutions are those that would be chosen in the original position.
Let us suppose, then, that an intolerant sect has no title to complain
of intolerance. We still cannot say that tolerant sects have the
right to suppress them. For one thing, others may have a right to
complain. They may have this right not as a right to complain on
behalf of the intolerant, but simply as a right to object whenever a
principle of justice is violated. For justice is infringed whenever
equal liberty is denied without sufficient reason. The question, then,
is whether being intolerant of another is grounds enough for limiting
someone's liberty. To simplify things, assume that the tolerant sects
have the right not to tolerate the intolerant in at least one circumstance, namely, when they sincerely and with reason believe that intolerance is necessary for their own security. This right follows readily enough since, as the original position is defined, each would agree to the right of self-preservation. Justice does not require that men must stand idly by while others destroy the basis of their existence.
Since it can never be to men's advantage, from a general point
of view, to forgo the right of self-protection, the only question, then,
is whether the tolerant have a right to curb the intolerant when they
are of no immediate danger to the equal liberties of others.
Suppose that, in some way or other, an intolerant sect comes to
exist within a well-ordered society accepting the two principles of
justice. How are the citizens of this society to act in regard to it?
Now certainly they should not suppress it simply because the members of the intolerant sect could not complain were they to do so. Rather, since a just constitution exists, all citizens have a natural
duty of justice to uphold it. We are not released from this duty
whenever others are disposed to act unjustly. A more stringent condition is required: there must be some considerable risks to our own legitimate interests. Thus just citizens should strive to preserve the constitution with all its equal liberties as long as liberty itself and
their own freedom are not in danger. They can properly force the
intolerant to respect the liberty of others, since a person can be
required to respect the rights established by principles that he would
acknowledge in the original position. But when the constitution
itself is secure, there is no reason to deny freedom to the intolerant.
The question of tolerating the intolerant is directly related to that
of the stability of a well-ordered society regulated by the two principles.
We can see this as follows. It is from the position of equal
citizenship that persons join the various religious associations, and
it is from this position that they should conduct their discussions
with one another. Citizens in a free society should not think one
another incapable of a sense of justice unless this is necessary for
the sake of equal liberty itself. If an intolerant sect appears in a wellordered society, the others should keep in mind the inherent stability of their institutions. The liberties of the intolerant may persuade them to a belief in freedom. This persuasion works on the psychological principle that those whose liberties are protected by and who benefit from a just constitution will, other things equal, acquire an allegiance to it over a period of time (§ 72). So even if an intolerant sect should arise, provided that it is not so strong initially that it can impose its will straightway, or does not grow so rapidly that the psychological principle has no time to take hold, it will tend to lose its intolerance and accept liberty of conscience. This is the consequence of the stability of just institutions, for stability means that when tendencies to injustice arise other forces will be called into play that work to preserve the justice of the whole arrangement. Of course, the intolerant sect may be so strong initially or growing so fast that the forces making for stability cannot convert it to liberty. This situation presents a practical dilemma which philosophy alone cannot resolve. Whether the liberty of the intolerant should be
limited to preserve freedom under a just constitution depends on
the circumstances. The theory of justice only characterizes the just
constitution, the end of political action by reference to which practical decisions are to be made. In pursuing this end the natural
strength of free institutions must not be forgotten, nor should it be supposed that tendencies to depart from them go unchecked and
always win out. Knowing the inherent stability of a just constitution,
members of a well-ordered society have the confidence to limit the
freedom of the intolerant only in the special cases when it is necessary
for preserving equal liberty itself.
The conclusion, then, is that while an intolerant sect does not
itself have title to complain of intolerance, its freedom should be
restricted only when the tolerant sincerely and with reason believe
that their own security and that of the institutions of liberty are in
danger. The tolerant should curb the intolerant only in this case.
The leading principle is to establish a just constitution with the
liberties of equal citizenship. The just should be guided by the
principles of justice and not by the fact that the unjust cannot complain.
Finally, it should be noted that even when the freedom of the
intolerant is limited to safeguard a just constitution, this is not done
in the name of maximizing liberty. The liberties of some are not
suppressed simply to make possible a greater liberty for others.
Justice forbids this sort of reasoning in connection with liberty as
much as it does in regard to the sum of advantages. It is only the
liberty of the intolerant which is to be limited, and this is done for
the sake of equal liberty under a just constitution the principles of
which the intolerant themselves would acknowledge in the original
position.
The argument in this and the preceding sections suggests that the
adoption of the principle of equal liberty can be viewed as a limiting
case. Even though their differences are profound and no one
knows how to reconcile them by reason, men can, from the standpoint
of the original position, still agree on this principle if they can
agree on any principle at all. This idea which arose historically
with religious toleration can be extended to other instances. Thus
we can suppose that the persons in the original position know that
they have moral convictions although, as the veil of ignorance requires, they do not know what these convictions are. They understand that the principles they acknowledge are to override these beliefs when there is a conflict; but otherwise they need not revise their opinions nor give them up when these principles do not uphold them.