Joseph DesJardins, following Daly, argues that there’s a third way:
The alternative to economic growth is economic development, not economic stagnation. . . . True economic development must encourage targeted economic growth in those areas in which human well-being can be promoted in ecologically sustainable ways and a decrease in those economic activities that degrade the earth’s biosphere.11
Shifting from “more” to “better,” in other words, can allow our economy to continue to move forward without the environmental and social dangers of using up more and more of the planet’s resources. With some things—Thneeds, for instance—it’s hard to see quite how we could substitute gains in quality for gains in quantity. The Once-ler seems to be stuck in a bind. Having created something for which there seems to be an almost insatiable demand (a demand that he helped create), he doesn’t have any incentive to do anything more than produce more of the same old Thneeds he knows he can sell. And he doesn’t stop to wonder if perhaps the increased production of Thneeds from his factory has done any harm until it’s too late.
Selling the Last of the Truffula Trees
The Lorax returned to show the Once-ler more of the environmental damage that the Thneed factory had caused—air pollution, in the form of “smogulous smoke,” had driven off the Swomee-Swans; and water pollution, in the form of “Gluppity-Glupp” and “Schloppity-Schlopp,” had driven off the Humming-Fish. Blame for the plight of the Swomee-Swans and Humming-Fish is laid clearly at the feet of the Once-ler, but he still doesn’t seem to get it.
Well, I have my rights, sir, and I’m telling you
I intend to go on doing just what I do!
And, for your information, you Lorax, I’m figgering
on biggering
and BIGGERING
and BIGGERING
and BIGGERING,
turning MORE Truffula Trees into Thneeds
which everyone, EVERYONE, EVERYONE needs! (Lorax)
But the Once-ler’s tirade was interrupted—at that moment, a machine chopped down the last Truffula Tree. Without the raw material it needs, the Thneed factory was suddenly shut down, and all of his relatives left.
In his pursuit of quick wealth, the Once-ler has entirely used up the single natural resource on which his business depended and destroyed the natural environment in which the business was located. In one respect, that’s not particularly surprising—the initial creation of the Thneed was little more than a whim, it seems, and the business was built on the faddish demand for Thneeds. But in another respect, it’s emblematic of much of modern business, in that an emphasis on short-term results—the quick biggering of his business—blinds the Once-ler to long-term issues, putting long-term success out of reach. If only the Once-ler had heard of “sustainability”!
There has been a lot of discussion of “sustainability” in the decades since The Lorax appeared.12 At first glance, it’s a relatively simple idea: sustainability is simply something’s ability to sustain itself, of course, usually indefinitely. But we quickly run into difficulties, as the Once-ler’s example shows: the continued, sustained growth of the Thneed factory is not compatible with the continued, sustained existence of the Truffula Tree forest. The most widely cited discussion of sustainability is that of the World Commission on Environment and Development, also known as the Brundtland Commission, which offers this definition: “Sustainable development is a development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.”13 Most contemporary economists, it seems, point to this sort of “intergenerational equity” as a fundamental part of any discussion of sustainability, and most appear to agree that the general stock of capital is the best way to measure this, so that “a development is called sustainable when it leaves the capital stock at least unchanged,” if not increased.14
In this sense, the Once-ler is operating in a sustainable way when he turns the last of the Truffula Trees into Thneeds: the total stock of capital is increased. Sure, the local ecosystem has been wrecked, and all that remains of the indigenous flora and fauna are “Grickle-grass” and crows, but the Once-ler and his family got “mighty rich,” so the natural capital of the area was transformed into Thneeds, a factory, and money, and the society’s total capital was (apparently) increased. Some senses of sustainability are narrowly focused on measures of wealth, and their conditions appear to be satisfied if there is as much or more capital tomorrow as there was yesterday. Other measures of societal and environmental well-being are left out of the picture, unless they can be expressed in terms of “stock of capital.”
The strongest forms of sustainability, on the other hand, ask that we look not only at the value of our stock of capital but also at the context for the accumulation or use of each type of capital. Think again of the Thneed factory: it seems clear that the factory is at least less valuable (if not completely valueless) once the last Truffula Tree is cut down. Suddenly, in order to determine whether or not a course of action (say, improving our Truffula-cutting equipment) is sustainable in the strong sense, we need to look past the sum of the value of the factory and the Thneeds; we need to investigate the size of the current Truffula Tree population, its rate of reproduction, the minimum size of a healthy population, the impact of the factory’s emissions on the forest’s health. . . . In short, when we use the strongest definitions of sustainability, a vastly more complicated set of variables comes into play.
In 1990, Herman Daly offered what are now known as the “Daly Rules” for the sustainable use of natural capital:
1. Renewable resources (fish, forests, soils, groundwaters) must be used no faster than the rate at which they regenerate;
2. Nonrenewable resources (mineral ores, fossil fuels, fossil groundwaters) must be used no faster than renewable substitutes for them can be put into place;
3. Pollution and wastes must be emitted no faster than natural systems can absorb them, recycle them, or render them harmless.15
Others are seeking to extend these rules to other forms of capital, so that the same kind of analyses can be performed on them as well.16 Sustainability, then, assumes that we can have a broad accounting of a variety of different kinds of capital, holds that some of these forms of capital are not substitutable for one another, and requires that we leave our stocks of all these different forms of capital intact (if not improved) for the next generation. In building and biggering his business, the Once-ler has given no evidence of concern for the future at all. Any more attentive businessman would certainly have noticed that his raw material was being used up faster than it could replace itself, and an environmentally conscious businessman might even have worried about the long-term sustainability of his entire operation. Could the Once-ler have produced Thneeds in a sustainable way? We’re not certain—but he certainly could have done better than he did.
The Lorax: Speaking for Trees
Is it odd that this chapter has focused so much on the actions of the Once-ler and their consequences to the near exclusion of the Lorax himself? After all, the book’s title is The Lorax, but he has only made a couple of quick appearances. So, as the nameless narrator asks at the outset:
What was the Lorax?
And why was it there?
And why was it lifted and taken somewhere
from the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows? (Lorax)
The Lorax appears with a “ga-Zump!,” leaping out of the stump of the first Truffula Tree that the Once-ler cut down, and introduces himself: “‘I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. / I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues’” (Lorax). Later, we find out that he is also caretaker for the Brown Bar-ba-loots and responsible for sending off the Swomee-Swans and the Humming-Fish. Does the idea of having someone to speak for the trees seem unusual to you?
Most philosophers who teach classes on environmental ethics seem to find that the idea of speaking for trees is at least vaguely familiar. Some may attribute this to
having read The Lorax to their kids at bedtime, but others will think of Christopher D. Stone’s influential essay, “Should Trees Have Standing? Toward Legal Rights for Natural Objects,”17 which is reprinted in most environmental ethics textbooks. Stone argues that we should, within the context of our legal system, “give legal rights to forests, oceans, rivers and other so-called ‘natural objects’ in the environment—indeed, to the natural environment as a whole.”18 To give a Truffula Tree grove, for example, the kind of legal rights that Stone envisions would require finding ways (a) for the trees to go to the courts on their own behalf, (b) because of some injury to themselves, and (c) in order to get benefits for themselves. It seems that (b) and (c) here are fairly easy to understand—if the Once-ler cuts down part of the grove, it is injured, and a court could step in to prevent the Once-ler from cutting down more trees and to cause him to plant some new trees in the grove to make it whole. But how could the Truffula Trees go to the courts themselves? They can’t speak for themselves, after all. But Stone points out that there are a wide variety of things that we recognize as having legal rights, which similarly can’t speak for themselves:
Corporations cannot speak, either; nor can states, estates, infants, incompetents, municipalities, or universities. Lawyers speak for them. . . . One ought, I think, to handle the legal problems of natural objects as one does the problems of legal incompetents[:] . . . those concerned with his well-being make such a showing to the court, and someone is designated by the court with the authority to manage the incompetent’s affairs.19
In the case of the Truffula Trees, it seems that the Lorax designated himself the guardian ad litem of the trees, animals, and all—though rather than take the Once-ler to court, he tries to appeal to the Once-ler’s environmental conscience, to no avail.20
Once the last Truffula Tree had been cut, the Once-ler’s family all packed up and left, leaving the Once-ler with an empty factory . . . and the Lorax. The Lorax also leaves, suddenly, and without any overt comment: “The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance . . . / just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance . . . / as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants” (Lorax). The Once-ler discovers that on the “small pile of rocks” from which the Lorax lifted himself was one word, “unless”—which the Once-ler simply doesn’t understand. Years pass, and the factory crumbles away; but with the appearance of an unnamed child, the Once-ler finally understands the meaning and importance of the Lorax’s parting message.
UNLESS someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It’s not. (Lorax)
The Once-ler then gives the child the last of the Truffula seeds with the hope that a new Truffula forest can be planted, and maybe the Lorax and all the other animals will come back. Is this a hopeful ending? We’re not really sure: on the one hand, the nameless child appears to be interested enough to follow through on the Once-ler’s request; on the other, even if he does go and plants the single seed, there’s no guarantee that a new forest will result. It seems to us that the odds are stacked pretty heavily against the revival of the Truffula forest and the return of the Lorax and all the animals . . . but we’re not quite ready to give up hope.
What Do You Think? Will the Lorax Come Back?
Most readers seem to think of The Lorax as an environmental book—and it is, but it’s much more than that. Dr. Seuss gives us loving descriptions of “that glorious place” and its plants and animals and is clearly distraught at the harms done to them all. But what seems to be seldom recognized is that this book is also about the rights and responsibilities of businesses with regard to the natural environment. In this chapter, we’ve highlighted some key issues we think Dr. Seuss wanted his readers to consider when they read this story: Are there ethical limits to economic consumption? Can we replace our current focus on economic growth with a new emphasis on economic development? And can attention to the concept of long-term sustainability have positive impacts on both business and the environment? Dr. Seuss seems to have had some answers in mind when he wrote The Lorax, and his idea of the Lorax himself as someone who can “speak for the trees” might show us a way to address serious conflicts between business and the environment going forward—but, most importantly to us, this beautifully written and drawn book captures our attention and gets us thinking about these questions for ourselves.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dr. Seuss Meets
Philosophical Aesthetics
Dwayne Tunstall
I can imagine some philosophers of art glancing at this chapter and thinking: Dr. Seuss is a well-known children’s book author, but for goodness sake, not a serious artist or aesthetic theorist. Choose someone more serious. Choose someone more scholarly. Just choose someone else. Besides, aren’t you contributing to the ghettoization of the field in the mainstream English-speaking philosophical community by introducing people to philosophical aesthetics using Dr. Seuss?
After getting reacquainted with some of the advertisements, children’s picture books, political cartoons, television adaptations of his picture books, and paintings Seuss created over the course of his lifetime, I realized that Seuss’s artworks are just the sort of art objects I should use to introduce people to philosophical aesthetics. Perhaps by introducing people to aesthetics using Dr. Seuss, they will see that philosophical aesthetics is not an esoteric discipline. Rather, philosophical theories of art can help people better appreciate artworks, some of which they’ve been acquainted with since childhood. After all, learning to better appreciate artworks enables us to be more sensitive to how the arts teach us to see the world differently than we normally would see it. For example, being mesmerized by the vivid reds of the Cat in the Hat’s hat and the bow tie worn by a cute humanoidlike cat takes us away from our everyday concerns. Reading books like The Cat in the Hat allows us to imagine ourselves watching an anarchist cat having fun juggling, violating virtually any and every household rule he can violate, causing trouble wherever he goes, yet cleaning up after himself once his fun is done. Exercising our imaginations this way is worthwhile in itself. Learning to appreciate things that exercise our imaginations in this manner is also worthwhile. If introducing people to aesthetics using Dr. Seuss further marginalizes philosophical aesthetics from the mainstream English-speaking philosophical community, then so be it. Introducing more people to philosophical aesthetics is worth that risk.
As a sign of respect to my colleagues in the field, I will introduce philosophical aesthetics using two of the more influential philosophies of art: Monroe Beardsley’s aesthetic theory of art and Arthur Danto’s philosophy of art. In addition, I will introduce a third influential aesthetic theory: cultural criticism. Yet I won’t use perhaps the most well-known theory of cultural criticism in the field, namely, Theodor W. Adorno’s aesthetic theory. Rather, I use Philip Nel’s cultural studies approach to interpreting Dr. Seuss’s work.
Why Is Dr. Seuss’s Art, Art:
Beardsley’s Aesthetic Theory of Art
I have just taken it for granted that Dr. Seuss’s work is art. But what makes his work art? This question became an urgent one for me as I looked at many of his surrealist oil paintings, his ink drawings, and his fanciful sculptures of exotic Seussian animals, done in a faux-taxidermy style. One painting in particular grabbed my attention: Every Girl Should Have a Unicorn. In this painting Seuss places an apparently nondescript and naked girl on a Seussian unicorn. She rides her unicorn on a green-blue hill. She is surrounded by wild vines, painted in fluid, curving lines. These vines—painted in rich vibrant blues, reds, oranges, pinks, yellows, dark blues, and greens—dance across the painting, intersecting randomly. This painting appears to be a landscape in the artistic style of what Jon Agee calls “Seussism.” Here is Agee’s dictionary-esque definition of this Seussy artistic style: “Seussism (Soos-izm), n. Fine Arts. A style of art characterized chiefly by a grandubulous sense of ornamentation and color, where exotic, snergelly a
rchitecture twists, turns and schloops into countless grickelly filigrees and flourishes, and rippulous shapes loom about in space as if they were some kind of new-fangled noodles let loose in zero gravity.”1
Yet, Seussism does not seem to fit the image of what most nonartists consider to be art. Most nonartists think that art should be the beautiful, realistic representation of a person, thing, or event. If this is the case, then what makes Every Girl Should Have a Unicorn art? How can we call this painting art? Is it just because Dr. Seuss painted it?
I think Beardsley’s aesthetic theory of art can help us answer these questions. Before we see how Beardsley’s aesthetic theory of art lets us answer this question, though, we should learn more about it. Like other philosophies of art, Beardsley’s aesthetic theory aims to offer a philosophical definition of art. But such a definition is not meant simply to describe how people normally use the word art in their everyday conversations. Rather, a philosophical definition of art aims to provide the necessary and sufficient conditions for an object to be classified as an art object. In other words, a philosophical definition of art aims to answer the question: What criteria must objects satisfy in order to be classified as artworks? This question is important if for no other reason than because philanthropies and governments who fund the arts need to be able to identify which objects and projects are, in fact, art.
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