The more equality there is in a society, the smaller is the action of the two stimulants connected with the two forms of inequality, and hence other stimulants are necessary.
Equality is all the greater in proportion as different human conditions are regarded as being, not more nor less than one another, but simply as other. Let us look on the professions of miner and minister simply as two different vocations, like those of poet and mathematician. And let the material hardships attaching to the miner's condition be counted in honor of those who undergo them.
In wartime, if an army is filled with the right spirit, a soldier is proud and happy 15 to be under fire instead of at headquarters; a general is proud and happy to think that the successful outcome of the battle depends on his forethought; and at the same time the soldier admires the general and the general the soldier.
Such a balance constitutes an equality. There would be equality in social conditions if this balance could be found therein. It would mean honoring each human condition with those marks of respect which are proper to it, and are not just a hollow pretense.
UNDERSTANDING THE TEXT
What kind of equality does Weil perceive as "a vital need of the human soul"? In what particular area does she believe that human nature most values equality with others?
Why does Weil believe that equality of opportunity will always lead to inequality of outcome? How should societies try to deal with this kind of inequality? Would it be possible or advisable to try to eliminate it?
Why does Weil believe that both upward and downward mobility are necessary for a true equality of opportunity? Why does she conclude that this level of equality could be socially destabilizing?
What does Weil mean by balancing equality and inequality through proportion? In the system she advocates, what additional responsibilities are placed on those who occupy higher social and economic positions? Is this fair?
Characterize in your own words the difference between "quantitative" and "qualitative" inequality.
MAKING CONNECTIONS
How does Weil's view of the spiritual consequences of inequality compare with those of Mohandas Gandhi in "Economic and Moral Progress" (p. 560)? Does Gandhi deal with respect for others in the same way that Weil does?
Do Weil and Joseph Stiglitz (p. 594) share a basic concern about the social consequences of certain kinds of inequality? Would Stiglitz agree with Weil that quantitative inequality is "no inequality at all"?
What kind of equality does Eugene Delacroix uphold in Liberty Leading the People (p. 494)? How would Weil view this kind of equality? Would she consider it qualitative or quantitative?
Does Weil's view of equality match the "Earth Justice" that Vandana Shiva discusses in Soil, Not Oil (p. 374)?
WRITING ABOUT THE TEXT
Define and contrast the concepts of "quantitative" and "qualitative" inequality as they relate to Weil's essay. Which one more closely represents the kind of social and economic inequalities you observe in your everyday life, and why?
Evaluate Weil's claim that the nature of human beings, combined with the nature of societies, makes a balance between equality and inequality necessary in human societies. How might you dispute both parts of this assertion?
Compare and contrast Weil's understanding of socioeconomic inequality with that of Stiglitz in "Rent Seeking and the Making of an Unequal Society" (p. 594).
octavio paz
from The Day of the Dead
[1950]
FOR MUCH OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY, Octavio Paz (1914-1998) was Mexico's most famous living poet and one of its most visible public figures. In addition to writing more than forty books—of poetry, essays, criticism, and political commentary— he served as Mexico's ambassador to India from 1962 until 1968. In 1990, he became the first Mexican—and only the fourth Latin American—to win the Nobel Prize for literature.
Paz's most famous prose work is The Labyrinth of Solitude (1950). In the nine essays that constitute this book, Paz sets for himself the daunting task of defining Mexican identity. To do this, he analyzes many different layers of Mexico's history, including Aztec myths, Catholic spiritual traditions, the Spanish conquest, French imperialism under Napoleon III, and American militarism in the nineteenth century and economic dominance in the twentieth century. Because the country has been subject to so many different conquests, occupations, and fragmentations, Paz argues, its national character is divided, lacking in confidence, and deeply suspicious.
The key to understanding Mexico is, for Paz, understanding the nature of its people's solitude. This solitude is based not in physical separation but in the inability to form emotional connections. The people who emerge from the pages of The Labyrinth of Solitude feel their country's history of poverty, betrayal, and vulnerability in the cores of their beings. "They act," he writes, "like persons who are wearing disguises, who are afraid of a stranger's look because it could strip them and leave them stark naked." The Labyrinth of Solitude seeks to understand this condition by looking at myths, customs, language, politics, history, and other representatives of what Paz calls "the psychology of a nation."
The following selection comes from the essay "The Day of the Dead," which deals with one of Mexico's most important holidays. In this selection, Paz attempts to explain the nature of great celebrations, or fiestas, in his country's cultural life. Paz begins with the observation that very poor villages often spend the majority of their collective wealth each year on one or two elaborate fiestas. He notes that elaborate celebrations are much more important to the poor than to the rich, but he also insists that their very nature is shrouded in ambiguity. They simultaneously celebrate life and death, order and chaos, love and hate, and joy and sorrow. Because of this ambiguity, Paz argues, these intensely communal celebrations also preserve the Mexican tradition of solitude.
Paz's purpose in this selection is to explain both the practice of the fiesta and the deep psychology behind this practice. In the process he advances a very subtle thesis about the connection between poverty and occasional excess.
The solitary Mexican loves fiestas and public gatherings. Any occasion for getting together will serve, any pretext to stop the flow of time and commemorate men and events with festivals and ceremonies. We are a ritual people, and this characteristic enriches both our imaginations and our sensibilities, which are equally sharp and alert. The art of the fiesta has been debased almost everywhere else, but not in Mexico. There are few places in the world where it is possible to take part in a spectacle like our great religious fiestas with their violent primary colors, their bizarre costumes and dances, their fireworks and ceremonies, and their inexhaustible welter of surprises: the fruit, candy, toys and other objects sold on these days in the plazas and open-air markets.
Our calendar is crowded with fiestas. There are certain days when the whole country, from the most remote villages to the largest cities, prays, shouts, feasts, gets drunk and kills, in honor of the Virgin of Guadalupe or Benito Juarez.1 Each year on the fifteenth of September, at eleven o'clock at night, we celebrate the fiesta of the Grito2 in all the plazas of the Republic, and the excited crowds actually shout for a whole hour . . . the better, perhaps, to remain silent for the rest of the year. During the days before and after the twelfth of December,3 time comes to a full stop, and instead of pushing us toward a deceptive tomorrow that is always beyond our reach, offers us a complete and perfect today of dancing and revelry, of communion with the most ancient and secret Mexico. Time is no longer succession, and becomes what it originally was and is: the present, in which past and future are reconciled.