Love and Imprisonment: Carceral Teleology

Introduction

Note: In this essay, I use "crime" to refer to legal and moral violations.

Before I write about prison architecture itself, it is necessary to first define what the metaphysical purpose of the prison is (its teleology), irrespective of infrastructure and logistics. At present, the prison has four mechanistic objectives: retribution, incapacitation, deterrence, and rehabilitation. It fulfills the social tasks of keeping citizens safe from criminals (incapacitation) and dissuading potential criminals (deterrence). It fulfills the psychological tasks of depriving freedom (retribution) and forcing isolation (rehabilitation).

The revival of one's love for his fellow man is the only correct carceral teleology, as love is the ultimate antidote to crime.

Because all people—even those who have committed ethical or legal crimes—are autonomous agents, love can only be restored by moral redemption which requires self-actualization. Architecturally, teleology is achieved through phenomenology. Specifically, by designing prisons that are subjectively experienced to be constructive and therefore conducive to actualization.

A Machine for Punishment

As mentioned above, the contemporary prison serves only a psychosocial purpose.

Sociologically, the prison is an institution for maintaining order. It incapacitates those who have committed crimes by separating them from those who have not. It deters future crime by the certainty and severity of punishment. A harsh and swift sentence discourages illegal behavior, especially when it is made public.

Psychologically, the prison is a device for the retribution and rehabilitation of the offender. It castigates him by depriving the freedoms that are otherwise essential to human existence. It rehabilitates him by forced isolation, and rumination on the consequences of his actions (i.e., penance, ergo the etymology for "penitentiary").

One might also be inclined to regard the prison as a tool for justice. Intrinsically, this is correct. However, one must be naive to believe that the current prison system reflects any notion of justice at all. On the contrary, money has been substituted for justice—despite the two not being mutually exclusive—due to corruption on the part of those responsible for maintaining justice. And in what measure can justice exist when its arbiters are themselves in need of it? None whatsoever.

Carceral architecture reinforces the prison as a machine for performing the prescribed psychosocial aims. The modern prison is an indecipherable, inescapable labyrinth; thus, it satisfies the sociological role. Its design is also weaponized for punishment by way of Brutalism and hostile architecture (architecture that purposefully reduces functionality). Conversely, a simultaneous effort is made to rehabilitate alongside retribution. This is an architectural contradiction. The infrastructure for rehabilitation, such as Nature and good lighting, works in contrast to the aforementioned infrastructure for punishment. This clashing creates tonal whiplash that leaves prisoners and employees ever the more confused as to the intention of their roles. The inmate is inevitably left asking himself: Am I being punished or helped? And the correctional officer is left asking himself: Am I punishing or helping? In both cases, the architecture provides no clear answer.

A Life Lived Mechanistically

A building's metaphysical purpose—or lack thereof—transmits directly to the users themselves. This is evidenced foremost in religious architecture. The teleology of a church, mosque, or temple is to inspire divinity and theological intimacy, which facilitates the practical objective of worship. Or as a modern example, the Organic architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright, whose teleology is the ontological harmony of Man and Nature, made real by the integration of the building with its site.

The absence of teleology forces prisoners and employees to define their lives solely in accordance with the psychosocial goals of the prison. As the prison coalesces into a machine, so too do its occupants. They are amalgamated, becoming components of the machine itself; mere implements of social function. Their human autonomy is eradicated. Under such circumstances, cynicism is the end result.

Viewing individuals who have committed crimes as entities to be punished or rehabilitated ignores their rational autonomy and consequently obstructs self-actualization. Ironically, this prevents rehabilitation from ever occurring to begin with.

Prisons For the Revival of Pure Love

I will write a more in depth analysis of love and architecture in the near future. For the time being, understanding one important ramification of love will suffice:

For instance, I would not steal from a friend or family member even if I required money to pay for the very food I need to survive. To do so would be a violation of my love for them. I could only commit a crime against another in the absence of love for my fellow man. Hence, the true teleology of the prison is the revival of pure love in the incarcerated (and the incarcerators). This revival happens only when one recognizes the moral law within and sets out to embody it through self-actualization. And in loving his fellow man, one enables others to recognize their own potential for moral redemption, and by extension, love. Therein, the prison is not a machine for punishment, but a sanctuary for the resurrection of pure love.

In restoring love, all four psychosocial functions are indirectly achieved and justice is upheld. Retribution is enforced because, as Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky says:

"What is Hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love."

The greatest punishment that could be inflicted on an individual is to realize that he has morally wronged his fellow man, and in doing so, he has betrayed humanity, and by proxy, himself. He has worked against his own interests and the interests of the victim, and thus forfeited his capacity for love and reasoning. Incapacitation is preserved, for love is sweeter than vengeance, and through its kindness, violence is banished not only outward the prison, but inward as well. Furthermore, love is the single greatest deterrent—even more so than violence—for one categorically does not victimize those he holds dear, but on the contrary, elevates them to a higher state of being. And in loving himself and others, one is "rehabilitated" as it were, not just on the psychological basis, but on the philosophical basis.

By situating the restoration of love as the metaphysical purpose of the prison, retribution, incapacitation, deterrence, and rehabilitation become organic byproducts rather than goals in and of themselves. In other words, the psychosocial functions of the prison are fulfilled without the instrumentalization of its occupants.

Metaphysics Manifested By Phenomenology

In observing that the solely mechanistic purpose of the prison stifles self-actualization, the obvious question arises: How is the true metaphysical purpose of reviving love attained architecturally? The answer is through phenomenology (how one subjectively experiences their surroundings).

I will defer a detailed explanation of prison phenomenology for the future as a follow up to this essay. But to be concise, love is restored by designing prison spaces that are subjectively experienced to be constructive rather than destructive, since love is an inherently constructive force. A garden would be one example of such a space. The tenacious growth of vegetation is constructive; aiding it or being in its presence is a regenerative experience. In such spaces, self-actualization takes place, morals are redeemed, and love is ultimately resurrected.

I will finish by clarifying that the psychosocial functions of a prison are not intrinsically wrong, but rather, they are not worthy of being the principal purpose for its existence. That honor belongs, singularly and eternally, to love.