Month: January 2025

As noted in my previous essay, a person does not surrender their moral rights or conscience when they enter a profession. It should not be simply assumed that a health care worker cannot refuse to treat a person because of the worker’s values. But it should also not be assumed that the values of a health care worker automatically grant them the right to refuse treatment based on the identity of the patient.

One moral argument for the right to refuse treatment because of the patient’s identity is based on the general right to refuse to provide a good or service. A key freedom, one might argue, is this freedom from compulsion. For example, an author has the right to determine who they will and will not write for.

Another moral argument for the right to refuse is the right not to interact with people  you regard as evil or immoral. This can also be augmented by contending that serving the needs of an immoral person is to engage in an immoral action, if only by association. For example, a Jewish painter has every right to refuse to paint a mural for Nazis. But this freedom can vary from profession to profession. To illustrate, a professor does not have the right to forbid a Christian student or a transgender student from enrolling in their class, even if they have a sincerely held belief that Christians are wicked or that transgender students are unnatural.

While these arguments are appealing, especially when you agree with the refusal in question, we need to consider the implications of a right of refusal based on values. One implication is that this right could allow a health care worker to refuse to treat you.  People who support the right to refusal often believe it will be used only against other people, people they do not like. Which is often why they support specific versions of the right, such as the right to refuse gay or transgender people. The idea that it could be used to refuse Christians, straight people, or white people does not enter the imagination. This is because those crafting laws protecting a right of refusal tend to have clear targets in mind.

But moral rights should be assessed by applying a moral method I call “reversing the situation.” Parents and others often employ this method by asking “how would you like it if someone did that to you?” This method can be based on the Golden Rule: “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Assuming this rule is correct, if a person is unwilling to abide by their own principles when the situation is reversed, then it is reasonable to question those principles. In the case at hand, while a person might be fine with the right to refuse services to those they dislike because of their values, they would presumably not be fine with it if they were the one being refused. As noted above, laws designed to protect the right of refusal are usually aimed at people intended to be marginalized.

An obvious objection to this method is that reversing the situation would, strictly speaking, only apply to health workers. That is, the question would be whether a health care worker would be willing to be refused treatment.  Fortunately, there is a modified version of this method that applies to everyone. In this modified method, the test of a moral right, principle or rule is for a person to replace the proposed target with themselves or a group (or groups) they belong to. For example, a Christian who thinks it is morally fine to refuse services to transgender people based on religious freedom should consider their thoughts on atheists refusing services to Christians based on religious freedom. Naturally, a person could insist that the right, rule or principle should only be applied to those they do not like. But if anyone can do this, then everyone can, and the objection fails.

A reasonable reply to this method is to argue there are exceptions to its application. For example, while most Christians are fine with convicted murders being locked up, it does that follow that they are wrong because they would not want to be locked up for being Christians. In such cases, which also applies to reversing the situation, it can be argued that there is a morally relevant difference between the two people or groups that justifies the difference in treatment. For example, a murderer would usually deserve to be punished while Christians do not deserve punishment just for being Christians. And I’m not saying this just because I am an Episcopalian. So, when considering the moral right of health care workers to refuse services based on the identity of the patient the possibility of relevant differences must be given due consideration.

An obvious problem with considering relevant differences is that people tend to think there is a relevant difference between themselves and those they think should be subject to refusal. For example, a person who is anti-racist might think that being a racist is a relevant difference that warrants refusing service. One solution is to try to appeal to an objective moral judge or standard, but this creates the obvious problem of finding such a person or standard. Another solution is for the person to take special pains to be objective, but this is difficult.

A final consideration is that while entering a profession does not strip a person of their conscience or moral agency, it can impose professional ethics on the person that supersede their own values within that professional context. For example, lawyers must accept a professional ethics that requires them to keep certain secrets their client might have even when doing so might violate their personal ethics and they are expected to defend their clients even if they find them morally awful. As a second example, as a professor I (in general) cannot insist that a student be removed from my class by appealing to my religious or moral views of the student. As a professor, I am obligated to teach anyone enrolled in my class, if they do not engage in behavior that would warrant their removal. Health care workers are usually subject to professional ethics and these often include requirements to render care regardless of what the worker thinks of the morality of the person. For example, a doctor does not have the right to refuse to perform surgery on someone just because the patient committed adultery and is a convicted felon. This is not to say that there cannot be exceptions, but professional medical ethics generally forbids refusing service just because of the moral judgment of the service provider of the patient. This is distinct from refusing services because a patient or client has engaged in behavior that warrants refusal, such as attacking the service provider.

 

Joining a profession can complicate a person’s ethical situation. For example, lawyers are obligated to defend their clients even if their client is a moral monster. In the case of health care workers, moral complications can arise when they are expected to perform medical procedures they oppose on moral or religious grounds. They can also arise when they are asked to treat a patient when they have an objection to treating patients of that type, such as a transgender person or a CEO. There is the ethical issue of whether a health care worker has the right to refuse to perform a procedure or treat a patient based on these religious or moral objections.

Some might assume that health care workers have no moral right to refuse services, especially if they are thinking of procedures they find morally acceptable. For example, a pro-choice person is likely to think that a health care worker should not deny a patient an abortion on moral or religious grounds. But this assumption would be hasty. Entering a profession does not entail that a person automatically surrenders their moral rights or conscience. To think otherwise would be to embrace the discredited notion that “just following orders” or just doing one’s job provides a moral excuse. As health care workers are morally accountable for their actions, they also retain the moral agency and freedom needed to provide the foundation for that accountability. Those who support the moral right of refusal will find this appealing, but they must remember that this moral coin has another side.

Entering a profession, especially in health care, comes with moral and professional responsibilities. These responsibilities can, like all responsibilities, justly impose burdens and obligations. For example, doctors are not permitted to immediately abandon patients they dislike or because they want to move on right now to a better paying position. The ethics of a health worker refusing to perform a procedure based on their moral or religious views requires that each procedure be reviewed to determine whether it is one that a health care worker can justly refuse or one that is a justly imposed burden.

To illustrate, consider a state employed doctor asked to keep prisoners conscious and alive during torture. Most doctors would have moral objections to this and there is the question of whether this falls within the moral expectations of their profession. On the face of it, since the purpose of the medical profession is to heal and alleviate suffering, this is not something that a doctor is obligated to do. In fact, the ethics of the profession would dictate against it.

Now, imagine a health care worker who has sincere religious or moral beliefs that when a person can no longer sustain their life on their own, they must be released to God. The worker refuses to engage in procedures that violate their principles, such as keeping a patient on life support. While this could be a sincerely held belief, it seems to run counter to the ethics of the profession. As such, such a health care worker would seem to not have the right to refuse such services.

One could even imagine extreme cases as there is no requirement to prove that a sincerely held religious belief is true, one must only be convincing in one’s (alleged) sincerity. For example, imagine a health care worker who has a sincere religious belief that a patient must prove themselves worthy in the eyes of God by surviving with only the most basic care; anything beyond that is an affront to God’s will. The patient will survive if God wills it and humans should not interfere. Such views would not be accepted as justifying their actions and they should seek another profession if they cannot do their jobs.

Turning back to services like abortion and gender transition, the issue would be whether these are like asking a medical worker to participate in torture or expecting a medical worker to provide normal medical services. Those who oppose abortion will make the moral argument that performing abortion is as bad (or worse) than abetting torture. The pro-choice will contend it is a medical procedure.

In the case of gender transition, there are no moral appeal to concerns about killing. Rather, a person must appeal to the view that people should not modify their sex and should accept what they were born with. This seems to be more like my imaginary case of a health care worker who believes that people must prove themselves worthy in the eyes of God than like the torture case, especially if someone takes the view that God wants people to stick with their original sex. That said, it could be argued that such modifications are wrong in the same way that non-restorative cosmetic surgery is wrong as both aim to allow a person to be who they want to be. I do not, however, want to claim that the transitional process is as trivial as the gender affirming procedure of getting breast implants.

While I do not think I will change minds, the matter of moral objections needs due consideration. It is easy to simply embrace one’s views without considering the possibility of error.

 

AI generated works have already disrupted the realm of art. As noted in the previous essay, this is a big problem for content art (art whose value is derived from what it is or how it can be used). However, I will show that named art might enjoy some safety from AI incursions.

Named art, at least in my (mis)usage, is a work whose value arises primarily from the name and fame of its creator. Historical examples include Picasso, van Gogh, and Rembrandt. An anecdote illustrates the key feature of named art.

Some years ago, I attended an art show and sale at Florida State University with a friend. She pointed to a small pencil sketch of a bird that was priced at $1500. She then pointed to a nearby sketch of equivalent quality that was $250. Since I had taught aesthetics for years, she asked me what justified the difference. After all, the sketches were about the same size, in the same medium, in the same realistic style and were executed with similar skill. My response was to point to the names: one artist was better known than the other. If a clever rogue managed to switch the names and prices on the works, the purchasers would probably convince themselves they were worth the price—because of the names. The nature of named art can also be shown by the following discussion.

Imagine, if you will, that an amazing painting is found in an attic that might be a lost van Gogh. If the value of works of art was based on the work itself, we would not need to know who created it to know its worth. But the value of the might-be-Gogh depends on whether it can be verified as a real-Gogh. It is easy to imagine the experts first confirm it is genuine (making it worth millions), then other experts confirm it was painted by Rick von Gogh (making it worth little), and then later experts re-affirm that it is genuine van Gogh (making it worth millions again). While nothing about the work has changed, its value would have fluctuated dramatically, because what gives it value is the creator and not the qualities of the work as art. That is, a van Gogh is not worth millions because the painting is thousands of times better than a lesser work, but because it was created by van Gogh and the art economy has said that it is worth that much. As such, the value of named art is not a function of the aesthetic value of the work, but of the name value of the work. This feature provides the realm of named art with an amazing defense against the incursion of AI.

 While an AI might be able to crank out masterpieces in a style indistinguishable from van Gogh, the AI can never be Vincent van Gogh. Named art gets its value from who created it rather than from what it is. So works created by an AI in the style of van Gogh will not be of value to those who only want the works of van Gogh. This can be generalized: those looking for works created by Artist X will not be interested in buying AI created art; they want works created by X. As such, if people value works because of the creator, named art will be safe from the incursion of AI. But one might wonder about AI created forgeries.

While I expect that AI will be used to forge works, successful deceit would not disprove my claim about named art being safe from AI incursion. The purchaser is still buying the work because they think it is by a specific artist; they are just being deceived. This is not to deny that AI forgeries will not be a problem, just that this would be a forgery problem and not an AI replacing artists problem (other than stealing the job of forgers, of course).

It might be objected that named art will not be safe from AI art because AI systems can crank out works at an alarming rate and, presumably, low cost. While this does mean that content artists are in danger from AI, it does not impact the “named” artists. After all, the fact that millions of human artists have produced millions of drawings and paintings does not lower the value of a Monet or Dali; the value placed on such paintings is independent of the works of these “lesser” artists. The same should hold true of AI art: even if one could click a button and get 100,000 original images ready to be painted onto canvas by a robot, the sale price of the Mona Lisa would not be diminished.

If AI systems become advanced enough, they might themselves become “named” artists with collectors wanting a work by Vincent van Robogogh because it was created by Robogogh. But that is a matter for the future.

 

This essay changes the focus from defining art to the economics of art. This discussion requires making a broad and rough distinction between two classes of art and creators. The first class of art is called “named art.” This is art whose value derives predominantly from the name and fame of its creator. Works by Picasso, van Gogh, Rembrandt and the like fall into this category. Artists who are enjoying a fleeting fame also fall into this category, at least so long as their name is what matters.  This is not to deny that such art can have great and wonderful qualities of its own; but the defining feature is the creator rather than the content.

The second class of art can be called “content art.” This is art whose value derives predominantly from what it is as opposed to who created it. For example, a restaurant owner who needs to put up some low-price original art is not buying it because it is, for example, a “LaBossiere” but because she needs something on the walls. As another example, a podcaster who wants a music style for her podcasts choses it because she needs low-cost music of a certain style. As a third example, an indie game designer who needs illustrations is looking for low-cost images that match the style and fit the adventure. They might be interested in but cannot afford works by some famous illustrator. This essay will be about this second class of art, although the term “art” is being used as a convenience rather than theoretically.

Since the worth of content art is the content, of the two types it is most impacted by AI. As those purchasing content art are not focused on who created it but on getting the content they want, they will be more amenable to using AI products than those seeking name art. Some people do refuse to buy AI art for various reasons, such as wanting to support human artists. If the objective of the purchaser is to get content (such as upbeat background music for a podcast or fish themed paintings for a restaurant), then AI created work is in competition with human created work for their money. This competition would be in the pragmatic rather than theoretical realm: the pragmatic purchaser is not worried about theoretical concerns about the true definition of “art”, they need content not theory.

Because this is a pragmatic competition, the main concerns would also be pragmatic. These would include the quality of the work, its relevance to the goal, the time needed to create the work, the cost and so on. As such, if an AI could create works that would be good enough in a timely manner and at a competitive price, then AI work would win the competition. For example, if I am writing a D&D adventure and want to include some original images rather than reusing stock illustrations, it could make sense to use images generated by Midjourney rather than trying to get a human artist who would do the work within my budget and on time. On a larger scale, companies such as Amazon and Spotify would presumably prefer to generate AI works if doing so would net them more profits.

While some think that the creation of art is something special, the automation of creation is analogous to automation in other fields. That is, if a machine can do the job almost as well (or better) for less cost, then it makes economic sense to replace the human with a machine. This applies whether the human is painting landscapes or making widgets. As with other cases of automation, there would probably still be a place for some humans. For example, an AI might be guided by a human to create works with far greater efficiency than the works could be created by human artists, but with better quality than works created solely by a machine. While replacing human workers with machines raises various moral concerns, there is nothing new or special from an ethical standpoint about replacing human artists and the usual moral discussions about robots taking jobs would apply. But I will note one distinction and then return to pragmatism.

When it comes to art, people do like the idea of the human touch. That is, they want something individual and hand-crafted rather than mass produced. This is distinct from wanting a work by a specific artist in that what matters is that a human made it, not that a specific artist made it. I will address wanting works by specific artists in the next essay.

This does occur in other areas—for example, some people prefer hand-made furniture or clothing over the mass-produced stuff. But, as would be expected, it is especially the case in art. This is shown by the fact that people still buy hand-made works over mass-produced prints, statues and such. This is one area in which an AI cannot outcompete a human: an AI cannot, by definition, create human made art (though we should expect AI forgeries). As long as people want human-made works, there will still be an economic niche for it (perhaps in a wat analogous to “native art”). It is easy to imagine a future in which self-aware AIs collect such work; perhaps to be ironic. Now, back to the pragmatics.

While billions are being spent on AIs, they are still lagging behind humans in some areas of creativity. For now. This will allow people to adapt or respond, should there be the will and ability to do so. There might even be some types or degree of quality of art that will remain beyond the limits of our technology. For example, AI might not be able to create masterpieces of literature or film. Then again, the technology might eventually be able to exceed human genius and do so in a cost-effective way. If so, then the creation of art by humans would be as economically viable as making horse-drawn buggies is today: a tiny niche. As with other cases of automation, this would be a loss for the creators, but perhaps a gain for the consumers. Unless, of course, we lose something intangible yet valuable when we surrender ever more to the machines.

 

While it is reasonable to consider the qualities of the creator when determining whether a work is art, it also makes sense to consider only the qualities of the work. On this approach, what makes a work art are the relevant qualities of that work, whatever these qualities might me. It also makes sense to consider that the effect these qualities on the audience could play a role in determining whether a work is art. For example, David Hume’s somewhat confusing theory of beauty seems to define beauty in terms of how the qualities of an object affect the audience.

Other thinkers, such as Plato, take beauty to be an objective feature of reality. Defining art in terms of objective beauty could entail that the qualities of the work determine whether it is art, assuming art is defined in terms of possessing the right sort of beauty. Given all the possibilities, it is fortunate that this essay does not require a theory of what qualities make a work art. All I need is the hypothesis, for the sake of discussion, that something being art is a matter of the qualities of the work—whatever they might be.

One practical reason to focus on the work rather than the artist (or other factors) is there can be cases where we don’t know about the artist or the context of the work. For example, the creators of many ancient works of art are unknown and judging whether these works of art would seem to require judging the work itself. Alternatively, one could take the view that no matter how beautiful a work is, if we do not know about the creator, we cannot say whether the work is art.  But this can be countered, at least in the case of works that predate AI.  We can assume the creators were human and much is known about humans that can be applied in sorting out whether the work is art.

A science fiction counter to this counter is to imagine alien works found by xenoarcheologists on other worlds. It We might know nothing about the creators of such works and there would be two possibilities. One is that there is no way to judge whether the work is art. The other is to accept that the work can be judged on its own, keeping in mind that the assessment could be mistaken.  

Another way to counter this is to consider the case of AI created works in the context of an aesthetic version of the Turing test. The classic Turing test involves two humans and a computer. One human communicates with the other human and the computer via text with the goal of trying to figure out which is human, and which is the computer. If the computer can pass as human long enough, it is said to have passed the Turing test. An aesthetic Turing test would also involve two humans and one computer. In this case, the human artist and the art computer would each create a work (or works), such as music, a sculpture or a drawing. The test must be set up so that it is not obvious who is who. For example, using a human artist whose style is well known, and a bad AI image generating program would not be a proper test. Matching a skilled, but obscure, human artist against a capable AI would be a fair test.

 After the works are created, the human judge would then attempt to discern which work was created by a human and which was created by AI. The judge would also be tasked with deciding whether each work is art. In this case, the judge knows nothing about the creator of a work and must judge the work based on the work itself. While it is tempting to think that a judge will easily tell a human work from AI, this would be a mistake. AI generated art can be quite sophisticated and can even be programmed to include the sort of “errors” that humans make when creating works. If the AI can pass the test, it would seem to be as much an artist as the human. If the work of the human is art, then the work of the AI that passes the test would thus also seem to be art.

As a side note, I have recently run into the problem of my drawings being mistaken for AI work. Since 2013 I have done birthday drawings for friends, posting the drawing on Facebook. Prior to the advent of AI image generators, people knew that I had created the work, and they (mistakenly) deemed it art. Now that AI image generators are good at reproducing photographs in styles that look hand drawn, people often think I am just posting an AI image of them. I am thus failing my own test. I will write more on this in a future essay but back to the topic at hand.

If whether a work is art depends on the qualities of the artist, then a judge who could not tell who created the works in the test would not be able to say which (if any) work was art.  Now, imagine that an AI controlled robot created a brushstroke-by-brushstroke identical painting as the human.  A judge could not tell which was created by a human and the judge must rule that neither work is art. However, this is an absurd result. One could also imagine a joke being played on the judge. After their judgment, they are told that painting A is by the human and B is by the computer and then they are asked to judge which is art again. After they reach their verdict, they are informed that the reverse was true and asked to judge again. This does show a problem with the view that whether something is art depends on the qualities of the creator. It seems to make more sense to make this depend on the qualities of the work

But there is a way to argue against this view using an analogy to a perfect counterfeit of a $100 bill. While the perfect counterfeit would be identical to the “real” money and utterly indistinguishable to all observations, it would still be a counterfeit because of its origin. Being legitimate currency is not a matter of the qualities of the money, but how the money is created and issued. The same, it could be argued, also applies to art. On this view a work created in the wrong way would not be art, even though it could be identical to a “real” work of art. But just as the perfect counterfeit would seem to destroy the value of the real bill (if one is known to be fake, but they cannot be told apart, then neither should be accepted) the “fake art” would also seem to destroy the art status of the “real art.” This would be odd but could be accepted by those who think that art, like money, is a social construct. But suppose one accepts that being art is a matter of the qualities of the work.

If it is the qualities of a work that makes a work art and AI can create works with those qualities, then the works would be art. If an AI cannot create works with those qualities, then the work of an AI would not be art.

As a philosopher, my discussions of art and AI tend to be on meta-aesthetic topics, such as trying to define “art” or arguing about whether an AI can create true art. But there are pragmatic concerns about AI taking jobs from artists and changing the field of art.  

When trying to sort out whether AI created images are art, one problem is that there is no necessary and sufficient definition of “art” that allows for a decisive answer. At this time, the question can only be answered within the context whatever theory of art you might favor. Being a work of art is like being a sin in that whether something is a sin is a matter of whether it is a sin in this or that religion. This is distinct from the question of whether it truly is a sin. Answering that would require determining which religion is right (and it might be none, so there might be no sin). So, no one can answer whether AI art is art until we know which, if any, theory of art has it right (if any). That said, it is possible to muddle about with what we must work with now.

One broad distinction between theories relevant to AI art is between theories focusing on the work and theories focusing on the creator. The first approach involves art requiring certain properties in the work for it to be art. The second approach is that the work be created in a certain way by a certain sort of being for it to be art. I will begin by looking at the creator focused approach.

In many theories of art, the nature of the creator is essential to distinguishing art from non-art. One example is Leo Tolstoy’s theory of art. As he sees it, the creation of art requires two steps. First, the creator must evoke in themselves a feeling they have once experienced. Second, by various external means (movement, colors, sounds, words, etc.) the creator must transmit that feeling to others so they can be infected by them. While there is more to the theory, such as ruling out directly causing feelings (like punching someone in anger that makes them angry in turn), this is the key to determining whether AI generated works can be art. Given Tolstoy’s theory, if an AI cannot feel an emotion, then it cannot, by definition, create art. It cannot evoke a feeling it has experienced, nor can it infect others with that feeling, since it has none. However, if an AI could feel emotion, then it could create art under Tolstoy’s definition. While the publicly available AI systems can appear to feel, there is yet a lack of adequate evidence that they do feel. But this could change.

While the focus of research is on artificial intelligence, there is also interest in artificial emotions, or at least the appearance of emotions. In the context of Tolstoy’s theory, the question would be whether it feels emotion or merely appears to feel. Interestingly, the same question also arises for human artists and in philosophy this is called the problem of other minds. This is the problem of determining whether other beings think or feel.

Tests already exist for discerning intelligence, such as Descartes’ language test and the more famous Turing Test. While it might be objected that a being could pass these tests by faking intelligence, the obvious reply is that faking intelligence so skillfully would seem to require intelligence. Or at least something functionally equivalent. To use an analogy, if someone could “fake” successfully repairing vehicles over and over, it would be odd to say that they were faking. In what way would their fakery differ from having skill if they could consistently make the repairs? The same would apply to intelligence. As such, theories of art that based on intelligence being an essential quality for being an artist (rather than emotion) would allow for a test to determine whether an AI could produce art.

Testing for real emotions is more challenging than testing for intelligence because the appearance of emotions can be faked by using an understanding of emotions. There are humans who do this. Some are actors and others are sociopaths. Some are both. So, testing for emotion (as opposed to testing for responses) is challenging and a capable enough agent could create the appearance of emotions without feeling them. Because of this, if Tolstoy’s theory or other emotional based theory is used to define art, then it seems impossible to know whether a work created by an AI would be art. In fact, it is worse than that.

Since the problem of other minds applies to humans, any theory of art that requires knowing what the artist felt (or thought) leaves us forever guessing—it is impossible to know what the artist was feeling or feeling at all. If we decide to take a practical approach and guess about what an artist might have been feeling and whether this is what the work is conveying, this will make it easier to accept AI created works as art. After all, a capable AI could create a work and a plausible emotional backstory for the creation of the work.

Critics of Tolstoy have pointed out that artists can create works that seem to be art without meeting his requirements in that an artist might have felt a different emotion from what the work seems to convey. For example, a depressed and suicidal musician might write a happy and upbeat song affirming the joy of life. Or the artist might have created the work without being driven by a particular emotion they sought to infect others with. Because of these and many other reasons, Tolstoy’s theory obviously does not give us the theory we need to answer the question of whether AI generated works can be art. That said, he does provide an excellent starting point for a general theory of AI and art in the context of defining art in terms of the artist. While the devil lies in the details, any artist focused theory of art can be addressed in the following manner.

If an AI can have the qualities an artist must have to create art, then an AI could create art. The challenge is sorting out what these qualities must be and determining if an AI has or even can have them. If an AI cannot have the qualities an artist must have to create art, then it cannot be an artist and cannot create art. As such, there is a straightforward template for applying artist focused theories of art to AI works. But, as noted above, this just allows us to know what the theory says about the work. The question will remain as to whether the theory is correct. In the next essay I will look at work focused approaches to theories of art.