Month: June 2026

Newcomb’s Paradox was created by William Newcomb of the University of California’s Lawrence Livermore Laboratory. The dread philosopher Robert Nozick published a paper on it in 1969 and it was popularized in Martin Gardner’s 1972 Scientific American column. I described the game in my previous essay in this series.

As a philosopher, a game master (a person who runs a tabletop role playing game) and an author of game adventures, I am fond of puzzles and paradoxes. As a philosopher, I can (like other philosophers) engage in the practice known as “just making stuff up.” As an adventure author, I can do the same—but I need to present the mechanics of each problem, puzzle and paradox. For example, a trap description must specific how the trap works, how it can be overcome and what happens if it is set off. I thought it would be interesting to look at Newcomb’s Paradox from a game master’s perspective.

One advantage of crafting mechanics for a game is that the author and the game master know how it works. That is, she knows the truth of the matter. While the players in role-playing games know the basic rules, they often do not know the full mechanics of a specific challenge, trap or puzzle. Instead, they need to figure out how it works—which often involves falling into spiked pits or being ground up into wizard burger. Fortunately, Newcomb’s Paradox has very simple game mechanics, but many variants.

In game mechanics, the infallible Predictor is easy to model. The game master’s description would be as follows: “have the player character (PC) playing the Predictor’s game make her choice. The Predictor is infallible, so if the player takes box B, she gets the million. If the player takes both, she gets $1,000.” In this case, the right decision is to take B. After all, the Predictor is infallible. So, the solution is easy.

A less-than infallible Predictor is also easy to model with dice. The description of the Predictor simply specifies the accuracy of its predictions. So, for example: “The Predictor is correct 99% of the time. After the player character makes her choice, roll D100 (generating a number from 1-100). If you roll 100, the Predictor was wrong. If the PC picked just box B, it is empty and she gets nothing because the Predictor predicted she would take both. If she picked both, B is full and she gets $1,001,000 because the Predictor predicted she would just take one. If you roll 1-99, the Predictor was right. If the PC picked box B, she gets $1,000,000. If she takes both, she gets $1,000 since box B is empty.” In this case, the decision one of gambling and the right choice can be calculated by considering the chance the Predictor is right and the relative payoffs. Assuming the Predictor is “almost always right” would make choosing only B the rational choice (unless the player absolutely and desperately needs only $1,000), since the player who picks just B will “almost always” get the $1,000,000 rather than nothing while the player who picks both will “almost always” get just $1,000. But, if the Predictor is “almost always wrong” (or even just usually wrong), then taking both would be the better choice. And so on for all the fine nuances of probability. The solution is relatively easy—it just requires doing some math based on the chance the Predictor is correct in its predictions. As such, if the mechanism of the Predicator is specified, there is no paradox and no problem at all. But, of course, in a role-playing game puzzle, the players should not know the mechanism.

If the game master is doing her job, when the players are confronted by the Predictor, they will not know the predictor’s predictive powers (and clever players will suspect some sort of trick or trap). The game master will say something like “after explaining the rules, the strange being says ‘my predictions are nearly always right (or always right)’ and sets two boxes down in front of you.” Really clever players will, of course, make use of spells, items, psionics or technology (depending on the game) to try to determine what is in the box and the capabilities of the Predictor. Most players will also consider just attacking the Predictor and seeing what sort of loot it has. So, for the game to be played in accord with the original version, the game master will need to provide plausible ways to counter all these efforts so that the players have no idea about the abilities of the Predictor or what is in box B. In some ways, this sort of choice would be like Pascal’s Wager: one knows that the Predictor will get it right or it won’t. But, in this case, the player has no idea about the odds of the Predictor being right. In this case, from the perspective of the player who is acting in ignorance, taking both boxes yields a 100% chance of getting $1,000 and somewhere between 0 and 100% chance of getting the extra $1,000,000. Taking the B box alone yields a 100% chance of not getting the $1,000 and some chance between 0% and 100% of getting $1,000,000. When acting in ignorance, the safe bet is to take both: the player walks away with at least $1,000. Taking just B is a gamble that might or might not pay off. The player might walk away with nothing or $1,000,000.

But which choice is rational can depend on many possible factors. For example, suppose the players need $1,000 to buy a weapon they need to defeat the big boss monster in the dungeon, then picking the safe choice would be the smart choice: they can get the weapon for sure. If they need $1,001,000 to buy the weapon, then picking both would also be a smart choice, since that is the only way to get that sum in this game. If they need $1,000,000 to buy the weapon, then there is no rational way to pick between taking one or both, since they have no idea what gives them the best chance of getting at least $1,000,000. Picking both will get them $1,000 but only gets them the $1,000,000 if the Predictor predicted wrong. And they have no idea if it will get it wrong. Picking just B only gets them $1,000,000 if the Predictor predicted correctly. And they have no idea if it will get it right.

In the actual world, a person playing the game with the Predictor would be in the position of the players in the role-playing game: she does not know how likely it is that the Predictor will get it right. If she believes that the Predictor will probably get it wrong, then she should take both. If she thinks it will get it right, she should take just B. Since she cannot pick randomly (in Nozick’s scenario B is empty if the player decides by chance), that option is not available. As such, Newcomb’s Paradox is an epistemic problem: the player does not know the accuracy of the predictions but if she did, she would know how to pick. But, if it is known (or just assumed) the Predictor is infallible or almost always right, then taking B is the smart choice (in general, unless the person absolutely must have $1,000). To the degree that the Predictor can be wrong, taking both becomes the smarter choice (if the Predictor is always wrong, taking both is the best choice). So, there seems to be no paradox here. Unless I have it wrong, which I certainly do.

 

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One of the many annoying decision theory puzzles is Newcomb’s Paradox. The paradox was created by William Newcomb of the University of California’s Lawrence Livermore Laboratory. The dread philosopher Robert Nozick published a paper on it in 1969, and it was popularized in Martin Gardner’s 1972 Scientific American column.

The paradox involves a game controlled by the Predictor, a being that is supposed to be a master of predictions. Like many entities with one ominous name, the Predictor’s capabilities vary with each telling of their tale. The power ranged from having an exceptional chance of success to being infallible. The basis of the power also varies. In science-fiction variants, it can be a psychic, a super alien, or a brain scanning machine. In the fantasy versions, the Predictor is a supernatural entity, such as a deity. In Nozick’s telling of the tale, the predictions are “almost certainly” correct, and he stipulates that “what you actually decide to do is not part of the explanation of why he made the prediction he made”.

Once the player confronts the Predictor, the game is played as follows. The Predictor points to two boxes. Box A is clear and contains $1,000.  Box B is opaque. The player has two options: just take box B or take both boxes. The Predictor then explains to the player the rules of its game: the Predictor has already predicted what the player will do. If the Predictor has predicted that the player will take just B, B will contain $1,000,000. This should probably be adjusted for inflation from the original paper. If the Predictor has predicted that the player will take both boxes, box B will be empty, so the player only gets $1,000. In Nozick’s version, if the player chooses randomly, then box B will be empty. The Predictor does not inform the player of its prediction, but box B is either empty or filled with cash before the player picks. The game begins and ends when the player makers her choice.

There is a standard chart  that shows the possible results. This paradox is seen as a paradox because the two standard solutions conflict. The first standard solution is that the best choice is to take both boxes. If the Predicator has predicted the player will take both boxes, the player gets $1,000. If the Predicator has predicted (wrongly) that the player will take B, she gets $1,001,000. If the player takes just B, then she risks getting $0 (if the Predicator predicted wrong).

The second standard solution is that the best choice is to take B. Given the assumption that the Predicator is either infallible or almost certainly right, then if the player decides to take both boxes, she will get $1,000.  If the player elects to take just B, then she will get $1,000,000. Since $1,000,000 is more than $1,000, the rational choice is to take B.

Gamers of the sort who play Pathfinder, D&D and other such role-playing games know how to properly solve this paradox. The Predictor has at least $1,001,000 on hand (probably more, since it will apparently play the game with anyone) and is worth experience points (everything is worth XP). The description just specifies its predictive abilities for the game and no combat abilities are mentioned. So, the solution is to beat down the Predictor, loot it and divide up the money and experience points. It is kind of a jerk when it comes to this game, so there is not much of a moral concern here.

It might be claimed that the Predictor could not be defeated because of its predictive powers. However, knowing what someone is going to do and being able to do something about it are two different things. This is illustrated by the film Billy Jack:

 

[Billy Jack is surrounded by Posner’s thugs]

Mr. Posner: You really think those Green Beret Karate tricks are gonna help you against all these boys?

Billy Jack: Well, it doesn’t look to me like I really have any choice now, does it?

Mr. Posner: [laughing] That’s right, you don’t.

Billy Jack: You know what I think I’m gonna do then? Just for the hell of it?

Mr. Posner: Tell me.

Billy Jack: I’m gonna take this right foot, and I’m gonna whop you on that side of your face…

[points to Posner’s right cheek]

Billy Jack: …and you wanna know something? There’s not a damn thing you’re gonna be able to do about it.

Mr. Posner: Really?

Billy Jack: Really.

[kicks Posner’s right cheek, sending him to the ground]

 

So, unless the Predictor also has exceptional combat abilities, the rational solution is the classic “shoot and loot” or “stab and grab.” Problem solved.

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Having been in academics for quite some time, I have seen fads come, go and stick. Way back in 2004 I witnessed the arrival of assessment at my university. While I initially thought it might be a passing fad, almost a quarter century later I am still serving (in perpetuity) on the General Education Assessment committee and completing yearly assessment plans and reports for Philosophy & Religion. As with all such things, assessment arrived with acronyms and buzz words. Those more cynical than I would say that all acronyms of administrative origin (AAO) amount to B.S. But I would not say such a thing. While I diligently engage in assessment, I am still aware of reasonable concerns about it.

One concern was succinctly put by a fellow philosopher: “you don’t fatten the pig by weighing it.” The criticism behind this homespun remark is that time spent on assessment is time taken from the core function of education, namely education. At the K-12 level, the burden of assessment and evaluation has become quite onerous in many places. At the higher education level, the burden is not as great—but we spend considerable time on it.

A sensible reply is that assessment is both valuable and necessary: if the effectiveness (or ineffectiveness) of education is not assessed, then there would be no way of knowing what is working and what is not. A counter is that educators assessed their efforts before the rise of modern assessment and there is the question as to whether these new efforts have improved education.

Another concern is that in addition to the time spent by faculty on assessment, a bureaucracy of assessment was created. Some schools have entire offices devoted to assessment complete with staff and administrators. With higher education facing financial woes and students confronting ever increasing tuition rates, it could be argued that assessment should be cut in favor of better serving the core mission of the university. A reply is to argue that funding an assessment office is more important to serving the core mission of the university than more faculty or lower tuition would be.

Another common concern is that assessment is part of the micromanagement of public education imposed by state legislatures. These are, unsurprisingly, usually the same legislators who speak loudly about getting government off peoples’ backs and cutting regulations (for business). This, some critics contend, is part of a campaign to discredit and damage public education.

One reply is that a state legislature has the right to insist that public schools provide evidence that the (ever-decreasing) public money is being well spent. If the legislatures showed real concern for the quality of education and were committed to public education, this reply would have considerable merit.

A final concern is that the results of the previous assessment must be applied to improve each academic program, and this seems to rest on an assumption of perpetual improvement. Unfortunately, due to budget cuts and administrative policies, faculty rarely get raises and salary compresence is a serious problem.  So faculty are supposed to better each year, but get paid less because inflation and the rising cost of living reduces the value of the salary each year. As such, the system demands perpetual improvement of faculty and schools, but there are usually no incentives or rewards—other than not getting fired or not being punished. Interestingly, the folks imposing this system claim that taxation and government impositions hurt business. That is, they seem to think it is bad for businesses to have less money and be regulated too much by the state, then it will be bad. This view does not extend to education. But there might be an ironic source of hope as education is being “businessified” and perhaps once the transformation is complete, the universities will get the love showered on corporations.

 

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The United States persists in waging and endless war on drugs and faces ever increasing and problems with higher education. I will reconsider an immodest proposal I made years ago intended to address both problems.

In the case of higher education, one problem is that the cost of education exceeds the resources of many Americans. One reason is that America’s political and economic elites repeatedly blow up the economy and have been engaged in an unrelenting extermination of the middle class. Another reason is the view that higher education has been cast as a private (rather than public) good and is seen by the elites as just another area to exploit for profit. Because of this, funding to public schools has been reduced and funding has been diverted from public schools to costly and ineffective for-profit schools. Yet another reason is that public universities have an ever-expanding administrative burden. Even the darling of academics, STEM, has seen significant cuts in support and public funding.

Through their war on drugs, the rulers have imposed a massive cost on the United States. First, there is the cost of the resources devoted to policing citizens, trying them and incarcerating them for drug crimes. Second, there is the cost of the social and personal damage done to individuals and communities. From the perspective of most citizens, the war on drugs has been a losing fight—mainly because “we have met the enemy and he is us.”

Fortunately, I have a solution to both problems. Years ago, I spoke with an engineering student about Florida State’s various programs aimed at creating businesses and heard a piece on NPR about the financial woes of schools and how faculty and staff were being pushed to be fund-raisers for schools. Unsurprisingly, things are even worse now.

This got me thinking about how universities could generate funding and I remembered a running joke from long ago. Back when universities started to commit to  “businessification, I joked with a running friend (hence a running joke) that we faculty members should become drug lords to fund our research and classes. While I do not think that I should become a drug lord, I would propose that public universities get into the drug business.

States should begin by legalizing marijuana and pass a general law allowing recreational drugs that can be shown to be as safe as tobacco and alcohol (that sets the bar very low).  The main restriction will be that the drugs can only be produced and sold by public universities. All the profits will go directly to the universities, to be used as decided by boards composed of students and faculty. To be realistic, the ruling elites would need to get a cut of this, but I’ll leave the corruption aspects to others.

To implement this plan, faculty and students should be actively involved. Business faculty and students would develop the models, plans and proposals. Design and marketing students and faculty will handle those aspects. Faculty and students in chemistry, biology and medicine will develop the drugs and endeavor to make them safer. Faculty and students in agriculture will see to the growing of the crops, starting with marijuana. Engineering students and faculty will develop hydroponics and other technology.

Once the marijuana and other drugs are available, the universities will sell the products to the public with all profits being used to fund the educational and research aspects of the universities. Since the schools are public universities, the drugs will be tax-free—there is no sense in incurring the extra cost of collecting taxes when the money is going to the schools already. Since schools already have brand marketing, this can be easily tied in. For example, Florida State can sell Seminole Gold and Seminole Garnet marijuana, while my own Florida A&M University can have Rattler Green and Rattler Orange.

One practical objection is that the operation might not be profitable. While this is obviously a reasonable concern, the drug trade can be very profitable. Also, by making such drugs legal, the cost of the war on drugs would drop, thus potentially freeing up resources for education and reducing the harms done to individuals and the community.  So, I am not too worried about this.

One reasonable objection is that drugs are unhealthy. The easy reply is that while this is true, we already tolerate unhealthy products such as tobacco, alcohol, cars and firearms. If these are tolerable, then the drugs sold by the schools (which must be at least as safe as tobacco and alcohol) would also be tolerable. The war on drugs is also very unhealthy—so scaling back the war would be good for public health.

One moral objection is that drugs are immoral. There are three easy replies. The first is that the drugs in question are no more immoral than alcohol and tobacco. If these can be morally tolerated, then so can the university drugs. Second, there is the consequentialist argument: if drugs are going to be used anyway by Americans, it is better that the money go to education rather than ending up in the coffers of criminals, gangs, terrorists and the prison-industrial complex. Third, there is also the consequentialist argument that university produced drugs will be safer and of higher quality than drugs produced by drug lords, gangs, terrorists and criminal dealers. Given the good consequences of legalizing university-manufactured drugs, this plan is clearly morally commendable.

Given the above arguments, having universities as legal drug sellers would clearly help solve two of America’s serious problems: the high cost of education and the higher cost of the ineffective and destructive war on drugs. As my contribution to the brand, I offer the slogan “get high for higher ed.” As you would suspect, I am not good at marketing.

 

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D&D and associated games have a famous alignment system that defines the morality of creature in terms of good, evil, neutral, lawful and chaotic. In Pathfinder version of the game, neutral good is characterized as follows:

 

A neutral good character is good, but not shackled by order. He sees good where he can, but knows evil can exist even in the most ordered place.

A neutral good character does anything he can, and works with anyone he can, for the greater good. Such a character is devoted to being good, and works in any way he can to achieve it. He may forgive an evil person if he thinks that person has reformed, and he believes that in everyone there is a little bit of good.

 

In a fantasy campaign, the player characters usually encounter neutral good beings as allies who render aid and assistance. Even evil player characters are willing to accept the assistance of the neutral good, knowing that they are more likely to try to persuade them to the side of good than smite them with righteous fury. Neutral good creatures are rare in most fantasy worlds as good types tend to polarize towards law and chaos.

Not surprisingly, neutral good types are rare in the real world. A neutral good person has no special commitment to order or lack thereof—what matters is the extent to which order or lack of it contributes to the greater good. For those devoted to the preservation of order, or its destruction, this can be frustrating.

While the neutral evil person embraces the moral theory of ethical egoism (that each person should act solely in her self-interest), the neutral good person embraces altruism—the moral view that each person should act, at least sometimes, in the interest of others. In informal terms, the neutral good person is generous rather than selfish. The neutral good position is sometimes portrayed as stupidly altruistic. Stupid altruism presents the altruist as sacrificing everything for the sake of others or being willing to help anyone, regardless of who they are or what they might be doing. While a neutral good person is willing to sacrifice for others and willing to help people, being neutral good does not require being unwise or stupid. So, a person can be neutral good and still consider her own needs. After all, the neutral good person considers the interests of everyone, and she is included among everyone. A person can also be selective in her assistance and still be neutral good. For example, helping an evil person do evil things would not be a good thing and hence a neutral good person would not be obligated to help—and would probably oppose the evil person.

Since a neutral good person works for the greater good, the moral theory of utilitarianism tends to fit this alignment. For the utilitarian, actions are good to the degree that they promote utility (what is of value) and bad to the degree that they do the opposite. Classic utilitarianism (that of J.S. Mill) takes happiness to be good and actions are assessed in terms of the extent to which they create happiness for humans and, as far as the nature of things permit, sentient beings. Put in bumper sticker terms, both the utilitarian and the neutral good advocate the greatest good for the greatest number.

This commitment to the greater good can present some potential problems. For the utilitarian, one classic problem is that what seems rather bad can have great utility. For example, Ursula K. Le Guin’s classic short story “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” puts into literary form the question raised by William James:

 

Or if the hypothesis were offered us of a world in which Messrs. Fourier’s and Bellamy’s and Morris’s utopias should all be outdone, and millions kept permanently happy on the one simple condition that a certain lost soul on the far-off edge of things should lead a life of lonely torture, what except a specifical and independent sort of emotion can it be which would make us immediately feel, even though an impulse arose within us to clutch at the happiness so offered, how hideous a thing would be its enjoyment when deliberately accepted as the fruit of such a bargain?

 

In Guin’s tale, the splendor, health and happiness that is the land of Omelas depends on the suffering of a person locked away from all kindness in a dungeon (with not even a single dragon). The inhabitants of Omelas know the price they pay and some, upon learning about the dungeon dweller, walk away.  Hence the title. For the utilitarian, this scenario would seem to be morally correct: a small disutility leads to a vast amount of utility. Or, in terms of goodness, the greater good seems well served.

Because the suffering of one person creates such an overabundance of goodness for others, a neutral good character might tolerate the situation. After all, benefiting some almost always comes at a cost to others. It is, however, reasonable to consider a neutral good person would find the situation morally unacceptable. Such a person might not free the sufferer because doing so would harm so many other people, but she might elect to walk away.

A chaotic good type, who is committed to liberty and freedom, would certainly oppose the imprisonment of the innocent person—even for the greater good. A lawful good type might face the same challenge as the neutral good type: the order and well-being of Omelas rests on the suffering of one person and this could be seen as a heroic sacrifice on the part of the sufferer. Albeit one they did not choose, which might not sit well with some lawful good creatures. Lawful evil types would probably be fine with the scenario, although they would have issues with the otherwise benevolent nature of Omelas. Truly subtle lawful evil types might delight in the situation and regard it as a magnificent case of self-delusion in which people think they are selecting the greater good but are merely choosing evil.

Neutral evil types would also be fine with it—if it was someone else in the dungeon. Chaotic evil types would not care about the sufferer but would certainly seek to destroy Omelas. They might, ironically, try to do so by rescuing the sufferer and seeing to it that he is treated with kindness and compassion (thus breaking what is supposed to be a necessary condition for Omelas’ exalted state).

 

 

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In my previous essay, I considered various arguments that we have obligations to people we do not know. In this essay I will consider hunger in the United States of America in the context of obligations.

The United States is both the wealthiest nation and one that has been facing an obesity epidemic. Hence, it might seem odd to claim that hunger is a problem in the United States. Millions of Americans, many of whom are white and rural, suffer from food insecurity. American children, senior citizens and people with disabilities make up the largest demographic of people who are food insecure. Most families suffering from food insecurity have at least one employed adult. One reason why employed adults need assistance is declining wages: people can work multiple jobs and still not earn enough to buy adequate food. These facts run counter to the usual stereotypes that are exploited by wicked politicians.

The United States does have a program to address hunger—what was once called food stamps is now called SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program). While sometimes enjoying bipartisan support, the recent politics of ignorant cruelty has focused on gutting programs that help people, such as SNAP. On average, SNAP recipients run out of benefits before the month ends and must turn to charity, such as food pantries.

The federal government also uses taxpayer money to subsidizes the production of certain crops. Corn gets the lion’s share and is distantly followed by wheat and soybeans. Rice, sorghum, peanuts, barley and sunflowers also receive some subsidies while the only subsidized fruit is the apple. Because of such subsidies, food products that contain corn, wheat or soybeans tend to be the cheapest. Hence, low-income people get most of their calories from such foods. Examples include sodas, energy drinks, sports drinks, chicken, grain-based desserts, tacos and pizza.  These foods tend to be high calorie and low nutrition foods. To be fair and balanced, a taco with the right ingredients could be healthy food, but these healthy versions are usually not what low income people are eating.

Food deserts also impact the diet of people with low incomes. These are areas lacking supermarkets but usually have fast food restaurants and small markets (like convenience stores). A surprising number of Americans live in these food deserts and do not own a car that would allow them to drive to buy healthier (and cheaper) food. The food sold at these places tends to be more expensive than the food available at a grocery store and they tend to be high calorie, low-nutrient foods.

These two factors help explain the seeming paradox of an obesity epidemic among hungry people: we have easy access to high calorie foods of low nutritional value. Hence, people tend to be overweight while also being malnourished. Now that the nature of the problem has been discussed, I now turn to the matter of obligations to others.

On the face of it, the main issue regarding obligations to the hungry would seem to focus on whether there is an obligation to provide people with food. This can be broken down into two sub-categories. First, whether there is a collective obligation to provide hungry citizens with food via the machinery of the state (in this case, SNAP). Second, whether there is an obligation on the part of better-off citizens to provide food to their hungry fellow citizens.

Arguing that the state has such an obligation is relatively easy. A minimal obligation of the state is to provide for the good of the people and to protect them from harm. While the traditional focus is on military and police forces, this would seem to extend to protecting citizens from nutritional deficits and hunger.

A utilitarian argument can also be advanced for this obligation: helping to feed millions of citizens creates more utility than disutility. Part of this is the fact that people are happier when they have good food to eat. Part of this is the less obvious fact that when people get hungry enough, open rebellion might seem better than starving to death—so feeding the poor helps maintain social stability. Or so those who praise bread and circuses might claim.

One objection against this view is to contend that providing such support creates a culture of dependence encouraging people to stay poor. The obvious is that, as noted above, those receiving the aid are mostly people who are seniors, people with disabilities or children—people who should not be expected to labor to survive in an advanced, wealthy nation. Also, as noted above, most families that receive SNAP have at least one working adult. People are not on SNAP because they turn down opportunities for riches—they are on SNAP because of the lack of opportunities.

Things become more controversial when the issue switches to whether better off individuals are obligated to assist their fellow citizens. This means doing more than just paying taxes that help fund SNAP. Such assistance might involve donating money, time or food.

Intuitively, people usually think that such charitable acts are nice things to do and worthy of praise. However, some think that there is no obligation to do this and that someone who does not assist others in this way is not a bad person. This does have some appeal—after all, being bad is typically seen as being actively bad rather than merely not doing good things.

Turning back to the general arguments for obligations to others, there are religious injunctions to feed the hungry (which explains why American churches are on the front line in the war against hunger), and it is easy to reverse the situation: if I were hungry, I would want my fellow citizens to help me. As such, I should help them when I am well off.

The utilitarian argument also applies here: a person who gives a little to help the hungry will incur a small cost (but might gain in happiness) but it will yield greater happiness on the part of the recipients who now have something to eat. As such, the utilitarian argument would seem to ground this obligation. Of course, there is the stock objection about building dependence, which is all too often made by people who inherited their wealth or acquired it by exploiting the labor of others.

Rational self-interest would also seem to provide a reason to provide such aid—there are plenty of selfish reasons to do so, not the least of which is gaining a good reputation and helping to keep social order.

The debt argument might work here as well—if a person has benefited from the assistance of others, then she would be obligated to repay that debt. However, a person could contend that if they have not received food from others when hungry, they owe nothing.

The argument from virtue applies here: the virtue of generosity obligates a person to give to others in need. This, and the religious injunction, would seem to be the truest forms of actual obligation—as opposed to merely doing it from self-interest or for utility.

Digging deeper, there is also another issue. As noted above, people are hungry mostly because they are not earning enough to purchase adequate food. One reason for this is that wages have consistently declined for most Americans, although the profits of businesses have steadily increased. As such, the United States is the wealthiest country in the world yet has many very poor people. This raises the moral issue of whether employers are obligated to pay a living wage—a wage that would enable a person to purchase food on that salary without requiring the assistance of the state or others.

Businesses obviously have a strong self-interest argument against not paying living wages when they can get away with it. Lower wages mean greater profits and shifting the cost to other people (taxpayers and those who contribute to food pantries) means that their workers survive despite the lack of a living wage. However, there is still the moral question of whether they have an obligation to provide such a living wage.

The religious injunctions would seem to apply to employers that accept these specific faiths—and companies that wish to claim they are religious should be obligated to act the part. But companies that use religious arguments seem more focused on legalizing their intolerance and harming others rather than helping people. However, secular companies can easily claim exemption.

Reversing the situation would also apply: presumably those running businesses would not want to be so poorly paid. Of course, they would probably claim that as job creators there is a relevant difference.

The utilitarian argument does involve some complexities. After all, there can be good utilitarian arguments for allowing some to suffer so as to produce greater utility for others—so a case could be made that the utility generated outweighs the disutility of the low pay. However, the opposite sort of argument can also be made.

The debt argument would also apply. If corporations are people (or legal fictions run by people), then they would have a debt to the others that make civilization possible. As such, they should pay back this debt, perhaps in the form of decent wages.

The virtues of fairness and generosity would seem to obligate employers to pay employees fairly and this should be a living wage, at least in many cases. If corporations are people, then they should surely be held to the same obligations as actual people.

Thus, there are good reasons to accept that we are obligated to help others and feed the hungry.

 

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Obligations to People We Don’t Know

“It’s a good thing, protecting other people’s homes.”
–Himmel the Hero

One of the classic moral problems is the issue of whether we have moral obligations to people we do not know.  If we have such obligations, then there are also questions about the foundation, nature and extent of these obligations. If we do not have such obligations, then there is the obvious question about why there are not such obligations. I will start by considering some stock arguments regarding our obligations to others.

One approach is to base such moral obligations on religion. This requires two main steps. The first is establishing the religion imposes such obligations. A stickler might even require that the truth of the religion be established. The second is transitioning from religion to ethics.

Many religions impose such obligations. For example, John 15:12 conveys God’s command: “This is my commandment, that you love one another, as I have loved you.”  If love involves obligations, then this would place us under these obligations. That said, one could argue for an empty love free of any obligations Other faiths include injunctions to assist others.

In terms of transitioning from religion to ethics, one way is to use divine command theory—the moral theory that what God commands is right because He commands it. This does raise the classic Euthyphro problem: is something good because God commands it, or is it commanded because it is good? If the former, goodness seems arbitrary. If the latter, then morality would be independent of God and divine command theory would be false.

Using religion as the basis for moral obligation is also problematic because doing so would require proving that the religion is correct—and this is no easy task. To be fair and balanced, attempting to prove a moral theory would also be challenging. There is also the practical problem that people differ in faiths, which makes finding a universal religious grounding for moral obligations difficult. But one could either argue that their faith is the one true view or that multiple religions enjoin us to accept obligations to others.

Another approach is to argue for moral obligations using the moral method of reversing the situation.  This method is based on the Golden Rule (“do unto others as you would have them do unto you”) and the idea is that consistency requires a person treat others as they would wish to be treated.

To make the method work, a person would need to want others to act as if they had obligations to them and this would  obligate the person to act as if she had obligations to them. For example, if I would want someone to help me if I were hit by a car and dying in the street, then consistency requires I accept the same obligation: If I should be helped, then consistency requires that I must help others.

This approach is somewhat like that of Immanuel Kant. He argues that because a person necessarily regards herself as an end (and not just a means to an end), then she must also regard others as ends and not merely as means.  He endeavors to use this to argue in favor of various obligations and duties, such as helping others in need.

There are, unfortunately, at least two counters to this sort of approach. The first is that it is easy imagine someone willing to forgo assistance and can consistently refuse to accept obligations to others. So, for example, a person might be willing to starve rather than accept assistance from other people. While such people might seem irrational, if they are sincere then they cannot be accused of inconsistency.

The second is that a person can argue that there is a relevant difference between himself and others that would justify their obligations to him while freeing him from his obligations to them. For example, a person of a high social class might claim this obligates people of lesser classes while freeing her from any obligations to them.  Naturally, the person must provide reasons in support of this alleged relevant difference.

A third approach is to present a utilitarian argument. For a utilitarian, like John Stuart Mill, morality is assessed in terms of consequences: the correct action is the one that creates the greatest utility (typically happiness) for the greatest number. A utilitarian argument for obligations to people we do not know would be rather straightforward. The first step would be to estimate the utility generated by accepting a specific obligation to people we do not know, such as rendering aid to an intoxicated person who is about to be assaulted. The second is to estimate the disutility generated by imposing that obligation. The third step is to weigh the utility against the disutility. If the utility is greater, then such an obligation should be imposed. If the disutility is greater, then it should not.

This approach rests on embracing utilitarianism. There are numerous arguments against this moral theory, and to the degree they are effective, they would undercut a utilitarian grounding for obligations. Even for utilitarianians, there is the possibility that there will always be greater utility in not imposing obligations, thus undermining the claim that we have obligations to others.

A fourth approach is to consider the matter in terms of rational self-interest and operate from the assumption that people should act in their self-interest. In terms of a moral theory, this would be ethical egoism: the moral theory that a person should act in her self-interest rather than acting in an altruistic manner.

While accepting that others have obligations to me would certainly be in my self-interest, it initially appears that accepting obligations to others would be contrary to my self-interest. That is, I would be best served if others did unto me as I would like to be done unto, while I am free to do unto them as I wish. If I could get away with this, it would be ideal (assuming I am selfish). However, as a matter-of-fact people tend to notice and respond negatively to a lack of reciprocation. So, if having others accept that they have some obligations to me were in my self-interest, then it would be in my self-interest to pay the price for such obligations by accepting obligations to them.  For those who like evolutionary stories in the context of ethics, the tale is easy to tell: those who accept obligations would be more successful than those who do not.

The stock counters to the self-interest argument are the problem of Glaucon’s unjust man and Hume’s sensible knave. While it seems rational to accept obligations in return for getting others to accept similar obligations, it seems preferable to exploit them while avoiding acting on one’s supposed obligations whenever possible. If a person should act in accord with self-interest, then this is what a person should do.

It can be argued that this approach would be self-defeating: if people exploited others without reciprocation, the system of obligations would eventually fall apart. As such, each person has an interest in ensuring that others hold to their obligations. Humans do, in fact, seem to act this way—those who fail in their obligations sometimes get a bad reputation and are distrusted. From a purely practical standpoint, acting as if one has obligations to others would thus seem to be in a person’s self-interest because the benefits would generally outweigh the costs

The counter to this is that each person still has an interest in avoiding the cost of fulfilling obligations and there are ways to do this using deceit, power and such. As such, a classic moral question arises once again: why act on your alleged obligations if you can get away with not doing so? Aside from the practical reply given above, there seems to be no answer from self-interest. In fact, the President of the United States is this sort of person.

A fifth option is to look at obligations to others as a matter of debts. We are born into a worldwide human civilization built on thousands of years of effort. Since each of us arrives as a helpless infant, each person’s survival depends on others. As the person grows up, she also depends on the efforts of countless other people she does not know. These include soldiers that defend her society, the people who maintain the infrastructure, firefighters who keep fire from sweeping away the town or city, the taxpayers who pay for all this, and so on for all the many others who make human civilization possible. As such, each member of civilization owes a great debt to those who have come before and those who are here now.

If debt imposes an obligation, then each person who did not arise ex-nihilo owes a debt to those who have made and continue to make their survival possible. At the very least, the person is obligated to make contributions to continue human civilization as a repayment to these others.

One objection to this is for a person to claim that she owes no such debt because her special status obligates others to provide all this for her with nothing owed in return. The obvious challenge is for a person to prove such an exalted status.

Another objection is for a person to claim that all this is a gift that requires no repayment on the part of anyone and hence does not impose any obligation. The challenge is, of course, to prove this implausible claim.

A final option I will consider is that offered by virtue theory. Virtue theory, famously presented by thinkers like Aristotle and Confucius, holds that people should develop their virtues. These classic virtues include generosity, loyalty and other virtues that involve obligations and duties to others. Confucius explicitly argued in favor of duties and obligations as being key components of virtues. While not a philosopher, the Hero Himmel from Frieren seems best characterized as following virtue ethics. He acts from the virtues of compassion, empathy, and respect. Very much in line with Aristotle, Himmel strove to improve himself and endeavored to act in the right way, towards the right people and to the right degree. From a philosophical perspective, one of the most interesting aspects of Himmel’s ethics is that he always asked for a reward. While this might strike some as selfish (albeit standard adventurer practice), Himmel explains that “if you accept a reward from someone, they will not need to owe you. We are the hero party.” By this practice Himmel acts on his obligations to others by always helping them even with small things while also allowing them to act on an obligation to his party. Although the payment is small, it allows the person helped to discharge the burden of debt and to show that they were not helpless recipients of charity.

In terms of why a person should have such virtues and accept such obligations, the standard answer is that being virtuous will make a person happy through excellence. Also, it’s what Himmel the Hero would have done.

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While in Indonesia in 2011, photographer David Slater’s camera was grabbed by a macaque. While monkey shines are nothing new, the macaque took hundreds of shots including selfies that went viral. While the macaque seemed to have an aesthetic gift, the United States copyright office ruled that “Works produced by nature, animals or plants” or “purportedly created by divine or supernatural beings” cannot be copyrighted. After AI began creating images, American law also says that these images cannot be copyrighted.  While the legal issues have been addressed, the philosophical issues have not.

The general issue is whether a non-human animal can have moral ownership rights over its artistic works. This breaks down into the two sub-issues. The first is whether a non-human animal has a moral status that can ground ownership rights. The second is whether a non-human has the capability to create a work of art. These issues have often been the subject of philosophical discussion, but it is certainly worth considering them again.

One approach to the issue of ownership rights is that non-human entities do possess ownership rights. Corporations have ownership rights and own copyrights. If a legal fiction like a corporation be seen as having ownership rights, there seems to be no principled way to deny the same rights to animals. After all, animals have a better claim to rights since they are real beings with qualities analogous to humans. Our fellow primates are often very intelligent and can have complex emotional and social lives. Because of these qualities, it is tempting to grant them a proportional status.

An obvious reply to is that corporations are legal fictions and legally fictional people in the United States. As such an appeal to a legal fiction does not help with the philosophical issue of whether animals can have ownership rights. Legally, the matter is simple: just like corporations, animals have whatever legal rights the law gives them. So, if the Supreme Court ruled that animals are people and can own property, then that would be the law—but the philosophical issue would remain unresolved. That said, if corporations should be regarded as having ownership rights (and as people), then it seems reasonable to accept that animals should have ownership rights (and perhaps recognized as people in some cases).

To determine whether animals have ownership rights, it is necessary to determine the foundation of these rights. Our good dead friend John Locke bases property rights on the claim that each person owns their own body (well, God does but He is cool about it) and hence each person owns their own labor. This labor is mixed with common property and makes what it is mixed with the property of the laborer. If animals have this sort of self-ownership, then they would have the same ownership rights as humans—whatever an animal mixed their labor with would be theirs. The usual counter is to claim animals are not owners—they are objects to be owned. It is worth noting that people often say the same thing about other people.

Higher animals like dogs and primates also grasp the basics of ownership: they distinguish between what is their stuff and what is not. My dogs have always grasped the distinction between their toys and similar objects that belong to other dogs. They also seemed to understand territory, responding differently to people and animals near our house compared to their reaction in common areas, like the park behind my house. As such, perhaps animals see themselves as possessing ownership rights. Or to be less abstract, thinking they own stuff.

An obvious objection is that animals have, at best, an extremely limited understanding of property and this could be attributed to possessiveness or territoriality. The obvious reply is that ownership does not seem to require an understanding of property rights—corporations (which have no minds and hence have no understanding) and humans who have no understanding of property rights are still seen as having ownership rights.

While the debate over ownership could go on endlessly, animals seem to have as good a claim to ownership rights as humans, at least in terms of the foundation of such an alleged right. So, if humans have ownership rights, then animals would seem to also qualify.  Thus, animals do have ownership rights.

The next issue is whether an animal can create an artistic work. Addressing this properly would require an adequate definition of “art” that would enable one to distinguish between art and non-art.  While there have been many attempts to provide such a definition, they are all inadequate.  Since such a definition is lacking, a rough and ready approach must suffice.

In this case, the rough and ready approach is to begin by considering cases in which it is intuitively appealing to accept that a human is creating a work of art. The something similar.

Painting provides a good example: a human intentionally applies paints to a surface based on the contents of their intentional states and this image sometimes resembles something internal (a feeling or thought) or external (a person, landscape, etc.). While animals can apply paint to surfaces, their lack of language makes it difficult to determine what they are doing. If, for example, good grounds for thinking they are creating art.  But to be fair to the animals, there are humans who create paintings that look like those created by elephants. The main difference is that the humans claim to be artists while the elephants say nothing about this (which is yet another reason to like elephants). But, if judgment is based solely on the work produced, if those humans are artists, then so are the elephants.

Another case is that of photography and it seems reasonable to accept a photo can be a work of art and a photographer an artist. The challenge is distinguishing between just taking a photo and being an artist. To clarify, photos can be taken by automatic timers, motion sensors, tripwires or by accident but these would not be cases involving an artist. If the shelves in a shed fail and the paint spills to create a work on par with a Jackson Pollock, that would not make the shed’s owner an artist.  If the paint were spilled by a trip-wire trap, this would not make the victim an artist. So, being an artist in photography would seem to require intent and control rather than automation or chance.  At the very least, the photographer must know what they are doing and act with intent.

In the case of the monkey taking pictures, the key question is whether the monkey understood what it was doing and acted with intent. If the monkey was just playing with the camera and it just happened to take a few shots that looked good, the monkey is no more an artist than an automatic timer, motion sensor or defective shutter control that made the camera constantly shoot. Or AI generating an image.

It might be objected that some shots were aesthetically good and judging by the work itself, the monkey had produced art. This does have some appeal—after all, whether the work is art should (it can be argued) rest in the work itself rather than the process of creation. One could use this to argue that AI could thus create art, provided that the image generated would be seen as art until one learned it was AI generated. This is the classic question of whether you need to know who the creator of a work is to decide whether it is art.

But, even if this is granted, it does not follow that the monkey is an artist. After all, an automated camera shooting constantly would almost certainly produce some good photos eventually—but the automating machinery or software would not be an artist.  Perhaps there could be art but no artist. In the case of the monkey, this seems to be the most plausible explanation—the money was probably just pushing the button and by chance some good images occurred. As such, the monkey was probably not an artist. In the case of AI image generators, they have far less claim to being artists. At least animals can lay claim to intent and feelings.

 

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One classic philosophical dispute is the battle over innate ideas. An innate idea, as the name suggests, is not acquired by experience but is somehow “built into” the mind. Philosophers who accept innate ideas differ about their nature and content.  Leibniz, for example, sees God as the creator innate ideas that exist within the monads. Other thinkers forgo metaphysics, such as those who think humans have an innate concept of beauty that is the product of evolution.

Over the centuries, philosophers have argued for and against innate ideas. For example, some take Plato’s Meno as an early argument for innate ideas. In the Meno, Socrates claims to show that Meno’s servant knows geometry, despite the (alleged) fact that he never learned geometry in this life. Other philosophers have argued that there must be innate ideas for the mind to “process” information coming in from the senses. To use a modern analogy, just as a smart phone needs software to enable the camera to function, the brain needs innate ideas in to process the sensory data coming in via the optic nerve.

Other philosophers, such as John Locke, have reject innate ideas in general. Others have been critical of specific forms of innate ideas—the idea that God is the cause of innate ideas is, as might be suspected, not very popular among those who attribute them to evolution.

Interestingly, there is some contemporary evidence for innate ideas. In his August 2014 Scientific American article “Accidental Genius”, Darold A. Treffert presents something akin to a 21st century version of the Meno. Investigating the matter of “accidental geniuses” (people who become savants as the result of an accident, such as a brain injury), researchers claimed they could create “instant savants” by the use using brain stimulation. These instant savants were able to solve a mathematical puzzle they could not solve without the stimulation. Treffert asserted that this ability to solve the puzzle was since they “’know things’ innately they were never taught.” To provide additional support, Treffert gave the example of a savant sculptor, Clemons, who “had no formal training in art but knew instinctively how to produce an armature, the frame for the sculpture, to enable his pieces to show horse in motion.” Treffert goes on to explicitly reject the “blank slate” notion (which was made famous by John Locke) in favor of the notion that the “brain might come loaded with a set of innate predispositions for processing what it sees or for understanding the ‘rules’ of music art or mathematics.” While this explanation is certainly appealing, it is well worth considering alternative explanations.

One established objection to this sort of argument is the like that used against past life experiences. When someone claims to have had a past life based on knowing things they would not normally know, the obvious reply is they learned through perfectly mundane means. In the case of alleged innate ideas, one reply is that the person gained the knowledge through experience. This is not to claim that such claims are intentional deceptions. They might not recall the experience that provided the knowledge. For example, the instant savants who solved the puzzle probably had previous puzzle experience and the sculptor might have seen armatures.

Another objection is that an idea might appear innate but instead is a new idea that did not originate directly from a specific experience. For example, consider a person who developed a genius for sculpture after a head injury. The person might have an innate idea that allowed them to produce the armature. An alternative explanation is that they faced a problem and solved it without any appeal to innate knowledge. The solution turned out to be an armature, because that is solved the problem. To use an analogy, someone faced with the problem of driving a nail might re-invent the hammer, but this does not entail that the idea of a hammer is innate. Rather, a hammer is what would work and it is what a person would tend to make.

As has always been the case in the debate over innate ideas, the key question is whether the phenomena in question can be explained best by innate ideas or without them. As a Cartesian, I am fond of innate ideas but always consider alternative explanations.

 

 

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Years ago, one-time `presidential candidate Mitt Romney was criticized for saying corporations are people. The guy who beat him, Obama, called corporation that used inversion unpatriotic. One might argue that criticizing corporations for being unpatriotic is to accept that they are people.

In the United States, corporations are legally persons—and the Supreme Court is devoted to granting them all the advantageous and convenient rights of actual people. The court, because it is not constrained by logic, ignores that it is illegal to own persons in the United States. I have argued elsewhere that corporations are not people and should not have that legal status—so I will not repeat those arguments here. However, I will address the issue of whether a corporation can be called unpatriotic without being committed corporate personhood.

On the side of corporate personhood, it could be argued that being unpatriotic (or patriotic) requires the intentional and emotional mental states that only a person could possess. As such, if a corporation is unpatriotic, then it is a person.

This sort of language argument has been used by philosophers such as Socrates and John Locke. In arguing for universals, Socrates (or Plato) would proceed from how one talks to accept an ontological commitment. In discussing personal identity, Locke took the fact that people use expressions such as a person not being themselves as evidence that someone in a normal state of mind can be a different person from someone in an abnormal state: “human laws not punishing the mad man for the sober man’s actions, nor the sober man for what the mad man did, thereby making them two persons: which is somewhat explained by our way of speaking in English, when we say such an one is not himself, or is beside himself; in which phrases it is insinuated, as if those who now, or at least first used them, thought that self was changed, the selfsame person was no longer in that man….”

One counter is that when someone refers to a corporation as being unpatriotic (or patriotic), they need not commit to the corporation itself being a person. Rather, the person can be taken as using a shorthand expression in place of asserting that the people who decide to implement corporate policy and make it happen are acting in what is seen as an unpatriotic way. To use an analogy, if someone claims a sports team is enthusiastic, the she is not committed to the team being a person—an entity over and above the players, coaches, etc. Rather, she is just using conversational shorthand to refer to the members of the team.  If such conversational shorthand expressed a commitment to personhood, then people would be routinely expressing commitments to a vast number of entities—thus dramatically swelling the ontology of persons. This seems both odd and unnecessary. Given the injunction of Occam’s razor, due care should be used when moving from how people speak to an ontological commitment. In the case of corporations and other groups, it would seem to suffice to attribute the mental states to the people that make them up rather than adding another entity to the matter. As such, the appeal to language argument for corporate personhood fails.

Thus, someone can claim that a corporation is unpatriotic (or patriotic) without being committed to corporate personhood. Just like a person can talk about team spirit without being committed to team personhood.

 

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