Author: Michael LaBossiere

Hero of Alexandria (born around 10 AD) is credited with developing the first steam engine, the first vending machine and the first known wind powered machine (a musical organ). Given the revolutionary impact of the steam engine centuries later, it might be wondered why the Greeks did not use these inventions in their economy. While some claim the Greeks did not see the implications, others claim the decision was based on concerns over social stability. The development of steam or wind power on a significant scale would have displaced slave labor. This could have caused social unrest or even contributed to a revolution.

While what prevented the Greeks from developing steam or wind power can still be debated, an anecdote about Roman emperor Vespasian was clear about his opposition to a labor-saving construction device: he stated he must always ensure the workers earned enough money to buy food and this device would put them out of work.

While labor saving technology has advanced dramatically since Hero and Vespasian, the basic questions remain the same. These include the question of whether to adopt the technology and questions about the impact of such technology on specific individuals and society.

Obviously, each labor-saving advancement must (by its nature) eliminate some jobs and create some initial unemployment. For example, when factory robots are introduced to make cars, then human laborers will be displaced from those jobs. Obviously, this initial impact tends to be negative on the displaced workers while generally being positive for the employers.

While Vespasian expressed concerns about the impact of such devices, a commonly held view about more recent advances is that they have had a general positive impact. The usual narrative is that these advances replaced the lower-paying (and often more dangerous or unrewarding) jobs with better jobs while providing more goods at a lower cost. So, while some individuals might suffer at the start, the invisible machine of the market would result in an overall increase in utility for society. Not everyone agrees with this narrative and people tend to fear most what the next innovation might inflict.

The positive narrative can be the foundation for a utilitarian moral argument in favor of labor-saving technology. The gist is that the overall increase in benefits outweighs the harms created. Thus, on utilitarian grounds, the elimination of these jobs by means of technology is morally acceptable. Naturally, each situation can be debated in terms of the benefits and the harms, but the basic moral reasoning seems solid. If the technological advance that eliminates jobs creates more good than harm for a society, then the advance seems morally acceptable.

Obviously, people can disagree about who they regard as counting morally and who they regard as not counting (or not counting as much). Obviously, a person who focuses on the impact on workers will often have a different view than someone most concerned with the employer.

Another concern is what purpose of such advances should be. From the standpoint of a typical employer, the end is obvious: reduce labor to reduce costs and thus increase profits (and reduce labor troubles). The ideal would, presumably, to replace any human whose job can be adequately done cheaper by a machine. Of course, there is an obvious concern: to make money a business needs customers who have money. So, if profit is a concern, there must always be some people who have an income and who are not replaced by unpaid machines. One possible pinnacle of this sort of system might consist of a business model in which one person owns machines that produce goods or services that are sold to other business owners. On this model, everyone is a business owner, and everyone is a customer. This path does, of course, have some dystopian options. For example, it is easy to imagine a world in which most people are displaced, unemployed or underemployed while a small elite enjoys a lavish lifestyle supported by automation and the poor. Well, more so than our current dystopian world.

A more utopian view, the Star Trek future, is that the end of automation is to eliminate boring, dangerous, and unfulfilling jobs to free human beings from the tyranny of imposed labor. This is the scenario that anarchists like Emma Goldman promised: people would do the work they loved, rather than laboring as servants to make others wealthy. This path also has some dystopian options, such as the gentle one of Wall E. One can also imagine less gentle dystopias in which having the machines do everything for us is a nightmare.

 

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Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS) involves the surgical implantation of electrodes into the brain that, as the name indicates, stimulate the brain. The procedure is used to treat movement disorders and Tourette’s syndrome. It can also be used to treat neuropsychiatric disorders (such as PTSD).

From a moral standpoint, the use of DBS in treating such conditions is no more problematic than using surgery to repair a broken bone. If these were the only applications for DBS, then there would be no real moral concerns about the process. However, as is sometimes the case in medicine, there are potential applications that do raise moral concerns.

One matter for concern has been a philosophical problem for some time. To be specific, DBS can be used to stimulate the nucleus accumbens (a part of the brain associated with pleasure). While this can be used to treat depression, it can also (obviously) be used to create pleasure directly. Some might see it as a version of the infamous pleasure machine scenario of so many Ethics 101 classes. This is a technological upgrade to the classic pig objection most famously considered by J.S. Mill in his work on Utilitarianism. Thanks to these stock discussions, the ethical ground of pleasure implants is well covered (although, as always, there are no truly decisive arguments).

While the sci-fi/philosophy scenario of people in pleasure comas is interesting, what is more interesting is the ethics of DBS as a life-enhancer. That is, getting the implant not to use to excess or in place of “real” pleasure, but to make life a bit better. To use the obvious analogy, the excessive scenario is like drinking oneself into a stupor, while the life-upgrade would be like having a drink with dinner. On the face of it, it would be hard to object if the effect was simply to make a person feel a bit better about life—and it could even be argued that this would be preventative medicine. Just as person might be on medication to keep from developing high blood pressure or exercise to ward off diabetes, a person might get a brain boost to ward off potential depression. That said, there is a concern about abusing the technology (and the iron law of technology states that any technology that can be abused, will be abused).

Another area of concern is the use of DBS for enhancements. For example, if DBS can improve memory in Alzheimer’s patients, then perhaps it could do the same for healthy people. It is not difficult to imagine people seeking to boost their memory or other abilities through such technology. This, of course, is part of the broader topic of brain enhancements (which is part of the even more general topic of enhancements). As David Noonan has noted, DBS might become analogous to cosmetic or plastic surgery: what was once intended to treat serious injuries has also become an elective enhancement surgery. Just as people seek to enhance their appearance by surgery, it seems reasonable to believe that they might do so to enhance their mental abilities.

From a moral standpoint, there is the same concern that has long held about cosmetic surgery, namely the risk of harm when seeking enhancement. However, if enhancing one’s looks via surgery is morally acceptable, then enhancing one’s mood, memory and so on would be acceptable as well. In fact, it could be argued that such substantial improvements are more laudable than merely improving appearance.

There is also the stock moral concern with fairness: those who can afford such enhancements will have yet another advantage over those less well off, thus widening the chasm. This is a legitimate concern. But, aside from the nature of the specific advantage, nothing new morally. If it is acceptable for the wealthy to buy advantages in other ways, this should not be a special exception.

 

 

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As Stephen Colbert’s current show winds down after being terminated, seemingly at the command of the Trump regime, I thought I’d look back at an episode of the Colbert Report.

Campbell Brown appeared on the July 31, 2014 episode of the Colbert Report to promote her Partnership for Educational Justice filing a legal complaint in Albany aimed at eliminating New York’s teacher tenure laws.  In my previous essay, I discussed the main topic, namely that of the points made in the legal complaint. In this essay, I will discuss some interesting points from Brown’s appearance on the Colbert Report. While a 2014 event might seem like ancient history, her appearance raises some issues that are still relevant today.

When Brown went to the show, she encountered protestors outside the building. Interestingly, she described them as trying to silence her and was critical of their presence. Colbert responded by noting that the protestors were exercising their First Amendment rights.

On the face of it, Brown used a common tactic—accusing critics of wanting to silence those expressing opposing viewpoints and using this as grounds for rejecting, dismissing or ignoring the criticisms. To be fair, some critics do say their opponent should be silenced. Because I accept the right to freedom of expression, I am against the silencing of critics. And, because I am consistent, I also oppose the demands of critics to silence those they criticize. I will admit there are exceptions, but these are just that—the exceptions.

However, it is important to distinguish between protests or criticism and attempts to silence. To protest someone or something is to express a negative view, and this is different from endeavoring to silence someone. For example, someone might have protested Brown’s lawsuit by making a sign and standing by the entrance to the building. This would express a stance against Brown, but unless the person told Brown to stop expressing her views or tried to shout her down, the person was not trying to silence Brown. It must be noted that even if a person would be happy if the target of their criticism did shut up, this is different from trying to silence someone.

To criticize something is to assess and evaluate it, which is different from trying to silence a person. I was myself critical of Brown, but I did not endeavor to silence her.  She had every right to make her claims and express her views, just as I had the right to express my own—even when my claims were critical of her claims. To assess is to not to silence. Even to claim someone is wrong is not to silence them. Saying “you are mistaken” is not the same as saying “shut up.”

That said, the tactic of accusing protestors or critics of trying to silence one does have some rhetorical value. First, it allows a person to dismiss or reject protestors/critics with a lazy ad homimen: “they are just trying to silence me, so their claims have no merit.” Second, it has an emotional appeal in that it casts the protestors or critics as being opposed to freedom of speech. The irony, of course, is that this is an attempt to silence the critics.

Another interesting aspect of the discussion was when Colbert asked Brown about who was funding her group and lawsuit. As Colbert, who once owned his own super PAC noted, it is legal to keep the names of those funding such an organization secret—even when they are actively involved in politics. When pressed a bit, Brown used another common tactic—she claimed that anonymity protects the donors from being harassed. This ties into the previously discussed tactic in which protestors and critics are cast as villains who are trying to silence a person. In this case, the opponents of her views are presumably being presented as the sort of people who would cruelly harass those they disagree with. This would, of course, have cast Brown as a brave hero—she was facing harassment, so the anonymous donors did not have to.

As Colbert noted, not revealing her donors is her legal right. However, the claim that she is keeping them anonymous to protect them from harassment was dubious. While Brown was subject to criticism and was protested, she did not seem to have been subjected to onerous abuse. The anonymous donors would presumably also not be cruelly abused—though they might be criticized.

Those more cynical than I might claim that the donors were concealed for nefarious reasons and there was speculation about who is the money behind the mouth. Those on the left, naturally enough, suspected a right-wing cabal aimed at destroying unions and privatizing education. Those of more moderate views might suspect a bi-partisan group that was aimed at privatizing education for the profit of themselves and their cronies. Some might even take Brown at face value: they backers are sincerely concerned with education reform. But, for some reason, they did not want anyone else to know.

Given her commitment to secrecy, it is ironic that in 2013 Brown created the Parents’ Transparency Project which was claimed to be aimed at bringing transparency to the negotiation process involving teachers’ unions.

This situation did raise the larger issue of secret funding. On the one hand, it could be argued that people have a right to privacy when it comes to their legal, financial and political machinations. On the other hand, secret money has at least two negative impacts. The first is that it has a corrosive effect on the openness that is supposed to the hallmark of democratic systems. The second is that it keeps the public in ignorance—knowing who is backing which candidates, causes and lawsuits seems is important for making informed decisions. Of course, it can be countered that the public does not need to know this, that it should not matter who is really funding something as they hide behind patriotic or positive sounding fronts.

Back in 2014, I was for transparency in such funding. First, I thought that such secret money is contrary to the openness that is critical to a democratic system.  I still think that. I thought that secret money deals were appropriate for oligarchies and corrupt states, but hardly suitable for what is supposed to be an open democracy. Now, in 2026, I can see that the United States has become an open oligarchy, with open corruption. While there anonymous funding is still a thing, it seems less important now given this open corruption.

Second, I believe that people should take responsibility for their beliefs and actions—being able to influence without accountability is morally unacceptable. I still believe this, although the open and unpunished corruption of today shows that some can engage in open corruption with no accountability.

Third, there is the matter of courage—only a coward hides behind anonymity when there is no real danger beyond people knowing what a person is backing. I still think this, but now some feel safe engaging in open corruption.

 

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The Republican dominated state legislature in my adopted state of Florida has been passing anti-union laws, the latest targeting public unions. The law excludes police and firefighter unions, with some noting that the difference is that these unions tend to support Republicans. As of this writing, I am a member of the United Faculty of Florida, which is a union for faculty. But my chapter of the union might cease to exist under the new law. But this war on educational unions is not new and I am taking this opportunity to look back to 2014 for an earlier battle in this war.

Back in July, 2014 Campbell Brown announced her Partnership for Educational Justice filed a legal complaint in Albany. This complaint aimed at eliminating New York’s teacher tenure laws. It was claimed that the tenure laws interfere with the right of children to a sound education.

This was not Brown’s first rodeo. In 2013 Brown asserted that her Parents’ Transparency Project was aimed at bringing transparency to the negotiation process involving teachers’ unions. During this campaign Brown asserted that the union is “…a system that protects teachers who engage in sexual misconduct.” Brown ran into some conflict of interest issues in regards to this group and there were concerns about the anonymous funding behind it: as a 501(c)(4) nonprofit, PTP can legally keep its donors secret and engage in political spending. As should be no surprise, critics saw it as an attempt at union busting. To promote the lawsuit, Brown appeared on the July 31, 2014 episode of the Colbert Report—having faced protestors outside the show.

I did agree with some of Brown’s claims. First, I agree that children are entitled to a sound basic education. Her critics contend that her actual interest was in busting the unions at the behest of those bankrolling her efforts. While Brown’s actual motives are a point of interest, they are logically irrelevant to the merit of her claims and arguments. However, Colbert did raise a relevant criticism: if Brown was concerned that children receive a sound education and for educational equality, then her goals would have been better served by focusing on educational inequality, such as the extreme disparity in education funding. To be fair to Brown, it can be reasonable to focus on one issue and leave other issues to others. For example, it would be unreasonable to attack a person who is focused on fighting lung cancer for not dedicating their time to also fighting breast cancer. That said, this can also be used in bad faith as rhetorical cover. For example, a person who claims to be policing library book “for the children” might deflect a question about why they do not support school lunch programs by saying that their focus in on books. They could, obviously, also speak briefly in favor for school lunch programs even if they are focused on other matters.

Second, I did agree with her view of seniority. Schools sometimes follow a “first in, last out” policy. The problem is that merely being at a school a long time does not mean a person is a good teacher. I believe that employment should be, in general, based on competence and seniority is not a mark of competence, I favor a different approach. That said, experience can improve a teacher’s abilities, and I am a much better professor than I was I was fresh out of graduate school). However, improved abilities should be discernible in job performance and not just by looking at the calendar. Naturally, a rational case can be made for seniority—but I believe that all such cases must rest on the connection between experience and ability.

Third, I had some sympathy for her view that three years is not enough time to earn tenure After all, tenure at the university level requires six years (and, at my university, involves a yearlong review process starting in the department and ending with the university President). The easy and obvious counter is that teaching at a university requires an advanced degree (which requires 5+ years beyond the bachelor’s degree required to teach K-12), so having a shorter tenure period at K-12 schools is reasonable. So, my view is that this can be debated—but this should be done in good faith.

Fourth, I agreed with her view that tenure laws should not make it nearly impossible to fire ineffective or dangerous teachers. Tenure, as I see it, is supposed to ensure that teachers or professors can only be fired for cause and through due process. It is not so that teachers or professors can never be fired. At the college level, this is obviously connected to defending academic freedom. At the K-12 level, academic freedom might not be seen as being as great a concern. But there is a reasonable concern about protecting teachers from the vagaries of ideology, politics and such. To illustrate, tenure can be useful for protecting biology teachers from being fired because some people disbelieve in evolution or believe that vaccines cause autism. In the light of events during the second Trump regime, the need to protect teachers is even more obvious. Being consistent, I also hold that tenured conservative teachers should be protected, should “the left” undertake efforts for ideological purging. But I must note that what counts as ideological purging can be contentious. For example, a biology teacher who taught students that dinosaur bones are fake and that transgender people are possessed by demons would seem to be someone who shouldn’t be teaching. But some might argue that firing them would be a woke purge.

Brown’s view did get some psychological support from the common misconception that tenure means a teacher cannot be fired. However, tenure does not make one immune to being fired, just that due process must be used. It would be hard to defend the view that it is fine for schools to fire a teacher for any reason without any due process. After all, such firings would be (by definition) unjustified. It is, however, easy to defend the view that even a tenured teacher should be fired for being ineffective and certainly for being dangerous.

The problem is not with the general principle of tenure. If there is a problem, it would seem to lie in the process that is used and perhaps any rules that would keep the ineffective or dangerous in their jobs. The fix to this would not be the elimination of tenure, but a change in the process so that teachers are protected from unjustified dismissal and students are protected from ineffective or dangerous teachers. The system will never be perfect—but that is an unreasonable standard.

Way back in the summer of 2014, the United States Supreme Court struck down a Massachusetts law that forbid protestors from approaching within 35 feet of abortion clinics. The buffer zone law was established in response to acts of violence. Not surprisingly, the court based its ruling on the First Amendment, accepting that such a buffer zone violates the right of free expression of those wishing to protest or provide unsought counseling to those seeking abortions.

Though I am a staunch supporter of the freedom of expression, I do recognize that it has justified limits—especially when they protect the life, liberty and property of others. To use the stock examples, freedom of expression does not permit people to engage in death threats, slander, or panicking people by screaming “fire” in a crowded, non-burning theater.

While I recognize that a buffer zone serves a legitimate purpose in enhancing safety, I tended to agree with the court based on utilitarian considerations. The harm to freedom of expression arising from banning protest in public spaces exceeds the risk of harm caused by allowing the protests. But people who engage in threatening behavior should be removed, but that does not require a buffer law. But the arguments in favor of the buffer zone have merit—weighing the freedom of expression against safety concerns is challenging but can be debated in good faith.

Ironically, but as one would expect, the Supreme Court has its own buffer zone. There is a federal law that bans protestors from the plaza of the court. This buffer zone is legally justified by defining the plaza as not being public space. This is like how pro-gun legislatures ban guns from their workplace while ensuring that guns can be freely brought into most other places. There is, as far as I know, no requirement for consistency in the law. But morality usually requires such consistency, at least in the application of principles (although this can be debated).

A principle is consistently applied when it is applied in the same way to similar beings in similar circumstances. Inconsistent application is a problem because it violates three commonly accepted moral assumptions: equality, impartiality and relevant difference.

Equality is the assumption that people are initially morally equal and hence must be treated as such. Naturally, a person’s actions can affect the initially equality. For example, a person who commits horrible evil deeds would not be morally equal to someone who does predominantly good deeds.  Impartiality is the assumption that moral principles must not be applied with partiality. Inconsistent application would involve non-impartial application.

Relevant difference is a common moral assumption. It is the view that different treatment must be justified by relevant differences. What counts as a relevant difference can be very controversial. For example, while many people think that gender is not morally relevant to how much someone should be paid, there are those who disagree.  But relevant difference requires that principles be applied consistently.

Given that the plaza of the court is a space analogous to a sidewalk, then if free expression guarantees the right to protest in front of abortion clinics, then the same should apply to the plaza, even if allowing protests puts the court at risk. To grant protestors access to the sidewalks outside clinics while forbidding them from the plaza of the court would be an inconsistent application of the principle. The same can be said about protesting outside any federal building, such as a place conducting ICE operations.  But, of course, there is always a way to counter this.

One principled way  to counter this view is to show that an alleged inconsistency is merely apparent.  One way to do this is by showing that there is a relevant difference in the situation. If the Supreme Court wishes to morally justify their buffer while denying others their buffers, they must  show a relevant difference that warrants the difference in application. They could, for example, contend that a plaza is relevantly different from a sidewalk. One might point to a size difference and how it impacts protesting. They could also contend that government property is exempt from the law (much like certain state legislatures ban the public from bringing guns into the legislature building even while passing laws allowing people to bring guns into places where other people work)—but they would need to ground the exemption. Otherwise, it would just be defending an inconsistency with more inconsistency.

My view is that there is no relevant difference between the scenarios: if freedom of expression applies to the spaces around private property, it also applies to the spaces around state property (which is the most public of public property).

 

 

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Years ago, the Hobby Lobby decision by the Supreme Court of the United States raised numerous issues including one about beliefs and facts. Oversimplifying things for the sake of brevity, the owners of Hobby Lobby said they were opposed to abortion on religious grounds and they claimed to believe that certain forms of birth control are abortion. On this basis, they claimed that providing insurance to their employees that covered what they saw as abortion would violate their religious beliefs and impose an unreasonable burden.

As I tell my students in my ethics class, a moral issue often involves three main components. The first consists of the relevant facts. A factual matter is such that the claim being made is true or false regardless of how we think or feel about its truth.  For example, the mass of an object is a factual matter.  The second consists of the relevant concepts, which are often in dispute. Resolving such a dispute involves presenting and defending definitions of the key terms. In the Hobby Lobby case, a key concept is abortion. The owners of Hobby Lobby claimed that certain birth control methods are methods of abortion. This seemed to be because the owners claimed to believe that life begins at conception, and they seemed to reject the notion that pregnancy begins at implantation. 

If pregnancy begins at implantation (which is the scientific consensus), then the methods in question (specifically those which prevent implantation) do not involve abortion.  As such, the owners of Hobby Lobby would have held factual incorrect beliefs regarding these methods of birth control, and this would undercut their moral position. If their moral opposition is based on a factual error, it would seem to be unfounded.

However, if pregnancy begins at conception (which is not the scientific consensus), then these methods do involve abortion. In this case, the owners of Hobby Lobby would have been factually correct. But the question would remain as to whether their moral claims were correct. After all, a person can be right about the facts but be wrong about the morality, which leads to the third component, that of morality.

Obviously, a moral issue always has a moral component. In this case, the moral issue is whether abortion is morally wrong. The owners of Hobby Lobby claimed to believe this—but belief does not entail a claim is true. People  often sincerely believe false claims. Fortunately for the owners of Hobby Lobby, they did not need to argue their moral beliefs were correct or even plausible—they just had to convince the court that they believed what they claim to believe. Given the context, this is not unreasonable—after all, the issue addressed by the court was not whether abortion is morally wrong.

The owners of Hobby Lobby did not even need to argue for their factual claims and their concepts. They did not need to make the case that pregnancy occurs at conception and that the methods in question cause abortions.   Apparently, they merely needed to establish that they believe what they claim to believe. This raises an interesting general issue that goes beyond the specific Hobby Lobby case: should facts matter when considering cases involving value beliefs?

On the one hand, it can be argued that the facts should not matter—at least in the sense of requiring that the beliefs in question be proven. This can be based on practicality: religious beliefs would be difficult to prove, and this could be seen as imposing an impossible burden on those bringing legal cases involving their values. Also, legal cases about such beliefs are not about their truth but about the right to hold such beliefs.

On the other hand, it can be argued that facts do matter—especially when the beliefs have an impact on others. Returning to Hobby Lobby, the reasoning seems to have been that the owners should not be required to follow the law because they are opposed to abortion and they believe that the birth control methods cause abortions. If it is claimed that it does not matter whether the owners are right or wrong about actual claims, this establishes the general principle that the truth of the claims does not matter in such contexts. This raises the question of how far this principle should extend.

In the Hobby Lobby case, to say that the facts are not relevant might not seem serious. After all, the question of when life begins is one that is disputed and the Hobby Lobby owners could engage in a conceptual dispute over the definition of “abortion.” But suppose we accepted the principle that the facts do not matter, only the sincerity. This would entail that if the owners of Hobby Lobby claimed that paying women the same as men caused abortions, then all that would matter would be the sincerity of their beliefs. The fact that such a claim is obviously false and absurd would not matter. Once the principle that truth is irrelevant is accepted, then truth is irrelevant. If the owners could show they sincerely believed that equal pay for women would cause abortions, then the facts would not matter. One could argue that such absurd claims would not pass muster but a cynical person might point out that someone would just need to appear adequately sincere.

 

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To narrow the moral discussion, I am focusing children migrating to the United States who are not criminals. One reason for this is that the issue of whether criminals should be allowed to come here for the purpose of committing crimes has an easy and obvious answer.

As some Americans like to claim that the United States is a Christian nation, it is tempting to apply Christian ethics to the issue of whether children should be allowed to migrate to the country. While many professed Christians prefer a selective reading of the bible,  the book is clear about this issue: “Thus has the LORD of hosts said, ‘Dispense true justice and practice kindness and compassion each to his brother; and do not oppress the widow or the orphan, the stranger or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another.’” The bible also enjoins people to “not mistreat or oppress a foreigner, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” Given these statements, it seems to follow that those who profess to practice Christian ethics would be morally (and religiously) obligated to show compassion and kindness to the children who are strangers and foreigners.

There are those who take these injunctions seriously and act accordingly. However, there are others who profess faith but do not heed the words: “But they refused to pay attention and turned a stubborn shoulder and stopped their ears from hearing.…” To be fair and balanced, they might sincerely believe that Christian ethics is limited to the values they happen to like.

Alternatively, a person could profess they embrace Christian ethics but contend these principles are overridden by more important concerns. One possible line of argumentation is to point out that children who arrive here illegally should not be given the full measure of compassion but sent back to their place of origin. Another line of argumentation is utilitarian: though extending kindness and compassion to migrant children would be laudable, this would require resources that are either unavailable or would be better used elsewhere (such as helping poor Americans). On this view, utilitarian ethics or practical concerns would trump religious based ethics.

There are non-Christians and those, though professing to be Christians, explicitly reject the principles mentioned above. Such people would need other reasons to believe that migrant children should be treated with compassion and kindness.

One option to appeal to a principle of moral debt: when someone has been harmed, the wrongdoer has an obligation to set matters right. While children migrate for various reasons, many from Central America migrate to escape violence and crime. This claim can be challenged—one could argue that the children are sent to the United States for other reasons, such as better economic opportunities. Some of these arguments have merit and must be given due consideration. After all, if children are coming to the United States illegally to escape danger and death, then that is very different morally than if they are coming to have a better life.

But it seems reasonable to think that some of the children are fleeing danger. An obvious concern is why this might obligate the United States to allow them to stay. One answer, as noted above, is to appeal to a moral debt owed by the United States. Some might wonder what the foundation of such a debt might be. There are two easy and obvious answers to this.

The first is that the United States has a well-documented history of political and economic machinations in the region. These include toppling governments, supporting death squads, and other such nefarious deeds. In short, the United States has significantly contributed to the conditions that threaten the children of the region with death and danger. Fairness does, of course, require noting that the United States has not been alone in its adventures in the region (the Cold War helped shape much of the current situation) and some instability and chaos is self-inflicted. Given the United States’ role in creating the current situation, we owe a collective debt, and this would obligate us to addressing the consequences of these past actions.

The second is that a significant cause of violence in the region is the production and distribution of drugs. While there is some local consumption, the people of the United States are a primary market for the drugs produced in this region and the war on drugs pursued by the United States has been even more disastrous in Central and South America than it has been in the United States. Given our role as drug consumers and our war on drugs, the United States is  a major contributor to the violence and danger of the region. Since we are doing wrong, this would create an obligation on our part towards the children that are fleeing the situation we helped to create and continue to sustain.

To use an analogy, if affluent outsiders wreck a neighborhood and are the prime customers for a drug industry that arises there, then the outsiders are moral accountability. If children try to flee the ruins of that neighborhood and head into the affluent neighborhood, it would be wicked of those people to insist on sending them back into the mess they worked so hard to create and maintain.

 

 

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In my previous essays I wrote about the sharing economy, focusing on regulations and taxes. In this essay I will cover resources (human and other). The new sharing economy is exemplified by companies such as Uber and Airbnb that organize transactions between individuals. In the case of Uber, people can sell rides in their own cars—without (as of this writing) all the usual costs and regulations of operating a cab. In the case of Airbnb, people can rent out property and (as of this writing) generally avoid the usual regulations associated with running a hotel.

For the people providing goods and services, the new sharing economy  is supposed to make it easier to earn money. In general, the new sharing economy involves three parties. The first is the person who provides the actual good (apartment, for example) or service (a ride to the airport, for example). The second is the person who uses the service and the third is the company that provides the organizing service. While this is an old model (people have long offered services and goods via things like newspaper ads), technology changed the scale of this once informal economy. It has also served to blur the traditional roles. Those who provide the goods and services are, it is often argued, not  employees of the organizing services and those using the goods and services are not exactly customers of the services. There are some advantages and some disadvantages to this.

In the case of those providing the services and goods, one obvious advantages is that they can make money. While they could do this without the organizing service, the service is supposed to make this easier and provides other advantages.

One of the advantages of not actually being an employee of the organizing services is that the provider has a degree of autonomy usually absent in the traditional employee-employer relationship. The provider can (within the constraints of economic need) work as little as desired and is free to stop at will. This autonomy appeals to some people—especially those looking for a more traditional job while making money to pay the bills. In some ways, the situation is somewhat like being a temp worker.

Of course, there are many disadvantages to being a provider. One is that there are typically no benefits and no job security. Also, the risks and costs all fall heavily on the provider. For example, if someone crashes into the company truck Sally is driving, then the company handles the matter. But, if Sally is driving for Uber and her car is hit, this is most likely going to work exactly as it would if Sally was just driving to Starbucks for a latte—that is, it is on her.

Another point of concern is that the organizer might be in the position to set rates or impose other limits—much like a traditional boss can. For example, Uber can set what drivers are paid.

But this is nothing new—people who do freelance work or are self-employed in the usual sense face all these problems. After all, being a worker in America always puts one at a disadvantage and being what amounts to a temp or freelancer can be even less optimal in terms of security and pay.

There are many advantages to the companies. One is that their workers are usually not considered employees. Another is that the worker, for the most part, also provide the essential resources like vehicles and property. While the companies do incur costs, they are able to avoid (or significantly reducing) the usual costs of running a business. For example, a hotel needs to have hotel employees and an actual hotel. Airbnb does not—the providers provide the services and buildings. As another example, a service that organizes drivers does not need to buy cars, maintain them or insure them—thus resulting in considerable savings relative to a company that must hire drivers as employees and buy vehicles.

In essence, the new sharing economy splits management from what would traditionally be the resources (human or otherwise) of a company. The organizer takes on the role of management while avoiding the need to have traditional human resources (beyond the administrative aspects of the business) and the need to have the material resources (beyond those needed for the administrative aspects).

Some companies do operate in something of a hybrid mode—having workers as well as material resources owned by the company while also having a sharing aspect to the business. This is a variation of the old model of a company hiring temp workers, freelancers and contractors.

This model can, apparently, be profitable—in large part due to matters of scale. After all, getting a slice of thousands of sales can result in a profit. Also, many of these companies benefit from tech inflation—the almost magical overvaluation of companies with business models based on the right sort of tech. That said, Uber famously operated at a loss for years and some suspect that the sharing economy is built to enrich the very few rather than for creating sustainable businesses. Which, to be fair and balanced, is often how the traditional economy operates.

Given the apparent success of companies like Uber and Airbnb, I predicted years ago that there would be a sharing bubble. But we have seemed to have gotten enshitification. While noting that there are some limits on what sort of sharing companies can exist (or example, airlines and heavy manufacturing are not really fit for the sharing economy) I speculated that additional advances in economy might see new areas for the sharing economy. For example, if 3D printers become truly viable, light and specialized manufacturing might become part of the sharing economy. While this might still occur, the new bubble is the AI bubble. But we might see the residue of the AI bubble worked into the sharing economy.

 

 

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As with regulation, some people are opposed to taxes. Other people are fine with taxes—usually with imposing taxes on others. In general, though, people prefer to not pay taxes. As such, it is hardly a surprise that the companies running the sharing economy try to avoid paying taxes. On the face of it, companies like Airbnb and Uber profess they are just providing a way to connect people to pay for goods and services. This can be seen as a more organized version of the old informal sharing economy in which people sublease, rent out property, or get gas money to drive a friend to the airport.

The old informal economy often operates without taxes being paid (although this is not always done legally). For example, if Professor Sally informally rents her house to her grad student Bob while she is in Europe, Professor Sally and Bob will probably not pay taxes for this—although they would if Bob was renting a room at a hotel Sally owns. While there are probably people who would like taxes paid on even informal transactions, the informal nature of such transactions often makes this impractical. The traditional informal sharing economy is small and decentralized so taxing it would probably be cost prohibitive. There is also the legitimate concern that such private transactions can fall outside of the domain of state concern.

However, when a company such as Airbnb gets involved, things change. The once informal economy becomes centralized around companies and there is also an increase in the scale of operations. After all, it is one thing if Professor Sally’s grad student is paying a modest fee to stay in her house while she is in Europe, it is quite another if Professor Sally starts running her house as a hotel. It also becomes a different matter if the number of people renting out property increases significantly. There would seem to be three important changes between the informal sharing economy and the new sharing economy.  The first is centralization. Instead of people reaching informal agreements as individuals (who often know each other), there would be business transactions through a central company. The second would be the character of the process—short-term renting via a company is closer to the hotel model than to the old informal model. The third would be the number of people involved: the sharing economy would presumably be larger than the old informal economy.

From a practical standpoint, having a centralized company and a large operation allows the collection of taxes to become much more practical. This can justify taxing the sharing economy like other businesses.

From a moral standpoint, if it is acceptable for businesses with the same model (such as the traditional hotel) to be taxed in a certain way, then the same would apply to the new sharing economy. So, if Sally would have to handle taxes if she ran a traditional hotel, then she should have to do the same if she ran her sharing economy hotel through a service like Airbnb. Or perhaps Airbnb should be the one to handle the taxes.

Naturally, it might be wondered why taxes should be imposed on the new sharing economy—even if the new sharing economy is similar to the old economy. Of course, the people who make money through sharing rides or apartments do pay taxes for that income. However, there was some controversy over services like Airbnb paying the hotel tax.

One reason for sharing companies to pay taxes and fees like traditional companies is fairness. After all, the free market is not as free if some companies enjoy special breaks. Although, to be fair and balanced, the American economy is built on special breaks.  Another reason is that the taxes and fees are needed to pay the public services and infrastructure that such companies (and their sharers) utilize. It might be contended that this is already covered by the income taxes paid by individuals engaged in sharing. However, by that logic, businesses would also be exempt from taxes and fees on the grounds that their employees pay taxes. Which would certainly appeal to businesses that pay taxes.

 Also, the growth of the sharing economy imposes new costs on the community like having a similar new business. For example, having many Uber drivers is like adding a large cab company. As another example, having Airbnb rentals in a community makes the area more like a hotel zone, with the accompanying burden on the community. As such, if the community (which includes those who are not part of the sharing economy) faces increased costs then it is acceptable to pass these costs on to those who benefit from this new economy.

There is also the cost of regulating the industries. As  noted in my previous essay, when the sharing economy becomes comparable to the normal businesses (such as hotels and cab companies), then comparable public good (such as safety) regulations should apply. Naturally, these come with costs, and it makes sense that the costs should be connected to the profits, rather than just be taken from the community. For example, with non-professional drivers acting like cab drivers and people renting out apartments and homes like hotels, there are legitimate concerns about public safety. Cab companies and hotels bear some of the cost of their regulation and so too should the sharing companies.

Naturally, there is the general debate about what is a fair tax or fee and concerns about the impact of taxes on the economy. However, it seems reasonable to believe that the sharing economy is analogous to the non-sharing economy and that it should bear a fair share of costs imposed upon the community.

 

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The success of companies such as Airbnb and Uber created a massive sharing economy. The idea grounding the sharing economy is an old one: people provide goods and services as individuals rather than as employees or businesses. A classic example is paying a neighborhood kid to mow lawns or babysit. Another is paying a friend’s gas money for a ride to the airport. The new version of sharing changes the traditional model, probably in ways that make it sharing in name only. One difference is that the old sharing economy was usually an informal system while the new sharing economy is organized by companies. As an example of the old sharing economy, your neighbor might tell you about the teenager she hired to babysit her kids or mow her lawn. As an example of the new sharing economy, you might use the Uber app to pay a soccer mom to give you a ride to the airport in her mini van. Unlike the old sharing economy in which your neighbor (probably) did not take a cut for connecting you to a sitter or mower, these companies get a cut of the proceeds—which could be justified by the services they provide.

The new sharing economy has been praised and defended based on the claim that it makes it easier for people to make money in challenging economic times. For example, the ideal is that anyone can make extra money by driving for Uber or Grubhub. However, the sharing (or gig) economy has been harshly criticized since its inception.

As might be suspected, early critics of the sharing economy included people whose livelihoods and profits were threatened. For example, Uber’s conflicts with taxi services routinely made the news. Some people dismissed these criticisms as the usual lamentations of obsolete industries while others take them seriously. As the sharing economy has embedded itself deeply over the years, there have been ongoing criticisms.

One point of concern is regulation. In most (if not all) cases, the sharing economy exploits loopholes in the informal economy, which is regulated less than the formal economy. For example, professional cab drivers are subject to many strict regulations while an Uber driver is not. As another example, the hotel industry is regulated while services like Airbnb were largely unregulated, although this has changed over the years. These companies also used the strategy of simply ignoring whatever regulations got in their way.

Some proponents of the free market might praise the limited (or nonexistent) regulation, and this praise might have some merit. After all, it has long been contended that regulation impedes profits. However, there are at least two legitimate concerns here.

One is, obviously enough, fairness. If taxi drivers and hotels are subject to strict regulations that also involve additional costs, then it is obviously not fair that companies like Uber and Airbnb can offer the same services while evading these regulations. One obvious option is to impose them on the sharing economy (which “the left” tends to favor). Another obvious option is to reduce regulations on the traditional economy (which “the right” tends to endorse). In any case, fairness would seem to require comparable regulation for comparable industries.

The second is safety and other concerns relating to the public good. While some regulations might be seen as burdensome, others exist to protect the public. For example, hotels are held to certain standards of cleanliness and safety. Since the new sharing economy puts people at risk in similar ways, it seems reasonable to impose comparable regulations on the sharing economy. After all, whether you are getting a hotel room or going through Airbnb, you should have a reasonable expectation that you will not perish in a fire.

It might be countered that the new sharing economy should still fall under the rules of the old sharing economy. For example, if I ask a friend to take me to the airport and she has an awful car and is a terrible driver, it is not the business of the state to regulate my choice (although the state should address any traffic violations). As another example, if I sleep on a friend’s couch, it is not the business of the state to make sure that the couch is properly cleaned and that the house is suitable (beyond being up to code).

While this does have some appeal, there are two main arguments against it. The first is that the informal economy is largely unregulated because it is informal and hence difficult to regulate because there is no central organizing entity for the state to deal with. Once a company like Uber or Airbnb gets into the picture, the economy is now formal—there is now a company organizing things. This allows a practical means of regulating what is now commercial activity.

The second is scale. When the informal economy is relatively small, the cost and difficulty of regulating for the public good can be prohibitive. For example, regulating neighborhood babysitters or people who give the occasional ride to friends and get gas money would impose a high cost for a little return. However, when part of the informal economy gets organized by a company and greatly expands, then there is more at stake and hence paying the cost of regulating for the public good becomes viable. For example, regulating people occasionally giving friends or associates rides is one thing (a silly thing), but regulating large numbers of people driving vehicles for Uber is different.

 

 

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