Category: Ethics

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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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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J’atorg struggled along on his motile pods, wheezing badly as his air sacs fought with the new atmosphere. He cursed the humans, invoking the gods of his people. Reflecting, he cursed the humans by invoking their gods. The gods of his people had proven weak: the bipeds had come and were remaking his world to suit them, proving their gods are stronger. The humans said it would take a long time for the world to fully change, but J’atorg could already see, taste and smell the differences. He did not know who he hated more: the hard-eyed humans who were destroying his world or the soft-eyed humans who spewed words about “rights”, “morality” and “lawsuits” while urging patience. He knew his people would die, aside from those the humans kept as curiosities or preserved to assuage their conscience with cruel pity.

 

Terraforming is transforming a planet to make it more earthlike. In science fiction, the goal of terraforming is to make an alien world suitable for human habitation by altering its ecosystem. Interestingly, the ruling classes are busy seeing to the reverse terraforming of our home world, making it less habitable for our species. Since this process would radically change a world, terraforming does raise ethical concerns. Conveniently, the ethical discussion that follows applies to both terraforming and reverse terraforming.

From a moral standpoint, the clearest scenario is when a lifeless, uninhabited planet is terraformed. If Mars is lifeless and uninhabited, it would fall into this category. If there are no beings on a world, there would be no rights violated and no harms inflicted. As such, terraforming such a planet would seem morally acceptable.

One obvious counter is to argue that a planet has moral status of its own, distinct from that of the beings that might inhabit it. Intuitively, the burden of proof for this status would rest on those who make this claim since inanimate objects do not seem to be the sort of entities that can be wronged.

A second counter is to advance potentiality arguments, somewhat akin to those used in the abortion debate. If a planet might someday give rise to beings who would have moral status, then terraforming the planet would be wrong because it would prevent them from arising. After all, the scientific account of life on earth involves it arising from non-life by natural processes. If an uninhabited world is terraformed, the possible inhabitants that might have arisen from the world would never be.

While arguments from potentiality tend to be weak, they are not without appeal. Naturally, the moral concern for the world should be proportional to how likely it is that it would produce inhabitants. If this is unlikely, then terraforming would be of less moral concern. However, if the world has considerable potential, then the possibility of moral harm is greater. To reverse the situation, we would not have wanted earth to be transformed by aliens if doing so would have prevented our eventual evolution. As such, to act morally, we would need to treat other worlds as we want our world to be treated. That said, our ruling class is ensuring that our world is undergoing reverse terraforming.

The standard counter to potentiality arguments is that mere potential does not morally outweigh the actual. This is used to justify the use of resources now even when doing so will make them unavailable to future generations. It is also the reasoning that is sometimes used to morally justify abortion, with the actual person outweighing the potential person. This view does, of course, have its own problems and there are serious arguments regarding the status of the potential versus that of the actual.

If a world has life or is otherwise inhabited (I do not want to assume that all inhabitants must be alive in the way we understand it), then the morality of terraforming would be much more complicated. After all, the inhabitants of a world would seem likely to have moral status. Not surprisingly, the ethics of terraforming an inhabited world are like those of altering an environment on earth, such as building houses in what was a forest. Naturally enough, the stock arguments about species extinction would apply here. As on earth, the more complex the inhabitants, the greater the moral concern—assuming that moral status is linked to complexity. After all, we do not balk at eliminating viruses or bacteria but are sometimes concerned when higher forms of life are at stake, such as owls or our fellow humans.

If the inhabitants are people, then the matter is even more complicated and would bring into play the usual arguments about how people should be treated. Despite the ethical similarities to these smaller scale scenarios, there are some important differences when it comes to terraforming ethics.

One main difference is one of scale: bulldozing a forest to build condos versus changing an entire planet for colonizing. The fact that the entire world is involved seems morally significant—assuming size matters.

There is also another difference, namely that the world is a different world. On earth, we can at least present some an ownership claim over our home world. Asserting ownership over an alien world is more problematic, especially if it is already inhabited. But it must be noted that there are moral arguments against claiming to own parts of our earth.

Of course, it can be countered that we are inhabitants of this universe and hence have as good a claim to alien worlds as our own—after all, it is our universe. Also, there are all sorts of clever moral justifications for ownership that people have developed, and these can be applied to ownership of alien worlds. After all, the moral justifications for taking land from other humans can be inflicted on aliens. To be consistent we would have to accept that the same arguments would morally justify aliens doing the same to us. Or we could simply go with a galactic state of nature where profit is the measure of right and matters are decided by the sword. In that case, we must hope that we have the biggest sword or that the aliens have better ethics than we do.

 

 

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After the murder of Michael Brown, protests took place which led to additional conflicts between citizens and police. Initially, the police met the protestors like an invading army: many officers were in military gear and backed up by armored vehicles. Militarized and brutal responses to protests have occurred repeatedly. As noted in my previous essay, this approach is based on a philosophy of order that perceived threats are to be met with physical force. Even when the perceived threat consists of citizens acting within their rights.

One reason is practical—the state has an advantage of force. As Thoreau notes, “…the state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses.  It is not armed with superior with or honesty, but with superior physical strength.”

Another reason for this is conceptual. Many authorities prefer to use coercion rather than persuasion and reason. There is also a philosophical element—those in authority often seem to have a philosophical view about the rights of citizens that differs from that of the founders they so often praise when running for re-election.

To begin with the most obvious violations of constitutional rights, the rights of free speech and assemble have been routinely violated. The harassment of journalists also seem to be clear violations of the freedom of the press.

Section 1 of the 14th amendment has also been relentlessly violated since citizens have been “deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law” and citizens have been denied “the equal protection of the laws.” The violations of the 14th amendment are not limited just to the treatment of the protestors—the disproportionality  in the response to protests illustrates systematic violation of this amendment.

There are also clear violations of internationally established human rights: the protestors have been shot with rubber bullets (admittedly this is better than being shot with metal bullets) and tear gas has been used.

Those who accept natural rights, such as John Locke, would agree that these rights are being regularly violated. The most obvious being the right of liberty.  As such, the violations are not just a matter of violations of human law but also violations of natural rights (assuming there are such things). For those who prefer a more utilitarian approach to liberty, Mill’s utilitarian arguments would certainly support the claim that the state has been violating the rights of protestors.

One obvious counter to this view is the claim that the police are justified because they are acting to protect the rights of life, liberty and property for some people. This, of course, requires the use of force and it might appear that some rights are being violated in the keeping of order.

This counter has some abstract merit. The state does have an obligation to prevent protestors from violating the rights of other people. Being a protestor does not grant a person special rights to violate the rights of others, so a protestor who engages in unwarranted violence or other misdeeds can be justly stopped or arrested.

There is also the obvious concern with people who use protests as an excuse to engage in or as cover for misdeeds such as looting and violence. If the police arrest someone who has come to “protest” by stealing, they have not violated that person’s rights as they have no moral right to steal even if they claim it is an act of protest. That said, a case can be made for theft as an act of protest.

A reply to this counter is that the legitimate need to protect rights does not justify violating those rights. So, while the police have an obligation to keep protestors from committing crimes against life, liberty and property the police also have an obligation to not violate the rights of the protestors. I admit that this can be challenging in practice since opportunists and criminals can mix in with actual protestors. Just as they mix in with politicians and police. However, if our society is supposed to respect rights, effort must be taken to ensure that these rights are protected—even (and especially) in heated moments. After all, rights are not just for corporations.

 

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One of my first essays on police and race was in response to the August 9, 2014, killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson. Brown was unarmed when he was killed. While some claim Brown was murdered, others claim the shooting was justified. While there were efforts at reform, killings continue and hence this subject is, sadly, always relevant. In each incident there is the question of whether force was used legitimately (and what that might mean).

From a legal standpoint, the concept of legitimacy is defined by the law and whoever has the authority or power to impose their definition. From a moral standpoint, the legitimacy of force depends on what ethical theory is being used. Intuitively, though, the use of force against an unprovoked attack would seem legitimate. Using force against someone who does not present a threat would intuitively seem to be morally unjustified.

In discussing police use of force, I have found that some people see the critical issue as whether an officer was justified in using force in that situation. This view is reasonable but has an obvious defect: it does not consider the broader context. A particular officer could be morally justified in using force in the individualistic context of one person facing another. However, there is the broader context involving the social roles of the individuals, the social context, the history of race in America, the political context and so on. That is, the incident is not just a matter of two people who encounter each other in the context of violence. It is also a confrontation of class and race heavy with the weight of history. These considerations lead to broader moral concerns regarding why such situations arise.

One part of the answer is the history of race in America. This history sets the stage for death. To state a truism, being black in America is rather different from being white. Since I look very white, my experience has been the white experience. Being a philosopher, my awareness of this means that I know my experience is not universal and it would be fallacious to draw uncritical inferences from myself. Hence, I must rely on others to have some understanding beyond my own experiences. I do know that blacks tend to be treated rather worse by the police and young black men are singled out for some of the worst treatment. It is, of course, important to note that many police officers are decent people—I know several that I have met through running and gaming. Not surprisingly, young black men look at the police differently than white folks and the dynamic between young black men and police is often a rather bad one. I had indirect experience with this years ago. I was training for the Columbus marathon with a fellow grad student who is African American. While running through a neighborhood on the course, we were stopped by a cop who inquired what we “boys” were doing. Not wanting to be arrested or shot so close to the big race, I reigned in my pride and engaged my diplomatic skills while my friend stood in silent anger. I vividly remember that this was the first time in my white life that I was afraid of a cop; it was a radically different experience than interacting with the police in my hometown in Maine. What seemed to defuse the situation was that I told the cop that we were training for the marathon and that my friend had a shot of making the US Olympic team. This appeal to patriotism worked and the cop let us go. We sped away, glad that we had not been arrested or shot for running through a fancy neighborhood.

After that incident, I was stopped by the police another time while running and then again while biking, although I was doing nothing wrong. I recall feeling the calm that washes away fear that I feel when I was fighting in tae kwon do matches; I understood that I could arbitrarily be shot.

From these incredibly limited experiences, I can only imagine what it would be like to be subject to police attention regularly. Once again, to be fair to the police, I have also had many positive experiences with officers, and it would be unjust to sweepingly condemn all police because of the actions of some. However, there is clearly a serious moral problem in America.

Another obvious part of the answer is the philosophy of order held by many in power. While perhaps not familiar with Hobbes, they tend to operate in accord with his view of order and morality. Trump has made this clear when he said that the only limits he recognizes are his own mind and morality (which is terrifying as both are corrupt). The practical application of this view is that force is the primary (sometimes sole) tool in their toolbox.  The most visual manifestation of this is the militarization of the police: even small-town police forces have combat gear and sometimes even armored vehicles. As Thoreau noted, “thus the state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses.  It is not armed with superior with or honesty, but with superior physical strength.” That this approach leads to violence is hardly surprising.

When the context of race is combined with a philosophy of force, it is hardly a surprise that violence and death are all too often the results. As such, even if an officer was justified in their individual actions, they were taken in a context that is fundamentally morally flawed. The situation should (morally) not arise.

 

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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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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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