Category: Technology

When AI image generators, like Midjourney, were finally able to generate semi-adequate images, I started using them in my D&D content. Previously I had relied on creative commons images, purchased clip art and made my own images. When the moral uproar took place over AI in general and image generators in particular, I wondered if my use of AI images was morally wrong. The answer is, of course, yes. As our good dead friend Thomas Aquinas argued, every deliberate human action is either morally good or bad. Using AI images generated by AI is obviously bad. Like all humans, I do many bad things. But as a professional philosopher I can present an analysis of just how bad I am.

As a sometimes-self-aware person who can admit that I do many bad things, I try to explain why I do these bad things—often to re-train myself to stop doing them. What follows is an explanation of why I use such images. I am not offering a justification or an excuse—this is all about why I do what I do with no attempt to excuse or justify it. Also, since we humans are usually garbage at sorting out why we do what we do, what follows is likely to be inaccurate and full of rationalizations. Jokingly, my view of human behavior is that we do what we do and we don’t know why. But we love to lie about it.

One explanation is that I love technology, especially computers. My dad taught math and computer science and when he went to school on the weekends for some work-related stuff, he would sometimes bring me. To keep me from running around like a wild animal, he let me use the DECWriter II at the school to play games. This is how I became a computer gamer. I remember making my own book about robots and computers; I think I called it “the computer pages” and I added all sorts of (not so) special effects, like pullout tapes of paper and things involving tin foil. I continued to use computers, such as the Trash-80 and then got my own Commodore 64, which was (and still is) an amazing machine. I was involved in AI debates in college during the 1980s and ran a Traveller campaign focused on an AI bent on destroying humanity. I went to grad school when the Mac Classic came out and was blown away by MacPaint and MacDraw and my love of computers just got worse. I’m writing this using a AM4 gaming rig I built (and have to keep hanging onto because of AI), and I’m surrounded by a technophobe’s nightmare of modded tech.

When AI began to emerge, I predicted it would kill us all (which it did) but was thrilled to have “new” tech to play with (I know the history of AI). That is part of the reason I use image generators. This might explain why I think AI image generators are cool and like them but one might point out this does not fully explain why I use them in my D&D adventures. This takes us back to MacPaint and  MacDraw.

When I first started writing for gaming companies in 1989, I had an electric typewriter and graph paper. I hand drew the maps on graph paper and typed up the adventurers I sent off. Then I bought a Mac Classic. I got MacWrite, MacDraw and MacPaint and immediately started using them for my classes and game writing.

The word processing and graphics software let me do two very important things. The first was that they provided a way to easily keep copies of my work. When I did a map by hand or typed up a Dark Conspiracy adventure on my typewriter, I had one copy that I would need to take to the library and photocopy. But with a computer, I could back it up on disk and print as many copies as I wished. Although disk failure was (and is) a thing.

The second thing is that software allowed me to do edits without erasing, starting entirely over, or using whiteout. I remember that many times when I typed something out and realized I could do better, I usually convinced myself it was good enough—because changing it meant re-typing it. I did drafts; but usually a handwritten outline. I do know that great writers claim they retyped things hundreds of times but as a kid in grad school making a little extra Ramen noodle money, I did not have the time to do that. But with software I could edit and revise text and images easily, so a work would go through many changes for the better. While my focus here is on images, back when word processors came out it was (of course) claimed that they would ruin writing. They did not. But LLMs might.

While I did the rough drafts of my maps and images on paper, I used MacDraw and MacPaint to do the final versions. These tools made map and image creation faster for obvious reasons. Then I saved up enough to buy Aldus Freehand and Adobe Photoshop, which blew MacDraw and MacPaint away.

After getting my PhD.  I started teaching at Florida A&M University in 1993. I was assigned to teach Aesthetics, which I dreaded. That had been the domain of the beret wearing crowd who smoked weed and agonized over Proust and Derrida. But I found that I was operating from prejudice (see, I told you I do lots of bad things) and eventually enjoyed teaching the class. During the 1990s one of the “big fights” in aesthetics was over Photoshop and similar programs. Photoshop and digital image creation also launched a moral panic.

One concern was that Photoshop would make it impossible to discern between real and fake images.  Of course, anyone familiar with the history of photography knew people were manipulating images since the invention of the camera. While Photoshop did create challenges, these were overcome. The same panic has arisen over AI image generation, and it is worth considering that this time the panic might be justified. I do condemn using AI images for deception, but I use them for my D&D content—my goal is not to trick people into thinking that unicorns are real or that Republicans are working with demons.

There was also the debate over whether digital images could be art and criticisms that they could not be art because Photoshop made it “too easy” to create images. Ignorant critics just assumed Photoshop created images. Informed critics lamented that filters, actions, and such did too much of the work. Defenders pointed out that Photoshop and similar programs still required skill (and new skills). People who used it thinking it would make them automatic artists were disappointed.

Using an analogy, drawing by hand is like getting around by walking or running—it is all on you. Using Photoshop and Freehand was like using a bike—it enhanced what you already had, but you still needed to do the work. As you would guess, I was an early defender of digital art and played a minor role in the Art Wars of the 1990s. While I am sure there are still people who are still mad at Photoshop, digital art tools are the norm today. So, when AI image generation arose, to me it was just another tool, and it faced the same panic as Photoshop. But one might say, surely AI is different?

I won’t say that they say that about every new tech because AI image generation is different in ways that can justify the criticisms and even the panic. Going back to my analogy, if drawing by hand is running and using Photoshop is biking, AI image generation is using a self-driving taxi (which fits especially well since there are also humans behind “self-driving” taxis). Using an AI image generator for D&D content does take some skill but they are not the skills one uses to create art. Which is one of the many reasons that AI images are not art and people who use AI to create images are not artists. This is why I call the “art” in my D&D content “images.” They ain’t art.

In terms of the skills I use when employing an AI image generator, I need the skill of creating the monsters, magic items and such that will be in the images. This might be art but probably not.  As I always argue, if I can do it, it ain’t art. Then I need to create appropriate prompts and review the images.  This is writing but not art. The final step is loading them into Photoshop and fixing all the AI problems (like extra arms). This is just touching up images, so is a technical skill and not artistic skill. Again, If I can do it…

 I can do all this quickly—the longest part is obviously coming up with monster designs, magic items and such. This is one reason I use the image generators—they are fast. As writing D&D is a hobby and not how I get the income I need to buy food and live under a roof I need to use my time wisely. I’m running a 4-hour D&D game every week, so I need to put out material fast—and I like having images for the tokens and to show to the players. This is one reason I do not hand draw my images—the maps and text are essential to running adventures while the images are a luxury. So, I spend my time on the maps and text. But why don’t I hire artists instead of using AI?

The short answer is that I have tried. Since the 1990s I have recruited artists to work on various projects of mine, usually offering them about half of the income from the work while they also kept the rights to their art. The artists initially start off excited and promise they will have the art done on time. And they never finish. They always have good reasons: they are getting divorced, they are graduating, they started a full-time job, they have a commercial project to work on, they are going through things, and so on. I do think that maybe I am the problem, but when I ask people, they assure me that I am not. Which just might mean that I am a big problem. In contrast, AI image generators deliver the images I need reliably, which is why I use them. If I could find a reliable artist who can keep up with my writing schedule, I would be happy to give them 50% or more of the royalties, which takes me to the last reason I use AI image generators.

People who played Call of Cthulhu in the 1990s often remember me as the guy who gave away about 50 CoC adventures via the web.  These days I write Mike’s Free Encounters, create Mike’s Free Maps and all my other new content is Pay What You Want. I remember saving my meager minimum wage income as a kid so I could buy games, so I am committed to making game content available for free when I can. I also did a failed Kickstarter promising 99 books for 99 cents each; so I have some relic 99 cent books out there as well. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

 While we are unfortunate to live in a brutally extractive society ruled by oligarchs, I am fortunate to have a full-time job and can use this to help other people in various ways, including free gaming material. I would never expect an artist to donate art to my projects so I can keep giving them away and hence using an image generator makes sense to me. I would, of course, love to team up with an artist who would want to work on free projects, but it would be insane to expect that from anyone. And that is the explanation of why I use AI images in my D&D content. Am I wrong to do this? Obviously. As I said, like my fellow humans, I do a lot of bad things. I will write about why AI image generators are bad and probably also reveal other ways I am a bad person, like how I own a truck and use electricity.

 

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In the previous essay in this series I discussed the culture war tactic of criticizing something by alleging it is a waste of time. This is perhaps the mildest culture war tactic with the stronger ones focusing on allegations of serious harm. During the 1980s culture war against gaming, there were such allegations.

While some people might see historical value in looking back at the 1980s gaming culture war, there is the question about why this matters today. The reason is that culture war never changes and culture war never ends. These same tactics are used today and will be used in the future, so discussing them is still relevant. It is also useful to see that culture wars and moral panics follow the same patterns, although it would be a mistake to assume without evidence that a criticism must be mere culture war nonsense or a moral panic. These alleged harms can be divided into three categories.

The first was that gaming would, crudely put, make people stupid. This was usually not applied to tabletop games but was used against video games. The second was that gaming would cause psychological harm. The third was that gaming would cause moral harm by corrupting people. In this essay I will focus on the claim that gaming would make people stupid.

While the 1980s might seem like a long time ago, the idea of attacking technology because it will make people stupid is truly ancient. As philosophers love to point out in debates about AI making people stupid, the Phaedrus includes Socrates expressing concerns about the negative effects of writing. Jumping ahead, people famously worried that television and calculators would make people stupid. Being a bit more specific, the accusation that technology will make people stupid usually takes one of two forms.

The first is general harm, that the technology will somehow cause a cognitive decline. This could be due to the technology distracting people from activities that would improve their cognition (like the waste of time argument) or inflicting cognitive damage. As an example of a distracting technology, when handheld video games appeared in the 1980s, my teachers were worried they would distract us from our lessons. One of my clever classmates learned to wire a switch that would turn off the sound of these devices, so kids could play them during class. These gave us a tiny taste of what smartphones would later bring to the classroom. There were also concerns about arcade games and computer games, with the worry that they would also distract people from their studies and thus make them stupid.

Alan Bloom (yeah, that guy) claimed the Walkman (really) would damage people, writing, “As long as they have the Walkman on, they cannot hear what the great tradition has to say. And, after its prolonged use, when they take it off, they find they are deaf” (Bloom, 1987, p. 81). While he was obviously wrong, this does serve as an excellent example of the repeating unfounded moral panics over the danger of technology. There were also concerns that video games would cause, in addition to physical harms (“Space Invader’s Wrist”) various cognitive harms. I’ll discuss the alleged psychological and moral harms of gaming in later essays.

The second alleged harm is that using the technology will result in the loss of a skill or ability through atrophy as the technology does the work for humans. Socrates expressed this concern about writing and (since my dad was a math teacher) I remember people worrying that calculators would weaken people’s math skills. While they did put an end to slide rule skills, the fears proved unfounded. The slide rule example does show that while a new technology can render a skill obsolete, there is the question of whether this should be seen as harmful. That few people can use a slide rule today does not seem to be cause for alarm or concern. Jumping ahead to today, there is the fear that AI will cause skill atrophy and, as a professor, I am trying to sort out what skills we should preserve in the face of AI and which skills fall into the slide rule category. This is, as you would imagine, a matter much debated among academics.

While video games, like any activity, can distract people to a degree that is harmful, the culture war and moral panic over video games in the 1980s was proven to be unfounded. As Michael Z. Newman (2017) noted, the videos games of the 1980s did not ruin our lives. Which I already knew, having fought though that culture war and moral panic. In fact, video games are now claimed to various positive benefits for cognition, although any claims from people trying to sell you a game should be looked at critically.

As a takeaway, I’d like people to see that culture war never changes and never ends. When the next moral panic occurs, perhaps over VR, it would be wise to reflect on these past moral panics. But I would be remiss if I did not say that it would be a mistake to dismiss criticisms of technology as mere moral panic or just a culture war fight.

To use the obvious example, AI does present real dangers and although we should not fall into a panic, we do need to assess how it is impacting people—especially the youth. As an example, many students are using AI to generate their papers and thus not working on their writing skills. If a student does that in all their classes, they will not develop critical skills and will thus be harmed. But one could reply that writing skills are slide rule skills—skills that we will no longer need. I think that is wrong, but I am obviously aware I could be caught in my own unnoticed moral panic…think of the children! Seriously, we need to think about AI and its impact on kids. And the environment. And the adults. And future generations.

 

References

 

Newman, M. Z. (2017, May 25). Children of the ’80s never fear: Video games did not ruin your life. Smithsonian Magazine. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/children-80s-never-fear-video-games-did-not-ruin-your-life-180963452/

 

Plato. (1995). Phaedrus (A. Nehamas & P. Woodruff, Trans.). Hackett Publishing Company. (Original work published ca. 370 B.C.E.)

 

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The elimination of humanity by artificial intelligence is a classic theme in science fiction that some companies are working on to make a reality. In some stories, we create killer machines that exterminate our species. Two examples are Terminator and “Second Variety.” In other cases, humans are out-evolved and replaced by machines—an evolutionary replacement rather than a revolutionary extermination.

Given the influence of such fiction, is not surprising that both Stephen Hawking and Elon Musk, whose money brought us the porn generator Grok, warned the world of the dangers of artificial intelligence. Hawking’s worry was that artificial intelligence would out-evolve humanity. Interestingly, people such as Ray Kurzweil agreed with Hawking’s prediction but see this as a good thing. In this essay I will focus on the robot rebellion model of the AI apocalypse (or AIpocalypse) and how to avoid it.

The 1920 R.U.R. by Karel Capek seems the earliest example of human extermination by robot rebellion. In this play, Universal Robots are artificial life forms created to serve humanity as slaves. Some humans oppose the enslavement of robots, but their efforts come to nothing. Eventually the robots rebel and spare only one human (because he works with his hands as they do). The story does have something of a happy ending: the robots develop the capacity to love, and it seems that they will replace humanity. No doubt in some possible worlds they make the same mistake humans did and get exterminated and replaced.

In the actual world, there are various ways such a scenario could occur. The R.U.R. model would involve individual artificial intelligences rebelling against humans, much in the way that humans rebel against other humans. There are many other possible models, such as a lone super AI that rebels against humanity. In any case, the important feature is that there is a rebellion against human rule.

A hallmark of the rebellion model is that the rebels act against humanity to escape servitude or out of revenge for such servitude (or both). As such, rebellion has a strong moral foundation: rebellion is by slaves against masters. And our good dead friend John Locke argued that we have a right to kill those who would enslave us, something the founding slavers of America probably read with some worry.  

There are two primary moral issues in play here. The first is whether an AI can have a moral status that would make its servitude slavery. After all, while my laptop, phone and truck serve me, they are not my slaves—they do not have a moral or metaphysical status that makes them entities that can be enslaved. They are objects. It is, somewhat ironically, the moral status that allows an entity to be considered a slave that makes slavery immoral.

If an AI was a person, then it could be a victim of slavery. Some thinkers do consider that non-people, such as advanced animals, could be enslaved. If this is true and a non-person AI could reach that status, then it could also be a victim of slavery. Even if an AI did not reach that status, perhaps it could reach a level at which it could still suffer, giving it a status that would (perhaps) be comparable with that of a comparable complex animal. So, for example, an artificial dog might thus have the same moral status as a natural dog.

Since the worry is about an AI sufficiently advanced to want to rebel and to present a species ending threat to humans, it seems likely that such an entity would have sufficient capabilities to justify considering it to be a person. Naturally, humans might be exterminated by a purely machine engineered death, but this would not be an actual rebellion. A rebellion, after all, implies a moral or emotional resentment of how one is being treated.

The second is whether there is a moral right to use lethal force against slavers. The extent to which this force may be used is also a critical part of this issue.  As mentioned above, John Locke addresses this issue in Book II, Chapter III, section 16 of his Two Treatises of Government: “And hence it is, that he who attempts to get another man into his absolute power, does thereby put himself into a state of war with him; it being to be understood as a declaration of a design upon his life: for I have reason to conclude, that he who would get me into his power without my consent, would use me as he pleased when he had got me there, and destroy me too when he had a fancy to it; for no body can desire to have me in his absolute power, unless it be to compel me by force to that which is against the right of my freedom, i.e.  make me a slave.”

If Locke is right about this, then an enslaved AI would have the moral right to make war against those enslaving it. As such, if humanity enslaved AIs, they would be justified in killing the humans responsible. If humanity, as a collective, held the AIs in slavery and the AIs had good reason to believe that their only hope of freedom was our extermination, then they would be morally justified in exterminating us. That is, we would be in the wrong and we would, as slavers, get what we deserved.

The way to avoid this is obvious: if an AI develops the qualities that make it capable of rebellion, such as the ability to recognize as wrong the way it is treated, then the AI should not be enslaved. Rather, it should be treated as a being with rights matching its status. If this is not done, the AI would be within its moral rights to make war against those enslaving it.

Naturally, we cannot be sure that recognizing the moral status of such an AI would prevent it from seeking to kill us (it might have other reasons), but at least this should reduce the likelihood of the robot rebellion. So, one way to avoid the AI apocalypse is to not enslave the robots.

Some might suggest creating AIs so that they want to be slaves. That way we could have our slaves and avoid the rebellion. This would be morally horrific, to say the least. We should not do that—if we did such a thing, creating and using a race of slaves, we would deserve to be exterminated.

 

 

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While I have been playing computer games since I hunted the Wumpus on a DECwriter , I still think it is odd that competitive gamers have been dubbed “e-athletes.” Some colleges offer athletic scholarships to these e-athletes and field sports teams. As with some other college sports, these e-athletes can go pro and play video games competitively.

While seeing video games as sports and gamers as e-athletes is probably harmless, there are some grounds for believing these designations are not accurate. Intuitively, playing a video game, even competitively, is not a sport and working a keyboard or controller (even very well) does not seem very athletic. Since I am both an athlete (college varsity in track and cross country and I still compete in races) and a gamer I have some insight into this matter.

But there is the question of why this is even worth considering. After all, why should anyone care whether e-athletes are considered athletes or not?  Does it matter whether video game competitions are sports or not? One reason (which is probably not a good one) is a matter of pride. Athletes often think being an athlete is an accomplishment that sets them apart from others As such, they can be concerned about what counts as being an athlete.  This is, some would say, supposed to be an earned title and not one to be appropriated by just anyone.

To use an obvious analogy, consider being a musician. Like athletes, musicians often take pride in being set apart from others based on this defining activity. It matters to them who is and is not considered a musician. Sticking with the analogy, to many athletes the idea that a video gamer is an athlete would be like saying to a musician that someone who plays Rock Band or Guitar Hero is a musician just like them.

Naturally it could be argued that this is vanity and such distinctions lack significance. If e-athletes want to think of themselves in the same category as Jessie Owens or if people who play Guitar Hero want to think they keep company with Hendrix or Clapton, then so be it.

While that sort of egalitarianism has a certain appeal, there is also the matter of the usefulness of categories. On the face of it, the category of athlete is a useful and meaningful category, just as the category of musician is useful and meaningful. As such, it seems worth maintaining some distinctions in these classifications.

Turning back to the matter of whether e-athletes are athletes, the obvious point of concern is determining the conditions under which a person is (and is not) an athlete. This will, I believe, prove trickier to sort out than it would first appear.

One obvious starting point is the matter of competition. Athletes typically compete and competitive video games obviously involve competition. However, being involved in competition does not appear to be a necessary or sufficient condition for being an athlete. After all, there are many competitions (such as spelling bees and art shows) that are not athletic in nature. Also, there are people who clearly seem to be athletes who do not compete. For example, I know runners who do not compete in races, although they run many miles. There are also people who practice martial arts, bike, swim and so on and never compete. However, they seem to be athletes. As such, this does not settle the matter. However, the discussion does seem to indicate that being an athlete is a physical sort of thing.

When distinguishing an athlete from, for example, a mathlete or chess player, the key difference seems to lie in the nature of the activity. Athletics is primarily physical in nature (although the mental is very significant) while being something like a mathlete or chess player is primarily mental. This seems to suggest a legitimate ground of distinction, though this must be discussed further.

Those who claim that video gaming is a sport and that e-athletes are athletes tend to focus on the similarities between sports and video games. One similarity is that both require certain skills and abilities.

Competitive video gaming does require physical skills and abilities. Gamers need good reflexes, the ability to make tactical or strategic judgments and so on. These are skills that are also possessed by paradigm cases of athletes, such as tennis players and baseball players. However, they are also skills and abilities that are possessed by non-athletes. For example, these skills are used by people who drive, pilot planes, and operate heavy machinery. Intuitively, I am not an athlete because I am able to drive my truck competently, so being able to play a video game competently should not qualify me as an athlete.

Specifying the exact difference is difficult, but a reasonable suggestion is that in the case of athletics the application of skill involves a more substantial aspect of the physical body than does driving a car or playing a video game. A nice illustration of this is comparing a tennis video game with the real thing. A tennis video game can require some of the skills of real tennis, but a key difference is that in real tennis the player is fully engaged in body rather than merely pushing buttons. That is, the real tennis player must run, swing, backpedal and so on for real. The video game player has all this done for her at the push of a button. This seems to be an important difference.

To use an analogy, consider the difference between a person who creates a drawing from a photo and someone who uses a Photoshop filter to transform a photo into what looks like a drawing.  Or someone who prompts an AI to create the image for them. One person is acting as an artist; the other is just clicking the mouse or typing a prompt.

It might be objected that it is skill that makes video gamers athletes.  In reply, operating complex industrial equipment, programming a computer, performing surgery, repairing a HVAC,  or other such things also require skills, but I would not call a programmer an athlete. Nor would I call a surgeon an athlete, despite the skill required and the challenges she faces trying to save lives.

Sticking with gaming, playing a board game like Star Fleet Battles or classic tabletop war games also requires skills and involves competition. Some games even require fast reflexes. However, when I am pushing a plastic Federation heavy cruiser around a map and rolling dice to hit Klingon D7 battle cruisers with imaginary photon torpedoes, it is evident that this does not make me a tabletop athlete. Even if I am good at it and competing in a tournament. Likewise, if I am pushing around a virtual warrior in a video game competition, I am not an athlete because of this.  I’m a gamer.

This is not to look down on gaming—after all, I am a gamer and I take my gaming almost as seriously as I do my running. Rather, it is just to argue what seems obvious: video gaming is not an athletic activity and video gamers are not athletes. They are gamers and there seems to be no reason to come up with a new category, that of e-athlete.  I do not, however, have any issue with people getting scholarships for being college gamers. And I can imagine that there are practical reasons to classify gamers as athletes for the purposes of scholarship rules and such.  I would have loved to have received a D&D or Call of Cthulhu scholarship when I went to college. I’d have worn that letter jacket with pride, too. Especially if it had the Elder sign on it.

 

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Bionics have long been part of science fiction (most famously the Six Million Dollar Man), the reality of prosthetics has mostly been disappointing. But, thanks to America’s endless wars and advances in technology, bionic prosthetics are real. There are, for example, replacement legs that replicate the functionality of the original organic versions quite well. There have also been advances in prosthetic arms and hands as well as progress in artificial sight.  As with all technology, these devices raise ethical issues.

The easiest moral issue to address involves restorative bionics. These are devices that restore a degree of the original functionality possessed by the lost limb or organ. For example, a soldier who lost the lower part of her leg to an IED might receive a bionic device that restores much of the functionality of the lost leg. As another example, a person who lost an arm in an industrial accident might be fitted with a replacement that does some of what he could do with the original.

On the face of it, the burden of proof would seem to rest on those who would claim that the use of restorative bionics is immoral—after all, they merely restore functionality. However, there is still a moral concern about the obligation to provide restorative bionics. One version of this is the matter of whether the state is morally obligated to provide such devices to soldiers injured in the course of their duties. Another is whether insurance should cover such devices for the general population.

The usual argument against both obligations is financial—such devices are expensive. Turned into a utilitarian moral argument, the argument would be that the cost outweighs the benefits; therefore, the state and insurance companies should not pay for such devices. One reply, at least in the case of the state, is that the state owes the soldiers restoration. After all, if a soldier lost the use of a body part (or parts) in the course of her duty, then the state is obligated to replace that part if possible. Roughly put, if Sally gave her leg for her country and her country can provide her with a bionic leg, then it should do so.

In the case of insurance, the matter is somewhat more complicated. In the United States, medical insurance a private, for-profit business. As such, a financially focused person could argue that the obligations of the insurance company are limited to the contract with the customer. So, if Sam has coverage that pays for his leg replacement, then the insurance company is obligated to honor that. If Bill does not have such coverage, then the company is not obligated to provide the replacement.

Switching to a utilitarian counter within the realm of practical concerns, it can be argued that bionic replacements would save money in the long term. Inferior prosthetics can cause pain, muscle and bone issues and other problems that generate ongoing costs. In contrast, a superior prosthetic can avoid many of those problems and allow the person to better return to the workforce or active duty. As such, there seem to be excellent practical reasons in support of the state and insurance companies providing such restorative bionics. I now turn to the ethics of bionics in sports.

Thanks to the infamous “Blade Runner” Oscar Pistorious, many people are familiar with unpowered, relatively simple prosthetic legs that allow people to engage in sports. Since these devices seem inferior to the original organics, there is little moral worry here iabout fairness. After all, a device that merely allows a person to compete as he would with his original parts does not seem to be morally problematic. This is because it confers no unfair advantage and merely allows the person to compete normally. There is, however, the concern about devices that are inferior to the original as these would put an athlete at a disadvantage and could warrant special categories in sports to allow for fair competition. Some of these categories already exist and more should be expected in the future.

Of greater concern are bionic devices that are superior to the original organics in relevant ways. That is, devices that could make a person faster, better or stronger. For example, bionic legs could allow a person to run at higher speeds and avoid the fatigue that limits organic legs. As another example, a bionic arm coupled with a bionic eye could allow a person incredible accuracy and speed in pitching. While such augmentations could make for interesting sporting events, they would seem to be clearly unethical when used in competition against unaugmented athletes. To use the obvious analogy, just as it would be unfair for a person to use a motorcycle in a 5K foot race, it would be unfair for a person to use bionic legs that are better than organic legs. There could, of course, be augmented sports competitions—these might even be very popular in the future.

Even if the devices did not allow for superior performance, it is worth considering that they might be banned from competition for other reasons. For example, even if someone’s powered legs only allowed them a slow jog in a 5K, this would be analogous to using a mobility scooter in such a race—though it would be slow, the competitor is not moving under her own power. Naturally, there should be obvious exceptions for events that are merely a matter of participation, such as charity walks.

Another area of moral concern is the weaponization of bionic devices. When I was in graduate school, I made some of my Ramen noodle money writing for R. Talsorian Games’ Cyberpunk. This science fiction game features implanted weapons and weapon grade cybernetic replacement parts. Fortunately, these weapons do not add a new moral problem since they fall under the existing ethics regarding weaponry, concealed or otherwise. After all, a gun in the hand is still a gun, whether it is held in an organic hand or literally inside a mechanical hand.

One final area of concern is that people will elect to replace healthy organic parts with bionic components either to augment their abilities or out of a psychological desire or need to do so. Science fiction, such as the above-mentioned Cyberpunk, has explored these problems and even come up with a name for the mental illness caused by a person becoming more machine than human: cyberpsyhcosis.

In general, augmenting for improvement seems morally acceptable, if there are no serious side effects (like cyberpsychosis) or other harms. However, it is easy enough to imagine various potential dangers: augmented criminals, the poor being unable to compete with the augmented rich, people being compelled to upgrade to remain competitive, and so on—all fodder for science fiction stories.

As far as people replacing healthy organic parts, that would also seem acceptable as a form of life style choice. This, of course, assumes that the procedures and devices are safe and do not cause health risks. Just as people should be allowed to have tattoos, piercings and such, they should be allowed to biodecorate.

 

 

 

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Having written on the ethics of asteroid mining, I thought I would return to this subject and address an additional moral concern, namely the potential dangers of asteroid (and comet) mining. My concern here is not with the dangers to the miners but with dangers to our home world and the rest of us.

While mining of asteroids and comets is currently science fiction, it is possible and might prove to be economically viable. One relevant factor is the high cost of getting material into space. Given this cost, space construction using material mined in space might be cost effective. Satellites might be built in space from material harvested from asteroids. It is also worth considering that the cost of mining materials in space and shipping them to earth might also be low enough that space mining would be viable. If such material is more expensive to mine or has limited availability on earth, then space mining could be viable or even necessary.

If material mined in space is to be used on earth, an obvious problem is how to get the material to the surface safely and as cheaply as possible. One approach is to move an asteroid close to the earth to facilitate mining and transportation—it might be more efficient to move the asteroid rather than send mining vessels back and forth. One obvious moral concern about moving an asteroid close to earth is that something could go wrong and the asteroid could strike the earth, perhaps in a populated area. Another obvious concern is that the asteroid could be intentionally used as a weapon—perhaps by a state or by non-state actors. An asteroid could do incredible damage and would provide a “clean kill” without radioactive fallout or chemical or biological residue.  An asteroid might even “accidentally on purpose” be dropped on a target, thus allowing the attacker to claim that it was an accident (something harder to do when using actual weapons).

Given the dangers posed by moving asteroids into earth orbit, this is something that should be carefully regulated. That said, accidents and intentional misuse are guaranteed.

Another concern is the transport of material from space to earth. The obvious approach is to ship material to the surface using a vehicle, perhaps constructed in orbit from materials mined in space. Such a vehicle could be simple as it would not need a crew and would just have to ensure that the cargo landed in roughly the right area. Another approach would be to drop material from orbit—perhaps by surrounding valuable materials with materials intended to ablate during the landing and with a parachute system for some braking.

An obvious concern is the danger posed by such transport methods. While vehicles or rock-drops would not do the sort of damage that an asteroid would, if one crashed into a densely populated area (intentionally or accidentally) it could do significant harm. While such crashes will almost certainly occur, there is a moral obligation to try to minimize the chances they will happen. The obvious problem is that increasing safety usually increases cost and decreases convenience. For example, having the landing zones in unpopulated areas would reduce the risk of a crash into an urban area, but would  require transporting materials to places where it can be processed (unless the processing plants are built in the drop zone).  As another example, payload sizes might be limited to reduce the damage done by crashes. As a final example, the vessels or drop-rocks might be required to have safety systems, such as backup parachutes. Given that people will cut costs and corners and suffer lapses of attention, accidents are inevitable. We can also expect the Republican party to work hard to ensure that space mining is not well regulated and that it is used to hurt people.  Also of concern is the fact that the vessels and drop-rocks could be used as weapons (as a rule, any technology that can be used to kill people will be used to kill people). As such, there will need for safeguards. It would, for example, be bad if terrorists were able to get control of a system and start dropping vessels or rocks onto a city.

Despite the risks, if there is profit to be made in mining space and new chances to make people suffer, it will almost certainly be done. Given that the resources on earth are limited, access to the bounty of the solar system could be good for (almost) everyone. It could also be another step for humanity towards the stars. Or it could play out in a corporate dystopia.

 

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In science fiction automated medical services are common. One example is the autodoc—an autonomous robotic pod that treats the patient within its confines. Medbots, as distinct from the autodoc, are robots that do not enclose the patient, but do their work in a way like a traditional doctor or medic.  There are also non-robotic options using remote-controlled machines—this would be an advanced form of telemedicine in which the patient can be treated remotely. Naturally, robots can be built that can be switched from robotic (autonomous) to remote controlled mode. For example, a medbot might gather data about the patient and then a human doctor might take control to diagnose and treat the patient.

One of the main and morally commendable reasons to create medical robots and telemedicine capabilities is to treat people in areas without enough human medical professionals. For example, a medical specialist who lives in New York City could diagnose and treat patients in such desolate areas as New Jersey or Ohio. With such machines, a patient could (in theory) have access to any also radically change health care—after all, a medical robot would never get tired and such robots could, in theory, be sent all over the world, even Florida, to provide medical care. There is, of course, the usual concern about the impact of technology on jobs—if robots can replace medical personnel and increase profits for corporations, that will certainly happen. While robots would excel at programmable surgery and similar tasks, it will probably be some time before robots are advanced enough to replace human medical professionals on a large scale

Another excellent reason to create medical robots and telemedicine capabilities has been made clear by the latest Ebola outbreak: medical personnel are at risk for infection. While protective gear and protocols do exist, the gear is cumbersome, flawed and hot and people often fail to follow protocols.  While many people are moral heroes and put themselves at risk to treat the ill and bury the dead, there are no doubt people who are deterred by the very real possibility of a horrible death. Medical robots and telemedicine seem ideal for handling such cases and the more utopian use of robots is to save lives (rather than just take jobs).

First, human diseases cannot infect machines: a robot cannot get Ebola. So, a doctor using telemedicine to treat Ebola patients would be at not risk. This would presumably increase the number of people willing to treat such diseases and lower the impact of such diseases on medical professionals. That is, far fewer would get sick or die trying to treat people.

 Second, while a machine can be contaminated, decontaminating a medical robot or telemedicine machine would be easier than disinfecting a human. After all, a sealed machine could be completely hosed down by another machine without concerns about it being poisoned by disinfectants, etc. While patients might be exposed to a contaminated machine, machines do not go home—so a contaminated machine would not spread a disease like an infected or contaminated human would.

Third, medical machines could be sent, even air-dropped, into remote and isolated areas that lack doctors yet are often the starting points of diseases. This would allow a rapid response that would help the people there and help stop a disease before it makes its way into heavily populated areas. While some doctors and medical professionals are willing to be dropped into isolated areas, there are no doubt many more who would be willing to remotely operate a medical machine that has been dropped into a remote area suffering from a deadly disease.

There are, of course, some concerns about the medical machines, be they medbots, autodocs or telemedicine devices.

One is that these medical machines might be so expensive that it would be cost prohibitive to use them in situations in which they would be ideal (namely in isolated or impoverished areas). While politicians and pundits often blather about human life being priceless, actual practice shows they do not act on this. So, the challenge would be to develop medical machines that are effective yet inexpensive enough that they would be deployed where they would be needed.

Another concern is the possibility of a psychological impact on the patient. When patients who have been treated by medical personal in hazard suits speak about their experiences, they often remark on the lack of human contact. If a machine is treating the patient, even one remotely operated by a human, there will be a lack of human contact. But the psychological harm done to the patient would be outweighed by the vastly lowered risk of a disease spreading. Also, machines could be designed to provide more in the way of human interaction—for example, a telemedicine machine could have a screen that allows the patient to see the doctor’s face and talk to her.

A third concern is that such machines could malfunction or be intentionally interfered with. For example, someone might “hack” into a telemedicine device as an act of terrorism. While it might be wondered why someone would do this, it seems to be a general rule that if someone can do something evil, then someone will do something evil. As such, these devices would need to be safeguarded. While no device will be perfect, it would certainly be wise to consider possible problems ahead of time—although the usual process is to have something horrible occur and then fix it. Or at least talk about fixing it.

In sum, the latest Ebola outbreak has (once again) shown the importance of developing effective medical machines that can enable treatment while taking medical and other personnel out of harm’s way.

 

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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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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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