Ethics, Literature, Philosophy

Book Review: Utilitarianism for and against (Part 1)

Utilitarianism for and against is an interesting little book. It’s comprised of back-to-back ~70 page essays, one in favour of utilitarianism and one opposed. As an overview, it’s hard to beat something like this. You don’t have to rely on one scholar to give you her (ostensibly fair and balanced) opinion; you get two articulate philosophers arguing their side as best they can. Fair and balanced is by necessity left as an exercise to the reader (honestly, it always is; here at least it’s explicit).

I’m going to cover the “for” side first. The “against” side will be in later blog post. Both reviews are going to assume that you have some understanding of utilitarianism. If you don’t, go read my primer. Or be prepared to Google. I should also mention that I have no aspirations of being balanced myself. I’m a utilitarian; I had much more to disagree with on the “against” side than on the “for” side.

Professor J.J.C Smart makes the arguments in favour of utilitarianism. According to his Wikipedia entry, he was known for “outsmarting” his opponents, that is to say, accepting the conclusions of their reductio ad absurdum arguments with nary a shrug. He was, I’ve gathered, not one for moral intuitions. His criticism of rule utilitarianism played a role in its decline and he was influential in raising the next crop of Australian utilitarians, among whom Peter Singer is counted. As near as I can tell, he was one of the more notable defenders of utilitarianism when this volume was published in 1971 (although much of his essay dates back a decade earlier).

Smart is emphatically not a rationalist (in the philosophical sense); he writes no “proof of utilitarianism” and denies that such a proof is even possible. Instead, Smart restricts himself to explaining how utilitarianism is an attractive ethical system for anyone possessed of general benevolence. Well, I’ll say “everyone”. The authors of this volume seem to be labouring under the delusion that only men have ethical dilemmas or the need for ethical systems. Neither one of them manages the ethicist’s coup of realizing that women might be viewed as full people at the remove of half a century from their time of writing (such a coup would perhaps have been strong evidence of the superiority of one philosophy over another).

A lot of Smart’s essay consists of showing how various different types of utilitarianism are all the same under the hood. I’ve termed these “collapses”, although “isomorphisms” might be a better term. There are six collapses in all.

The very first collapse put me to mind of the famous adage about ducks. If it walks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it is a duck. By the same token, if someone acts exactly how a utilitarian in their position and with their information would act, then it doesn’t matter if they are a utilitarian or not. From the point of view of an ethical system that cares only about consequences they may as well be.

The next collapse deals with rule utilitarianism and may have a lot to do with its philosophical collapse. Smart points out that if you are avoiding “rule worship”, then you will face a quandary when you could break a rule in such a way as to gain more utility. Rule utilitarians sometimes claim that you just need rules with lots of exceptions and special cases. Smart points out that if you carry this through to its logical conclusion, you really are only left with one rule, the meta-rule of “maximize expected utility”. In this way, rule utilitarianism collapses into act utilitarianism.

Next into the compactor is the difference between ideal and hedonic utilitarians. Briefly, ideal utilitarians hold that some states of mind are inherently valuable (in a utilitarian sense), even if they aren’t particularly pleasant from the inside. “Better Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied” is the rallying cry of ideal utilitarians. Hedonic utilitarians have no terminal values beyond happiness; they would gladly let almost the entirety of the human race wirehead.

Smart claims that while these differences are philosophically large, they are practically much less meaningful. Here Smart introduces the idea of the fecundity of a pleasure. A doctor taking joy (or grim satisfaction) in saving a life is a much more fecund pleasure than a gambler’s excitement at a good throw, because it brings about greater joy once you take into account everyone around the actor. Many of the other pleasures (like writing or other intellectual pursuits) that ideal utilitarians value are similarly fecund. They either lead to abatement of suffering (the intellectual pursuits of scientists) or to many people’s pleasure (the labour of the poet). Taking into account fecundity, it was better for Smart to write this essay than to wirehead himself, because many other people – like me – get to enjoy his writing and have fun thinking over the thorny issues he raises.

Smart could have stood to examine at greater length just why ideal utilitarians value the things they do. I think there’s a decent case to be made that societies figure out ways to value certain (likely fecund) pleasures all on their own, no philosophers required. It is not, I think, that ideal utilitarians have stumbled onto certain higher pleasures that they should coax their societies into valuing. Instead, their societies have inculcated them with a set of valued activities, which, due to cultural evolution, happen to line up well with fecund pleasures. This is why it feels difficult to argue with the list of pleasures ideal utilitarians proffer; it’s not that they’ve stumbled onto deep philosophical truths via reason alone, it’s that we have the same inculcations they do.

Beyond simple fecundity though, there is the fact that the choice between Socrates dissatisfied and a fool satisfied rarely comes up. Smart has a great line about this:

But even the most avid television addict probably enjoys solving practical problems connected with his car, his furniture, or his garden. However unintellectual he might be, he would certainly resist the suggestion the he should, if it were possible, change places with a contented sheep, or even a happy and lively dog.

This boils down to: ‘ideal utilitarians assume they’re a lot better than everyone else, what with their “philosophical pursuits”, but most people don’t want purely mindless pleasures’. Combined, these ideas of fecundity and hidden depths, point to a vanishingly small gap between ideal and hedonistic utilitarians, especially compared to the gap between utilitarians and practitioners of other ethical systems.

After dealing with questions of how highly we should weigh some pleasures, Smart turns to address the idea of some pleasures not counting at all. Take, for example, the pleasure that a sadist takes in torturing a victim. Should we count this pleasure in our utilitarian moral calculus? Smart says yes, for reasons that again boil down to “certain pleasures being viewed as bad are an artifact of culture; no pleasure is intrinsically bad.

(Note however that this isn’t the same thing as Smart condoning the torture. He would say that the torture is wrong because the pleasure the sadist gains from it cannot make up for the distress of the victim. Given that no one has ever found a real live utility monster, this seems a safe position to take.)

In service of this, Smart presents a thought experiment. Imagine a barren universe inhabited by a single sentient being. This sentient being wrongly believes that there are many other inhabitants of the universe being gruesomely tortured and takes great pleasure in this thought. Would the universe be better if the being didn’t derive pleasure from her misapprehension?

The answer here for both Smart and me is no (although I suspect many might disagree with us). Smart reasons (almost tautologically) that since there is no one for this being to hurt, her predilection for torture can’t hurt anyone. We are rightfully wary of people who unselfconsciously enjoy the thought of innocents being tortured because of what it says about what their hobbies might be. But if they cannot hurt anyone, their obsession is literally harmless. This bleak world would not be better served by its single sentient inhabitant quailing at the thought of the imaginary torture.

Of course, there’s a wide gap between the inhabitant curled up in a ball mourning the torture she wrongly believes to be ongoing and her simple ambivalence to it. It seems plausible that many people could consider her ambivalence preferable, even if they did not wish her to be sad. But imagine then the difference being between her lonely and bored and her satisfied and happy (leaving aside for a moment the torture). It is clear here which is the better universe. Given a way to move from the universe with a single bored being to the one with a single fulfilled being, shouldn’t we take it, given that the shift most literally harms no one?

This brings us to the distinction between intrinsically bad pleasures and extrinsically bad pleasures – the flip side of the intrinsically more valuable states of mind of the ideal utilitarian. Intrinsically bad pleasures are pleasures that for some rationalist or metaphysical reason are just wrong. Their rightness or wrongness must of course be vulnerable to attacks on the underlying logic or theology, but I can hardly embark on a survey of common objections to all the common underpinnings; I haven’t the time. But many people have undertaken those critiques and many will in the future, making a belief in intrinsically bad pleasures a most unstable place to stand.

Extrinsically bad pleasures seem like a much safer proposition (and much more convenient to the utilitarian who wishes to keep their ethical system free of meta-physical or meta-ethical baggage). To say that a pleasure is extrinsically bad is simply to say that to enjoy it causes so much misery that it will practically never be moral to experience it. Similar to how I described ideal utilitarian values as heavily culturally influenced, I can’t help but feel that seeing some pleasures as intrinsically bad has to be the result of some cultural conditioning.

If we can accept that certain pleasures are not intrinsically good or ill, but that many pleasures that are thought of as intrinsically good or ill are thought so because of long cultural experience – positive or negative – with the consequences of seeking them out, then we should see the position of utilitarians who believe that some pleasures cannot be counted in the plus column collapse to approximately the same as those who hold that they can, even if neither accepts the position of the other. The utilitarian who refuses to believe in intrinsically bad pleasures should still condemn most of the same actions as one who does, because she knows that these pleasures will be outweighed by the pains they inflict on others (like the pain of the torture victim overwhelming the joy of the torturer).

There is a further advantage to holding that pleasures cannot be intrinsically wrong. If we accept the post-modernists adage that knowledge is created culturally, we will remember to be skeptical of the universality of our knowledge. That is to say, if you hold a list of intrinsically bad pleasures, it will probably not be an exhaustive list and there may be pleasures whose ill-effects you overlook because you are culturally conditioned to overlook them. A more thoughtful utilitarian who doesn’t take the short-cut of deeming some pleasures intrinsically bad can catch these consequences and correctly advocate against these ultimately wrong actions.

The penultimate collapse is perhaps the least well supported by arguments. In a scant page, Smart addresses the differences between total and average happiness in a most unsatisfactory fashion. He asks which of two universes you might prefer: one with one million happy, healthy people, or one with twice as many people, equally happy and healthy. Both Smart and I feel drawn to the larger universe, but he has no arguments for people who prefer the smaller. Smart skips over the difficulties here with an airy statement of “often the best way to increase the average happiness is to increase the total happiness and vice versa”.

I’m not entirely sure this statement is true. How would one go about proving it?

Certainly, average happiness seems to miss out on the (to me) obvious good that you’d get if you could have twice as many happy people (which is clearly one case where they give different answers), but like Smart, I have trouble coming up with a persuasive argument why that is obviously good.

I do have one important thing myself to say about the difference between average and total happiness. When I imagine a world with more people who are on average less happy than the people that currently exist (but collectively experience a greater total happiness) I feel an internal flinch.

Unfortunately for my moral intuitions, I feel the exact same flinch when I image a world with many fewer people, who are on average transcendentally happy. We can fiddle with the math to make this scenario come out to have greater average and total happiness than the current world. Doesn’t matter. Exact same flinch.

This leads me to believe that my moral intuitions have a strong status quo bias. The presence of a status quo bias in itself isn’t an argument for either total or average utilitarianism, but it is a reminder to be intensely skeptical of our response to thought experiments that involve changing the status quo and even to be wary of the order that options are presented in.

The final collapse Smart introduces is that between regular utilitarians and negative utilitarians. Negative utilitarians believe that only suffering is morally relevant and that the most important moral actions are those that have the consequence of reducing suffering. Smart points out that you can raise both the total and average happiness of a population by reducing suffering and furthermore that there is widespread agreement on what reduces suffering. So Smart expects utilitarians of all kinds (including negative) to primarily focus on reducing suffering anyway. Basically, despite the profound philosophical differences between regular and negative utilitarians, we should expect them to behave equivalently. Which, by the very first collapse (if it walks like a duck…), shows that we can treat them as philosophical equivalents, at least in the present world.

In my experience, this is more or less true. Many of the negative utilitarians I am aware of mainly exercise their ethics by donating 10% of their income to GiveWell’s most effective charities. The regular utilitarians… do the exact same. Quack.

As far as I can tell, Smart goes to all this work to show how many forms of utilitarianism collapse together so that he can present a system that isn’t at war with itself. Being able to portray utilitarianism as a simple, unified system (despite the many ways of doing it) heads off many simple criticisms.

While I doubt many people avoided utilitarianism because there are lingering questions about total versus average happiness, per se, these little things add up. Saying “yes, there are a bunch of little implementation details that aren’t agreed upon” is a bad start to an ethical system, unless you can immediately follow it up with “but here’s fifty pages of why that doesn’t matter and you can just do what comes naturally to you (under the aegis of utilitarianism)”.

Let’s talk a bit about what comes naturally to people outside the context of different forms of utilitarianism. No one, not even Smart, sits down and does utilitarian calculus before making every little decision. For most tasks, we can ignore the ethical considerations (e.g. there is broad, although probably not universal agreement that there aren’t hidden moral dimensions to opening a door). For some others, our instincts are good enough. Should you thank the woman at the grocery store checkout? You probably will automatically, without pausing to consider if it will increase the total (or average) happiness of the world.

Like in the case of thanking random service industry workers, there are a variety of cases where we actually have pretty good rules of thumb. These rules of thumbs serve two purposes. First, they allow us to avoid spending all of our time contemplating if our actions are right or wrong, freeing us to actually act. Second, they protect us from doing bad things out of pettiness or venality. If you have a strong rule of thumb that violence is an inappropriate response to speech you disagree with, you’re less likely to talk yourself into punching an odious speaker in the face when confronted with them.

It’s obviously important to pick the right heuristics. You want to pick the ones that most often lead towards the right outcomes.

I say “heuristics” and “rules of thumbs” because the thing about utilitarians and rules is that they always have to be prepared to break them. Rules exist for the common cases. Utilitarians have to be on guard for the uncommon cases, the ones where breaking a rule leads to greater good overall. Having a “don’t cause people to die” rule is all well and good. But you need to be prepared to break it if you can only stop mass death from a runaway trolley by pushing an appropriately sized person in front of it.

Smart seems to think that utilitarianism only comes up for deliberative actions, where you take the time to think about them and that it shouldn’t necessarily cover your habits. This seems like an abrogation to me. Shouldn’t a clever utilitarian, realizing that she only uses utilitarianism for big decisions spend some time training her reflexes to more often give the correct utilitarian solution, while also training herself to be more careful of her rules of thumb and think ethically more often? Smart gave no indication that he thinks this is the case.

The discussion of rules gives Smart the opportunity to introduce a utilitarian vocabulary. An action is right if it is the one that maximizes expected happiness (crucially, this is a summation across many probabilities and isn’t necessarily the action that will maximize the chance of the happiest outcome) and wrong otherwise. An action is rational if a logical being in possession of all the information you possess would think you to be right if you did it. All other actions are irrational. A rule of thumb, disposition, or action is good if it tends to lead to the right outcomes and bad if it tends to lead to the wrong ones.

This vocabulary becomes important when Smart talks about praise, which he believes is an important utilitarian concern in its own right. Praise increases people’s propensity towards certain actions or dispositions, so Smart believes a utilitarian aught to consider if the world would be better served by more of the same before she praises anything. This leads to Smart suggesting that utilitarians should praise actions that are good or rational even if they aren’t right.

It also implies that utilitarians doing the right thing must be open to criticism if it requires bad actions. One example Smart gives is a utilitarian Frenchman cheating on wartime rationing in 1940s England. The Frenchman knows that the Brits are too patriotic to cheat, so his action (and the actions of the few others that cheat) will probably fall below the threshold for causing any real harm, while making him (and the other cheaters) happier. The calculus comes out positive and the Frenchman believes it to be the right action. Smart acknowledges that this logic is correct, but he points out that by the similar logic, the Frenchman should agree that he must be severely punished if caught, so as to discourage others from doing the same thing.

This actually reminds me of something Hannah Arendt brushed up against in Eichmann in Jerusalem while talking about how the moral constraints on people are different than the ones on states. She gives the example of Soghomon Tehlirian, the Armenian exile who assassinated one of the triumvirate of Turkish generals responsible for the Armenian genocide. Arendt believes that it would have been wrong for the Armenian government to assassinate the general (had one even existed at the time), but that it was right for a private citizen to do the deed, especially given that Tehlirian did not seek to hide his crimes or resist arrest.

From a utilitarian point of view, the argument would go something like this: political assassinations are bad, in that they tend to cause upheaval, chaos, and ultimately suffering. On the other hand, there are some leaders who the world would clearly be better off without, if not to stop their ill deeds in their tracks, then to strike fear and moderation into the hearts of similar leaders.

Were the government of any country to carry out these assassinations, it would undermine the government’s ability to police murder. But when a private individual does the deed and then immediately gives herself up into the waiting arms of justice, the utility of the world is increased. If she has erred in picking her target and no one finds the assassination justified, then she will be promptly punished, disincentivizing copy-cats. If instead, like Tehlirian, she is found not guilty, it will only be because the crimes committed by the leader she assassinated were so brutal and clear that no reasonable person could countenance them. This too sends a signal.

That said, I think Smart takes his distinctions between right and good a bit too far. He cautions against trying to change the non-utilitarian morality of anyone who already tends towards good actions, because this might fail half-way, weakening their morality without instilling a new one. Likewise, he is skeptical of any attempt to change the traditions of a society.

This feels too much like trying to have your cake and eat it too. Utilitarianism can be criticized because it is an evangelical ethical system that gives results far from moral intuitions in some cases. From a utilitarian point of view, it is fairly clearly good to have more utilitarians willing to hoover up these counter-intuitive sources of utility. If all you care about are the ends, you want more people to care about the best ends!

If the best way to achieve utilitarian ends wasn’t through utilitarianism, then we’re left with a self-defeating moral system. In trying to defend utilitarianism from the weak critique that it is pushy and evangelical, both in ways that are repugnant to all who engage in cultural or individual ethical relativism and in ways that are repugnant to some moral intuitions, Smart opens it up to the much stronger critique that it is incoherent!

Smart by turns seems to seek to rescue some commonly held moral truths when they conflict with utilitarianism while rejecting others that seem no less contradictory. I can hardly say that he seems keen to show utilitarianism is in fact in harmony with how people normally act – he clearly isn’t. But he also doesn’t always go all (or even part of) the way in choosing utilitarianism over moral intuitions

Near the end of the book, when talking about a thought experiment introduced by one McCloskey, Smart admits that the only utilitarian action is to frame and execute an innocent man, thereby preventing a riot. McCloskey anticipated him, saying: “But as far as I know, only J.J.C. Smart among the contemporary utilitarians is happy to adopt this ‘solution'”.

Smart responds:

Here I must lodge a mild protest. McCloskey’s use of the work ‘happy’ surely makes me look a most reprehensible person. Even in my most utilitarian moods, I am not happy about this consequence of utilitarianism… since any injustice causes misery and so can be justified only as the lesser of two evils, the fewer the situation in which the utilitarian is forced to choose the lesser of two evils, the better he will be pleased.

This is also the man who said (much as I have) that “admittedly utilitarianism does have consequences which are incompatible with the common moral consciousness, but I tended to take the view ‘so much the worse for the common moral consciousness’.”

All this leaves me baffled. Why the strange mixture? Sometimes Smart goes far further than it seems any of his contemporaries would have. Other times, he stops short of what seems to me the truly utilitarian solution.

On the criticism that utilitarianism compels us always in moral action, leaving us no time to relax, he offers two responses. The first is that perhaps people are too unwilling to act and would be better served by being more spurred on. The second is that it may be that relaxing today allows us to do ten times the good tomorrow.

(Personally, I expect the answer is both. Many people could do more than they currently do, while many others risk burnout unless they relax more. There is a reason the law of equal and opposite advice exists. Different people need to hear different things.)

But take this and his support for rules of thumb on one side and his support for executing the innocent man, or long spiel on how a bunch of people wireheading wouldn’t be that bad (a spiel that convinced me, I might add) and I’m left with an unclear overall picture. As an all-is-fine defence of utilitarianism, it doesn’t go far enough. As a bracing lecture about our degenerate non-utilitarian ways, it also doesn’t go far enough.

Leaving, I suppose, the sincere views of a man who pondered utilitarianism for much longer than I have. Chance is the only reason that makes sense. This would imply that sometimes Smart gives a nod to traditional morality because he’s decided it aligns with his utilitarian ethics. Other times, he disagrees. At length. Maybe Smart is a man seeking to rescue what precious moral truths he can from the house fire that is utilitarianism.

Perhaps some of my confusion comes from another confusion, one that seems to have subtly infected many utilitarians. Smart is careful to point out that the atomic belief underlying utilitarianism is general benevolence. Benevolence, note, is not altruism. The individual utilitarian matters just as much – or as little – as everyone else. Utilitarians in Smart’s framework have no obligation to run themselves ragged for another. Trading your happiness for another’s will only ever be an ethically neutral act to the utilitarian.

Or, I suspect, the wrong one. You are best placed to know yourself and best placed to create happiness for yourself. It makes sense to include some sort of bias towards your own happiness to take this into account. Or, if this feels icky to you, you could handle it at the level of probabilities. You are more likely to make yourself happy than someone else (assuming you’ve put some effort towards understanding what makes you happy). If you are 80% likely to make yourself happy for an evening and 60% likely to make someone else happy, your clear utilitarian duty is to yourself.

This is not a suggestion to go become a hermit. Social interactions are very rarely as zero sum as all that. It might be that the best way to make yourself happy is to go help a friend. Or to go to a party with several people you know. But I have seen people risk burnout (and have risked it myself) by assuming it is wrong to take any time for themselves when they have friends in need.

This is all my own thoughts, not Smart’s. For all of his talk of utilitarianism, he offers little advice on how to make it a practically useful system. All too often, Smart retreats to the idea of measuring the total utility of a society or world. This presents a host of problems and begs two important questions.

First, can utility be accurately quantified? Smart tries to show that different ways of measuring utility should be roughly equivalent in qualitative terms, but it is unclear if this follows at a quantitative level. Stability analysis (where you see how sensitive your result is to different starting assumptions) is an important tool for checking the veracity of conclusions in engineering projects. I have a hunch that quantitatively, utilitarian results to many problems will be highly unstable when a variety of forms of utilitarianism are tried.

Second, how should we deal with utility in the future? Smart claims that beyond a certain point we can ignore side effects (as unintended good side effects should cancel out unintended ill side effects; this is especially important when it comes to things like saving lives) but that doesn’t give us any advice on how we can estimate effects.

We are perhaps saved here by the same collapse that aligned normal utilitarians with negative utilitarians. If we cannot quantify joy, we can sure quantify misery. Doctors can tell you just how much quality of life a disease can sap (there are tables for this), not to mention the chances that a disease might end a life outright. We know the rates of absolute poverty, maternal deaths, and malaria prevalence. There is more than enough misery in the world to go around and certainly utilitarians who focus on ending misery do not seem to be at risk of being out an ethical duty any time in the near future.

(If ending misery is important to you, might I suggest donating a fraction of your monthly income to one of GiveWell’s top recommended charities? These are the charities that most effectively use money to reduce suffering. If you care about maximizing your impact, GiveWell is a good way to do it.)

Although speaking of the future, I find it striking how little utilitarianism has changed in the fifty-six years since Smart first wrote his essay. He pauses to comment on the risk of a recursively self-improving AI and talk about the potential future moral battles over factory farming. I’m part of a utilitarian meme group and these are the same topics people joke about every day. It is unclear if these are topics that utilitarianism predisposes people to care about, or if there was some indirect cultural transmission of these concerns over the intervening years.

There are many more gems – and frustrations in Smart’s essay. I can’t cover them all without writing a pale imitation of his words, so I shan’t try any more. As an introduction to the different types of utilitarianism, this essay was better than any other introduction I’ve read, especially because it shows all of the ways that various utilitarian systems fit together.

As a defense of utilitarianism, it is comprehensive and pragmatic. It doesn’t seek to please everyone and doesn’t seek to prove utilitarianism. It lays out the advantages of utilitarianism clearly, in plain language, and shows how the disadvantages are not as great as might be imagined. I can see it being persuasive to anyone considering utilitarianism, although in this it is hampered by its position as the first essay in the collection. Anyone convinced by it must then read through another seventy pages of arguments against utilitarianism, which will perhaps leave them rather less convinced.

As a work of academic philosophy, it’s interesting. There’s almost no meta-ethics or meta-physics here. This is a defense written entirely on its own, without recourse to underlying frameworks that might be separately undermined. Smart’s insistence on laying out his arguments plainly leaves him little room to retreat (except around average vs. total happiness). I’ve always found this a useful type of writing; even when I don’t agree, the ways that I disagree with clearly articulated theses can be illuminating.

It’s a pleasant read. I’ve had mostly good luck reading academic philosophy. This book wasn’t a struggle to wade through and it contained the occasional amusing turn of phrase. Smart is neither dry lecturer nor frothing polemicizer. One is put almost in the mind of a kindly uncle, patiently explaining his way through a complex, but not needlessly complicated subject. I highly recommend reading it and its companion.

Ethics, Philosophy

Against Moral Intuitions

[Content Warning: Effective Altruism, the Drowning Child Argument]

I’m a person who sometimes reads about ethics. I blame Catholicism. In Catholic school, you have to take a series of religion courses. The first two are boring. Jesus loves you, is your friend, etc. Thanks school. I got that from going to church all my life. But the later religion classes were some of the most useful courses I’ve taken. Ever. The first was world religions. Thanks to that course, “how do you know that about [my religion]?” is a thing I’ve heard many times.

The second course was about ethics, biblical analysis, and apologetics. The ethics part hit me the hardest. I’d always loved systematizing and here I was exposed to Very Important Philosophy People engaged in the millennia long project of systematizing fundamental questions of right and wrong under awesome sounding names, like “utilitarianism” and “deontology”.

In the class, we learned commonly understood pitfalls of ethical systems, like that Kantians have to tell the truth to axe murderers and that utilitarians like to push fat people in front of trains. This introduced me to the idea of philosophical thought experiments.

I’ve learned (and wrote) a lot more about ethics since those days and I’ve read through a lot of thought experiments. When it comes to ethics, there seems to be two ways a thought experiment can go; it can show that an ethical system conflicts with our moral intuitions, or it can show that an ethical system fails to universalize.

Take the common criticism of deontology, that the Kantian moral imperative to always tell the truth applies even when you could achieve a much better outcome with a white lie. The thought experiment that goes with this point asks us to imagine a person with an axe intent on murdering our best friend. The axe murderer asks us where our friend can be found and warns us that if we don’t answer, they’ll kill us. Most people would tell the murderer a quick lie, then call the police as soon as they leave. Deontologists say that we must not lie.

Most people have a clear moral intuition about what to do in a situation like that, a moral intuition that clashes with what deontologists suggest we should do. Confronted with this mismatch, many people will leave with a dimmer view of deontology, convinced that it “gets this one wrong”. That uncertainty opens a crack. If deontology requires us to tell the truth even to axe murderers, what else might it get wrong?

The other way to pick a hole in ethical systems is to show that the actions that they recommend don’t universalize (i.e. they’d be bad if everyone did them). This sort of logic is perhaps most familiar to parents of young children, who, when admonishing their sprogs not to steal, frequently point out that they have possessions they cherish, possessions they wouldn’t like stolen from them. This is so successful because most people have an innate sense of fairness; maybe we’d all like it if we could get away with stuff that no one else could, but most of us know we’ll never be able to, so we instead stand up for a world where no one else can get away with the stuff we can’t.

All of the major branches of ethics fall afoul of either universalizability or moral intuitions in some way.

Deontology (doing only things that universalize and doing them with pure motives) and utilitarianism (doing whatever leads to the best outcomes for everyone) both tend to universalize really well. This is helped by the fact that both of these systems treat people as virtually interchangeable; if you are in the same situation as I am, these ethical systems would recommend the same thing for both of us. Unfortunately, both deontology and utilitarianism have well known cases of clashing with moral intuitions.

Egoism (do whatever is in your self-interest) doesn’t really universalize. At some point, your self-interest will come into conflict with the self-interest of other people and you’re going to choose your own.

Virtue ethics (cultivating virtues that will allow you to live a moral life) is more difficult to pin down and I’ll have to use a few examples. On first glance, Virtue ethics tends to fit in well with our moral intuitions and universalizes fairly well. But virtue ethics has as its endpoint virtuous people, not good outcomes, which strikes many people as the wrong thing to aim for.

For example, a utilitarian may consider their obligation to charity to exist as long as poverty does. A virtue ethicist has a duty to charity only insofar as it is necessary to cultivate the virtue of charity; their attempt to cultivate the virtue will run the same course in a mostly equal society and a fantastically unequal one. This trips up the commonly held moral intuition that the worse the problem, the greater our obligation to help.

Virtue ethics may also fail to satisfy our moral intuitions when you consider the societal nature of virtue. In a world where slavery is normalized, virtue ethicists often don’t critique slavery, because their society has no corresponding virtue for fighting against the practice. This isn’t just a hypothetical; Aristotle and Plato, two of the titans of virtue ethics defended slavery in their writings. When you have the meta moral intuition that your moral intuitions might change over time, virtue ethics can feel subtly off to you. “What virtues are we currently missing?” you may ask yourself, or “how will the future judge those considered virtuous today?”. In many cases, the answers to these questions are “many” and “poorly”. See the opposition to ending slavery, opposition to interracial marriage, and opposition to same-sex marriage for salient examples.

It was so hard for me to attack virtue ethics with moral intuitions because virtue ethics is remarkably well suited for them. This shouldn’t be too surprising. Virtue ethics and moral intuitions arose in similar circumstances – small, closely knit, and homogenous groups of humans with very limited ability to affect their environment or effect change at a distance.

Virtue ethics work best when dealing with small groups of people where everyone is mutually known. When you cannot help someone half a world away, it really only does matter that you have the virtue of charity developed such that a neighbour can ask for your help and receive it. Most virtue ethicists would agree that there is virtue in being humane to animals – after all, cruelty to other animals often shows a penchant for cruelty to humans. But the virtue ethics case against factory farming is weak from the perspective of the end consumer. Factory farming is horrifically cruel. But it is not our cruelty, so it does not impinge on our virtue. We have outsourced this cruelty (and many others) and so can be easily virtuous in our sanitized lives.

Moral intuitions are the same way. I’d like to avoid making any claims about why moral intuitions evolved, but it seems trivially true to say that they exist, that they didn’t face strong negative selection pressure, and that the environment in which they came into being was very different from the modern world.

Because of this, moral intuitions tend to only be activated when we see or hear about something wrong. Eating factory farmed meat does not offend the moral intuitions of most people (including me), because we are well insulated from the horrible cruelty of factory farming. Moral intuitions are also terrible at spurring us to action beyond our own immediate network. From the excellent satirical essay Newtonian Ethics:

Imagine a village of a hundred people somewhere in the Congo. Ninety-nine of these people are malnourished, half-dead of poverty and starvation, oozing from a hundred infected sores easily attributable to the lack of soap and clean water. One of those people is well-off, living in a lovely two-story house with three cars, two laptops, and a wide-screen plasma TV. He refuses to give any money whatsoever to his ninety-nine neighbors, claiming that they’re not his problem. At a distance of ten meters – the distance of his house to the nearest of their hovels – this is monstrous and abominable.

Now imagine that same hundredth person living in New York City, some ten thousand kilometers away. It is no longer monstrous and abominable that he does not help the ninety-nine villagers left in the Congo. Indeed, it is entirely normal; any New Yorker who spared too much thought for the Congo would be thought a bit strange, a bit with-their-head-in-the-clouds, maybe told to stop worrying about nameless Congolese and to start caring more about their friends and family.

If I can get postmodern for a minute, it seems that all ethical systems draw heavily from the time they are conceived. Kant centred his deontological ethics in humanity instead of in God, a shift that makes sense within the context of his time, when God was slowly being removed from the centre of western philosophy. Utilitarianism arose specifically to answer questions around the right things to legislate. Given this, it is unsurprising that it emerged at a time when states were becoming strong enough and centralized enough that their legislation could affect the entire populace.

Both deontology and utilitarianism come into conflict with our moral intuitions, those remnants of a bygone era when we were powerless to help all but the few directly surrounding us. When most people are confronted with a choice between their moral intuitions and an ethical system, they conclude that the ethical system must be flawed. Why?

What causes us to treat ancient, largely unchanging intuitions as infallible and carefully considered ethical systems as full of holes? Why should it be this way and not the other way around?

Let me try and turn your moral intuitions on themselves with a variant of a famous thought experiment. You are on your way to a job interview. You already have a job, but this one pays $7,500 more each year. You take a short-cut to the interview through a disused park. As you cross a bridge over the river that bisects the park, you see a child drowning beneath you. Would you save the child, even if it means you won’t get the job and will have to make due with $7,500 less each year? Or would you let her drown and continue on the way to your interview? Our moral intuitions are clear on this point. It is wrong to let a child die because we wish to more money in our pockets each year.

Can you imagine telling someone about the case in which you don’t save the child? “Yeah, there was a drowning child, but I’ve heard that Acme Corp is a real hard-ass about interviews starting on time, so I just waltzed by her.” People would call you a monster!

Yet your moral intuitions also tell you that you have no duty to prevent the malaria linked deaths of children in Malawi, even you would be saving a child’s life at exactly the same cost. The median Canadian family income is $76,000. If a family making this amount of money donated 10% of their income to the Against Malaria Foundation, they would be able to prevent one death from malaria every year or two. No one calls you monstrous for failing to prevent these deaths, even though the costs and benefits are exactly the same. Ignoring the moral worth of people halfway across the world is practically expected of us and is directly condoned by our distance constrained moral intuitions.

Your moral intuitions don’t know how to cope with a world where you can save a life half the world away with nothing more than money and a well-considered donation. It’s not their fault. They didn’t develop for this. They have no way of dealing with a global community or an interconnected world. But given that, why should you trust the intuitions that aren’t developed for the situation you find yourself in? Why should you trust an evolutionary vestige over elegant and well-argued systems that can gracefully cope with the realities of modern life?

I’ve chosen utilitarianism over my moral intuitions, even when the conclusions are inconvenient or truly terrifying. You can argue with me about what moral intuitions say all you want, but I’m probably not going to listen. I don’t trust moral intuitions anymore. I can’t trust anything that fails to spur people towards the good as often as moral intuitions do.

Utilitarianism says that all lives are equally valuable. It does not say that all lives are equally easy to save. If you want to maximize the good that you do, you should seek out the lives that are cheapest to save and thereby save as many people as possible.

To this end, I’ve taken the “Try Giving” pledge. Last September, I promised to donate 10% of my income to the most effective charities for a year. This September, I’m going to take the full Giving What We Can pledge, making my commitment to donate to the most effective charities permeant.

If utilitarianism appeals to you and you have the means to donate, I’d like to encourage you to do the same.

Epistemic Status: I managed to talk about both post-modernism and evolutionary psychology, so handle with care. Also, Ethics.

Philosophy

Cutting the Gordian Knot: Bad Solutions to Good Paradoxes

Russel’s Paradox

Image Credit: Donald on Flickr

In a village, the barber shaves everyone who does not shave himself, but no one else. Who shaves the barber.

Imagine The Barber as similar to The Pope. When he is in his shop, cutting hair, he is The Barber and has all of the powers that entails, just as The Pope only possesses the full power of papacy when speaking “from the chair”. When The Barber isn’t manifesting this mantle, he’s just Glen, the nice fellow down the lane. Glen shaves his own beard. The Barber therefore doesn’t have to.

Alternatively, the barber is a woman.

Omnipotence Paradox

Image Credit: Tim Green on Flickr

Can God create a rock so large that he himself cannot lift it?

It depends.

In Christian theology, God is often considered all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving. Some theologians dispute each of these, but most agree he has at least some mix of those three attributes. It turns out the answer to this paradox depends on which theologians are right.

This question is only interesting if god is all-powerful. If God isn’t all powerful, then this question will be determined by which is greater: his power of creation, or his power to manipulate creation. That’s a boring answer, so let’s focus on the cases where God is all powerful.

If God is all-knowing, then we’ll probably be left unsatisfied. God will know if he can or cannot create the boulder, so he’ll probably feel no need to test if he can.

If God is not all-knowing but is all-loving, then the question will only be answered if God cannot lift the first boulder he creates. If he can lift the first one, he will quickly realize that he could end up spending all of eternity trying to make a big enough boulder on the off chance that this is the one he finally cannot lift. An all-loving God would not abandon his flock for such a meaningless task, so we’ll never see the answer.

If God is neither all-knowing nor all-loving and has at least a bit of curiosity, then we should be able to eventually observe him trying to create a boulder large enough that he cannot lift it. This God won’t know the answer and wouldn’t necessarily care that finding out requires abandoning all of his other duties.

Given that this question was first posed right before the crusades, I believe that we’re experiencing the third scenario. The mere act of raising this paradox caused God to turn his face away from the world and worry about more interesting problems than those caused by a bunch of jumped up apes.

Zeno’s Paradox

Image Credit: Miranche on Wikimedia Commons

If you want to go somewhere, you first have to get halfway there. But to get to the midpoint, you have to go a quarter of the way. But to get to a quarter… When you subdivide like this, you’ll see that there are an infinite number of steps you must take to go anywhere. You cannot accomplish an infinite number of tasks in a finite time, therefore, movement is impossible.  

It’s a common mistake that space is infinitely sub-dividable. In fact, there is a limit to how finely you can cut space. You cannot cut the universe more finely than 1.61x 10-35m, a length called the Planck Length. The Planck length is to the width of a hair as the width of a hair is to the whole universe. It’s an unimaginably tiny length.

An important property of halving things: you get really small numbers very quickly. If you halve a distance of 1m a mere 116 times, you’ll have cut the distance as finely as it is possible to cut anything. At this point, you can halve the distance no more and you can proceed to your destination, one Planck length at a time.

Sorites Paradox

Image Credit: David Stanley on Flickr

There is a pile of sand in front of you. If you remove a grain of sand from it, it will still be a pile. If you remove another, it will still be a pile. But if you keep removing them, eventually it won’t be. When does it stop being a pile?

I’m emailing ISO and the NIST about this one. I expect to have an answer after ten years and three hundred committee meetings.

The Ship of Theseus

Image Credit: Verity Cridland on Flickr

The Athenian Theseus bequeathed his ship to the city. As the ship aged, the Athenians kept it in perfect condition by replacing any planks and fittings that rotted away. Eventually, the entire ship had been replaced. This caused all of the philosophers in Athens to wonder: was it still Theseus’s Ship.

We could leave this one to ISO as well, but luckily as a Canadian I have another recourse.

The Comprehensive Economic and Trade Agreement between the EU (of which Greece is a member) and Canada considers a car “Made in Canada” or “Made in Europe” if at least 50% of the car came from there and at least 20% of the manufacturing occurred there.

Treating boats with a similar logic, we can see that as long as the Athenians were using local materials and labour (and weren’t outsourcing to the Persians or Phoenicians), the ship would count as “Made in Greece”. Since the paradox specifically states that the Athenians were doing all the restoring, this is probably a safe assumption.

If we take this and assume that Theseus had a solid grounding in trademark law – which would allow us to assume that he made his ship a protected brand like Harris Tweed, Kobe beef, Navaho, and Scotch – then we can see that the ship would still fall under the Theseus’s Ship™ brand. Most protected brands require a certain geographic origin, but we’ve already been over that in this case.

Even when philosophers argue that the boat is no longer Theseus’s Ship, they have to admit it is Theseus’s Ship™.

Unexpected Hanging Paradox

Image Credit: Adam Clarke on Flickr

A prisoner is sentenced to hanging by a judge. The judge stipulates that the sentence will be carried out on one of the days in the next week, that it will be carried out before noon, and that it must be a surprise to the prisoner.

The prisoner smirks, believing he will never be hung. He knows that if it is Thursday at noon and he hasn’t been hung, then the hanging would have to be on Friday. But then it wouldn’t be a surprise. So logically, he has to be hung before Friday. If this is the case though, he can’t be hung on Thursday, because if he hasn’t been hung by noon on Wednesday then a hanging on Thursday won’t be a surprise. Following through this logic, the prisoner could only be hung on the Monday. But then it will be no surprise at all!

This is indeed a problem if the judge is as good at logic as the prisoner. But if the judge remains blissfully unaware of logical induction, there is no paradox here. The judge will assume that by picking a day at random she can surprise the prisoner. The prisoner will no doubt be quite surprised when he is hung.

This becomes more likely if we set the problem in America, where some judges are elected and therefore aren’t governed by anything so limiting as qualifications.

Ethics, Philosophy, Politics

What use a Monopoly on Violence?

Remember Horseshoe Theory? It’s the observation that in many ways, the extremist wings of political movements resemble each other more than centrists or their more moderate brethren. We see this in anti-Semitism, for example. In any given week this year, you’re about as likely to see anti-Semitism come from Stormfront… or the British Labour Party.

I’ve been thinking about horseshoe theory in light of another issue: the police. Let me explain.

Like most denizens of the internet, I’ve been exposed to libertarians of various persuasions. One common complaint I’ve seen among these libertarians is a belief that the state has an illegitimate monopoly on violence. This is most frequently bundled with calls to abolish the police in specific and government in general. Now I see calls to abolish the police coming from the left.

I disagree strongly with calls to abolish the police. It’s not that I’m a great fan of the police: I’m a member of the Canadian Civil Liberties Union and I believe in strong checks and balances on law enforcement power. It’s just that one lesson we’ve learned repeatedly over the past century is that radical change to public institutions rarely goes smoothly. We should always remember caution when people suggest tearing up everything we already know without really planning for what will happen next.

So despite high profile incidents of unjustified police violence, I support the state’s monopoly on the means of violence. Beyond simple caution, here are my reasons.

Convenience

Violence has been with us forever. War is rightfully one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, one of those four almost primal forces responsible for killing so many humans. Trying to reduce violence is important. But it isn’t the only fight. Any policy proposal sees diminishing returns. Beyond a certain point, effort that could be spent reducing violence could more effectively improve lives through other means (for example, by fighting malaria, or global warming).

We could reduce violence conducted by the state by abolishing the police. But state violence is a useful lever for other policy priorities. Trying to reach other goals (like economic equality or public order) are often worth some risk of state violence.

This process of trading-off must be undertaken by each body politic, as willingness to tolerate risk differs between countries. Canada, America, and Switzerland, for example, all have accepted higher rates of gun violence than other developed countries in exchange for more freedom to own and use firearms.

People generally have a right to own whatever they want to own. People also have a right not to be randomly shot. With guns, these two rights can be in conflict. The more people who have guns, the more likely I am to be randomly shot. Society has to come together and negotiate a trade-off between these two rights that they can (collectively) stomach. The weird thing about these negotiated trade-offs is that they can look ridiculous, even from inside of one (ask any American liberal how they feel about gun rights and you’ll see what I mean). It is certainly possible to have values such that no amount of firearm ownership is justifiable if it leads to deaths. Just as it is possible to have values such that no amount of intoxicant usage is permissible if it leads to death. [1]

Like intoxicants or guns, society must negotiate on the amount of violence it will permit. These negotiations are most convenient when they can be done with a single organization, or a single umbrella group. Consider, for example, the relative difficultly of abolishing the death penalty (one form of violence undertaken by states) in Singapore, America, and Syria.

In Singapore, abolishing the death penalty would be relatively simple (not to be confused with easy). There is one organization (the city-state) with an absolute monopoly on violence. To abolish the death penalty, lobbyists can focus their effort on one group of people. They will probably be opposed, because any organization who wishes to keep the death penalty will also know exactly who to lobby. This isn’t so much a strength or weakness as it is the endpoint of yet another negotiation. Singapore has chosen a system of government where people only need to worry about one set of rules. This is a sensible choice for a small, densely populated island without a lot of local variation.

In America, there are fifty-one authorities that must be lobbied in order to abolish the death penalty. Each state has a limited monopoly on violence solely within its borders (and therefore controls crime and punishment within them). But there is also a federal government that has a separate limited monopoly on violence, in this case, violence across state lines or against the union as a whole. In such a system, it is perhaps easier for opponents of certain types of violence to see them abolished in one region or another (see, for example, the death penalty in Massachusetts), but much harder to see it abolished across the nation as a whole.

I should mention that this isn’t just a matter of scale or population size. Canada is also a federal democracy, but the monopoly on violence is held solely by the federal government. Therefore, there was only one organization that had to be convinced to end the death penalty.

Imagine now trying to abolish the death penalty in Syria. You would have to negotiate with the Assad Regime, the Kurds, Daesh, Al-Nusra, and the scores of small rebel groups that hold and administer territory. Not only will you face difficulty in each negotiation, you will face difficulty even trying to negotiate, because there is no umbrella organization with the means to force smaller subdivisions of political power to allow you freedom of movement or guarantee minimum rights. This is a different situation than in America, where the federal government uses (what is ultimately) the threat of violence to ensure that states allow the free flow of commerce, ideas, and people.

A single organization (or set of franchises) with a monopoly on violence doesn’t just make it easier to target specific cases of violence. It can in fact reduce the overall amount of violence in a society simply by virtue of existing. This is the other reason that Syria sees much more violence than polities where there is an organization that holds a monopoly on violence. As long as no organization exists to use the threat of violence to force other actors to refrain from violence – to jealously guard its own monopoly on violence, as it is – then these actors will use violence in disagreements with each other.

In a civil war, the central government loses its monopoly on violence and other actors attempt to use violence to gain their own monopoly. We see the same pattern of increasing violence in the Mexican Drug Trade. Aggressive government enforcement broke cartel monopolies on local violence, allowing for various groups to fight to attempt to create their own hegemony.

In the context of police violence, having one group to negotiate with is extremely useful. It means that there’s only one battle to be fought. And in constitutional democracies, it gives reformers a powerful weapon by way of the court system. The courts may force (using the threat of violence) individual police departments to conform to certain practices. Imagine a country instead with only private security forces and a court system without access to the threat of violence. It would be impossible to enforce any rulings on these private security forces.

Abolishing the police will not abolish people’s desire for protection. Leftists should be scared of unaccountable private security firms. Anyone who loves peace and order should be scared of the conflicts between these firms.

17th Century Philosophy

There is a very short list of political philosophers whose works have shaped and guided revolutions. To have written works that inspire such drastic change in society doesn’t require or even suggest correctness. But it does suggest an understanding of the values that people hold closest to their hearts.

The 17th century English philosopher John Locke is on that list. I’ve written about Locke in the context of justice before, but his ruminations on the state of nature are also applicable here.

During Locke’s life, there was open debate among philosophers as to the “state of nature” – the shape human existence would take without government or laws. The state of nature was an artificial construct. It shares more with the ideal zero energy state used in molecular dynamics simulations than it does with prehistorical societies; it’s a baseline to compare political arrangements with, much as zero energy states are a baseline to compare molecular arrangements with.

Hobbes famously claimed that in the state of nature life was “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short” – a war of all against all. On the other hand, Jean-Jacques Rousseau believed that the state of nature was the only state of true freedom; to him it was much preferable to life in the eighteenth century.

John Locke held a different view. He believed that the state of nature was generally pleasant – in the state of nature, all people had the rights “to order their actions, and dispose of their possessions and persons, as they think fit, within the bounds of the law of nature.” These “natural laws” might be broken by some people, Locke reasoned, at which point all people would have a right to punish them for their transgressions (as you can see, Locke was a Christian philosopher and his work is riddled with references to The Almighty; a less religious appeal to natural law would be an appeal to the moral impulses that seem to be more or less universal).

Locke did see one problem with this set-up. In most cases, those most likely to pursue justice would be the aggrieved party. While Locke believed that natural law gave everyone a right to punish wrongdoers, he also believed that in practice punishment would come from those they wronged. Locke understood that people were imperfect and not always capable of mercy nor proportionality. So Locke reasoned that justice could not exist without society and the people society appoints to mete it out.

Locke’s judges would by necessity need some force of bailiffs to assist them. There is an enormous amount of practical tasks that need to be done for judges to do their jobs. Suspects must be apprehended and interrogated, witnesses interviewed, physical evidence collected, and crimes investigated. These tasks must also be undertaken by someone other than the aggrieved party for there to be any chance at fairness. This is where police come in.

I don’t believe that the police are the only thing preventing us from existing in Hobbes’s state of nature. People are basically good and just. But they are also flawed and imperfect, closer to monkeys than gods. I also don’t believe in Rousseau’s claims of an earthly paradise; institutions do too much good for me to believe that life would improve without them (although, had I lived when he did, I may have felt differently). Locke, Locke I believe got it right. Without government, most people would be good, help their neighbours, and continue as they always had. But some people would take what isn’t theirs or hurt others.

I’ve heard total equality bandied about as a solution to the problem of violence and theft in the absence of the police. The logic goes that if everyone had total equality, we wouldn’t need police. This isn’t a real solution. Inequality currently exists. There is no way to redistribute possessions that isn’t coercive. You’re not going to convince Peter Thiel to give away his possessions out of the goodness of his heart (he doesn’t have one, except in the literal sense). The only way to force him to give money away is through the threat of force. This is impossible without an organization capable of carrying through on that threat. All legislation, whether it’s criminal law, CO2 emissions targets, or consumer protection, relies ultimately on the threat of violence against those who don’t follow it. Redistributive legislation – taxation – is no different.

Perhaps we could achieve equality and then abolish the police. But equality is a disequilibrium. Even if all skills were equally in demand (they aren’t) and all people equally capable of work (they aren’t), innate differences in desire for work or possessions would remain. Some people would work more – and presumably be rewarded more – than others. Even at the height of collectivism in communist Russia, with private ownership of any means of production outlawed, people found ways to game the system or took to the black market to accrue wealth. Equality can’t last without someone to enforce it, violently if it comes to that. You can call these enforcers whatever you want, but they will always be essentially ‘the police’.

Leaving that problem aside, there is no evidence that equality would stop all crime. In a society that undergoes radical transformation, there would be sore losers, willing to fight to get their old power back. There would also be all the crime that has nothing to do with wealth or possessions. Equality can’t stop murders committed by jealous spouses, road rage, hate crimes, vicious bullying, and a host of other crimes that draw their motive from something other than worldly possessions.

So this society without police would have to deal with crime. John Locke’s theories on the state of nature show us how this would fail. Justice, if it could even be called that, would become a private good, available to those with the resources to pay for it (admittedly, not a problem if you’re violently enforcing equality) or the wherewithal to do it themselves.

But would it really be justice? If society wanted to maximize the number of wrongdoers it punished, then it wouldn’t bother with things like “reasonable doubt” or “right to an attorney”. One of the little discussed uses of the police is to make it look like things are being done whenever there is a scare around criminal activity, so as to prevent public panic. Police might authorize extra patrols not to protect the public, but to protect people matching the description of alleged criminals from vigilante “justice”.

Without the police, people would have to seek their own justice. And they’d do it poorly. Given that society (at least, every society I know of) is racist, can we really expect individual people to do it any better than the police? Imperfect due process (and I know the due process counts for far less when you aren’t white) is surely better than none. Without the police, people of colour face a nation of George Zimmermans.

Recent Statistics

FiveThirtyEight.com has looked at violent crime data out of Chicago after the video of Laquan McDonald’s murder was released. They found a (statistically) significant increase in violent crimes, correlated with a decrease in proactive police behaviour (here measured by a decrease in police patrols and stops). They weren’t able to tease out the root cause of the decrease in proactive policing (it could have been the release of the new video or an increase in the amount of paperwork officers now must do after interacting with the public). The increase in violent crime bucks seasonal trends and can’t be blamed on a warmer than average winter – winters even warmer than the last one have seen no large spike in deaths.

This should not be surprising in light of the earlier sections. When the police are proactive, it is clear that the state has a monopoly on violence and is willing to use it. But as the police retreat and arrests go down, we see both the effects of different groups competing to fill the void and reprisal killings (which are much more difficult when suspects are behind bars).

I don’t wish to say that the answer to all violent crime is more police patrols and more random stops. As the FiveThirtyEight article points out, there are costs associated with proactive policing. Sometimes police tactics labelled as proactive are also unconstitutional. Opposing unconstitutional police tactics – even if they reduce violence – is one of the trade-offs around violence I discussed earlier and one I strongly endorse. If alienation, segregation, and police violence is the price we pay for a reduction in violence through proactive policing, then I would believe it to be a price not worth paying. Some police tactics should be off the table in a free and democratic society, even if they provide short term gains.

But if, on the other hand, proactive policing saves lives without damaging communities and breeding alienation, then I would oppose rolling back these policies. One article in a newspaper – even one renowned for its statistical acumen – isn’t enough to drive public policy. More research on the costs and benefits of various policing programs, including controlled studies is desperately needed. To this end, the lack of a centralized police shooting database in the United States is both a national tragedy and a national disgrace.

A Legitimate State Monopoly Over the Means of Violence

The modern definition of a state acknowledges that it must have a monopoly on the means of violence within a territory. Without this monopoly, a state is powerless to do most of the things we associate with a state. It cannot enforce contracts or redistribute wealth. It cannot protect the environment or private property rights. I have yet to see a single serious policy proposal that adequately addresses how these could be accomplished without police.

This is all not to say that the current spate of police shootings is tolerable or should be tolerated. Free and open societies can and must expect better behaviour from those they empower with the ability to use violence in undertaking the aims of the state.

As citizens of a free and democratic society, we should continue to pressure our leaders to accept and perpetrate less violence. But we also must acknowledge that the bedrock our society is built on is the threat of physical force. This doesn’t make our society inherently illegitimate, but it does mean we must always be contemplative whenever we empower anyone to use that force – even if they’re people we otherwise agree with and especially when force is used primarily against the most vulnerable members of society.

We should fight for a society where the government holds only a legitimate monopoly on the means of violence. Where violence is used only when truly necessary and not a moment sooner. Where security forces are truly subservient to civilian leaders. Where police shootings of unarmed civilians are an aberration, not a regular occurrence. We aren’t there yet. But we could be.

Epistemic Status: Ethics


[1] Trade-offs between different rights are the proper territory of legislation and acknowledging this is separate from the harmful moral relativism that has infected leftist rhetoric on international relations. There is a distinct difference between trade-offs among competing rights and a fearful refusal to acknowledge universal and inalienable human rights.

 

Ethics, Philosophy

Precedent Utilitarianism: A Primer

Preamble

When I first heard about deontology, I was intrigued. Here was an ethical system that could break you, if you weren’t careful. I was young and hadn’t really systematized my morality yet, but I dearly wanted to. I’d just learned about the stages of moral development and I felt a keen need to be at Kohlberg VI.

Time passed and I forgot that systematizing was a goal of mine. While I aimed for consistency across my moral principles, I did this largely blindly, lacking a single meta-principle to guide me.

Last year, I read Eichmann in Jerusalem, A Report on the Banality of Evil, the (in)famous book by Hannah Arendt. The only ethics mentioned in the book is Kantian and Arendt herself is hard to pigeonhole into any one system. But reading the book set my mind afire. By the time I finished it, I knew what kind ethical system I wanted to drive me. I just didn’t have a name for it.

Arendt had shown the weaknesses in deontology, shown how someone who didn’t think, who just followed the right as their society defined it could, with no irony, claim to be a Kantian while committing the most unimaginable crimes. At the same time, Arendt’s response to the judges, her justification for Eichmann’s death felt wrong to me. I never disagreed with Arendt more than when she said: “certain procedures… important in [their] own right can never be permitted to overrule justice, the law’s chief concern.”

I filled up the whole last page of Eichmann in Jerusalem with a cramped response to Arendt. I felt like her conception of justice was little better that vengeance and that justice couldn’t exist without the procedures she just disparaged.

Eichmann in Jerusalem left me with nagging questions and an empty space I yearned to fill. It would be a while before I had my answers.

First and Second Order Utilitarianism

The summer after reading Eichmann in Jerusalem, I flirted with utilitarianism. I wasn’t entirely satisfied with it. It’s not that I mind debating torture vs. dust specks or trying to select a value function. My problems were partially caused by the fact that I’m a romantic and utilitarianism is cold and utilitarian. But it’s also that I continue to worry about systems and precedents. For me, too many discussions about utilitarianism stick to the object level. I wanted to talk about the ripple effects of every decision and found often there was no room to.

One day, I found myself looking for high value books to read. One option was Utilitarianism: For and Against, a book I never ended up reading, but which led me obliquely to the concept of precedent utilitarianism. Finally, I had a name to put to the nagging voice inside of my head. I read a quick summary of precedent utilitarianism and knew that I had the ethical system I was looking for.

I’ve previously written an overview of several types of utilitarianism. At the end, I mention that they’re all what I call “first-order utilitarianism”.

Precedent Utilitarianism is a form of second-order utilitarianism. It doesn’t just look at first-order consequences of an action. It looks at the precedents an action sets.

Precedents

I wrote an essay about justice that focused on precedents. In it, I make the claim that “precedent is what changes actions from unprecedented to normal”. This may sound facile or even tautological. But there is a deeper point I’m driving at. For every action now considered normal, there was someone who was the first to do it. In Eichmann in Jerusalem, Hannah Arendt mentions something similar in passing. She believes that that the recurrence of any crime is more likely than its invention.

Many actions are done once, then never again. Or only a few times, by a few isolated groups. Others get repeated and copied until they become the new normal. The Manson family murders did not lead to a sudden outbreak of murderous cults. But the actions of Marius and Sulla led almost directly to the Triumvirate and the unravelling of Roman democracy.

What makes Manson’s actions different than Sulla’s? It isn’t just that murder is more horrific than dictatorship. A cursory glance at the history of the last half-century of ethnic cleansings lends some credence to Arendt’s belief that after the Nazis systematized genocide many others would follow in their footsteps.

Why some crimes and not others? I think the answer to this question lies in part with the influence or charisma of the person setting the precedent. Hitler committed his grievous crimes at the helm of a country. Sulla was surrounded by patricians who wished that it had been them who seized Rome. Charles Manson has been influential in certain underground scenes. But he never led a country or commanded more than thirty people.

So what we currently know about precedents is: they can be set by any action and are more likely to be set by people who command a significant following. Oh and one final thing. In common law jurisdictions, every single judicial ruling sets a legal precedent, which is enforceable on all lower courts within the same jurisdiction. This is the most literal manifestation of a precedent, an action that is inscribed in law as allowed or disallowed, all because someone asked a judge to rule on it.

Precedent Utilitarianism

With the information we just gathered about precedents, we can create a second-order utilitarianism that incorporates them.

In theory, it’s pretty easy. You take whatever value function you prefer to use. You take the proposed action. You feed it into the value function to determine the utility of the action. This is just like first-order utilitarianism.

But in precedent utilitarianism, you then you think about how likely the action is to create a precedent and how many people the precedent could effect. If you’re not famous and you don’t expect your action to be well publicized, then you only need to worry about precedents set among your immediate acquaintances. If you’re the Prime Minister or President of an important country your audience will be considerably larger. And if you intend to defend your actions in the court of law in a common law jurisdiction, you must worry about the specific legal precedents you’ll potentially set. Legal precedents allow actions undertaken by a single person to be at least as momentous as those undertaken by a head of state. Just look at Oakes or Roe.

Once you know the how likely and how large, you need to think about who will use the precedent and how. If you think it is ethical for your preferred politician to cover up wrong-doing because you think there is a lot of utility in her being elected, remind yourself that if she gets away with it (for a while), then she’s set a precedent that may also be used by the politicians you despise.

Given all the people affected by the precedent, their chances of using it for various things, and the potential utility or disutility of these things, you can calculate an updated net utility for the action.

Simple, right?

You may have noticed the problem. Utility function calculations beyond simple QALY evaluations are really hard. Adding in a bunch of hypothetical actions from a bunch of hypothetical people just makes it harder. And if the calculations are already impossible, it doesn’t do you much good to have an even harder set of calculations that you’re supposed to somehow pull off.

Heuristics

Precedent utilitarians (or utilitarians in general) would point out that the correct solution to calculations that literally take forever isn’t to spend forever doing them. There’s an opportunity cost to spending all your time thinking and none of it doing and this cost is considerable. The common solution is to do the best action you can see after a reasonable period of reflection and estimation of utility.

What represents a reasonable amount of time to spend on reflection and a reasonable resolution for the estimation depends on how important the decision is. Decisions about which restaurant to go to should be very quick and simple and largely guided by factors other than morality (for example, your local public health agency’s evaluations, or more reasonably, what kind of food you want to eat). Decisions like “where should I donate ten percent of my income” require a fair amount of reflection. But decisions like: “should we go to war with that dictator” require far more. The more potential there is to influence lives, the more it makes sense to sink resources into determining the optimal actions.

When it doesn’t make sense to spend dozens of hours on contemplation, there are a few simple heuristics that the precedent utilitarian can use.

First: is the action likely lead to an improvement in utility from a first-order utilitarian perspective? If the answer here is no and you don’t have an plausible mechanism for the action setting a precedent that will redeem the negative utility incurred in the first-order analysis, then you should trust the first order analysis and avoid the action.

Second: How potentially harmful is the action if generalized? If your worst enemy did the same thing, would it reduce the utility of the world? If you’re attempting to ban a certain sort of speech, for example, the general class of thing you’re doing is “banning speech”. I think we can all agree that the people we disagree with could ban speech in such a way that it would reduce the utility of the world. But if we’re making it illegal to assault someone, there are few ways that our foes can take “don’t hurt people who don’t want to be hurt” and make it reduce the utility of the world.

In general, the goal here is to consider ways that others acting along the same general principle could help or harm the world.

Third: Consider how strong a precedent you’re setting and how likely it is that others can also advocate along the same general principle now that you’ve made it easier. Remember also that special pleading (“no, you can only act along this principle in the ways we say you can”) and hypocrisy (getting angry at others who are doing the same thing you did, just from a different set of axioms and beliefs about the world) are very off-putting and can turn people against you.

The second heuristic deals with how your precedent can be used against you. The third heuristic with how likely this is to happen.

Fourth: Add this all up. If the precedent you set is safe (very difficult to use to decrease the utility of the world), your power is secure (the precedent is unlikely to be used in ways that you think will decrease utility), you’re unimportant (the precedent isn’t going to be used by anyone else), and your public support is non-fragile (you can survive hypocrisy or special pleading) then you can decide on first-order grounds. If a few of these aren’t true but you stand to gain a lot of utility, it remains safe to decide on first-order grounds. But if none of the conditions are met then it may very well be possible that you’d stand to lose net utility from second order effects. In this case, it probably makes sense to put your plan on hold while you spend more time calculating possible outcomes.

Other Ethical Systems

It’s a safe bet that most people aren’t utilitarians. It’s also true that you will eventually have to interact with people who are both not utilitarians and have different axioms[citation needed]. In both of these cases (but especially the second), it can be hard to productively express and argue about views. Some people avoid this problem entirely by embracing the comforting lie that those who disagree with them do so out of lack of education or stupidity. Alas, this uncharitable explanation is far too often just not the case. Sometimes you’re stuck arguing with someone who has beliefs that are just as internally consistent, logical, and evidence based as yours.

When faced with someone like this, you have options. You can ignore them, making like Spain and Portugal and partitioning the world between you (and then griping to your friends on Reddit/Tumblr about how stupid the other side is). You can fight them, attempting to kill and subjugate them (this one has largely fallen out of style in many places, thank goodness), or you can find common principles that you agree on that will allow you both to live in peace and have mutually beneficial relationships.

Precedent utilitarianism is very well suited to building up systems like liberal democracy, where differing groups can draft a mutually agreeable framework that allows them to live peacefully. Precedent utilitarians naturally look for principles that everyone can agree on and tend to support strong constitutional protections around many classes of actions that don’t affect other people.

On a smaller scale, precedent utilitarianism is useful when you need to convince someone with a different set of axioms or a differing ethical system that you are a reasonable person who is worth listening to. A natural effect of precedent utilitarianism is avoiding (in most cases) special pleading (whether out of desire to not alienate support, or because you’re worried about precedents your actions can set).

Avoiding special pleading makes you look principled. Someone can respect you arguing against one of their proposed plans of action (and give your arguments much more credence) if they’ve also seen you argue against other actions (especially ones they would expect you to support given your axioms) using the same general principle.

For example, if you’re a Catholic and are arguing against having Buddhist prayers at a town hall meeting you’ll have much more credibility if you have previously opposed having Catholic prayers read at town hall meetings (perhaps because you’re worried that it sets a precedent that could lead to other prayers being read, which might lead to less utility in terms of saved Catholic souls). If instead you’d previously argued in favour of Catholic prayers but are now arguing that separation of church and state preclude prayers in meetings, thein no one will take you seriously. Worse, they will probably have assorted ill feelings towards you, making you less effective at convincing them even in unrelated matters.

Practical Examples

I want to give examples of the heuristics I discussed earlier in action. To make this essay interesting to people with a variety of axioms, I’ve picked two examples of legislative interventions proposed by different groups and argued against each intervention using the axioms (as best I understand them) of the people who I’ve observed suggesting it. First I’ll use activist left axioms. Then I’ll try and pass an ideological Turing test and pull off small government religious conservative axioms.

 Activist Left

There is a growing clamour from leftists to shut down police unions. The logic goes that police unions advocate for the good of their members at the expense of society at large and most particularly, those already disadvantaged by race, sexual orientation, gender expression, poverty, mental illness, or a combination of these factors.

These activists generally believe that without the political clout and collective bargaining ability of police unions it would be easier to require officers to wear body cameras, easier to demilitarize the police, and easier to ban discriminatory practices like carding and stop and frisk. They also believe that without union representatives it would be much easier to suspend and fire officers suspected of misusing force.

Let’s assume (for the sake of argument) that activists are correct and dismantling police unions would reduce police violence. A reduction in police violence would lead to an increase in utility for almost any value function, as long as there weren’t direct effects that led to counterbalancing increases of violent crime. Let’s assume that even if there are some negative side effects, there is ultimately an increase in utility. This lets us move on to the second step.

(The proper utilitarian thing to do here would be look into studies and data analysis about what the likely crime effects of such a move would be. Because the focus of this essay is precedent utilitarianism, I’m not going to go into the nitty gritty here. I’m just going to do what the proponents do and assume everything will work out OK.)

The generalized action here is: “it is acceptable to weaken collective bargaining rights or forcibly de-unionize workers”. If you are a leftist, I want you to take a moment and imagine what sort of effects there would be if your worst enemy did this kind of thing.

The first target would almost certainly be teachers’ unions, long a target of conservative ire. The possible results of the weakening or abolition of teachers’ unions reads like a grab bag of all the left’s education bogymen: performance based pay (The Rand Corporation found performance based pay to be ineffective, but see also Slate Star Codex), more charter schools (in America), less job security for teachers, and larger class sizes.

Beyond teachers’ unions, there are dozens of ways that conservatives would love to stymie organized labour. It is generally accepted among leftists that unions are good for everyone, even people who aren’t unionized. Therefore, a great decrease in union membership or weakening of union power would lead to a loss of utility from a conventional leftist point of view.

If we could get rid of police unions without significantly risking other unions, then the analysis would probably come up positive (given our other assumptions). Unfortunately, it would probably take laws (and successive legal victories) to force police unions to disband or strip them of collective bargaining rights. There is no way to argue that laws and court cases don’t set precedents. Laws passed by previous governments give future government permission to legislate in the same space. And successful court cases (especially in common law jurisdictions) set the legal precedents that were discussed earlier. Courts cannot support disbanding a police union without setting the general precedent that unions may be forcibly disbanded.

In addition to creating one of the strongest possible precedents, abolishing police unions but demanding that no other unions be affected is a strong case of special pleading. In this specific case, there is even more potential for harm than in most, as a majority of Americans are confident in the police.

Looking at all of this, we’re looking at a potential for an increase in utility (assuming that there isn’t a protest or other work action from police that leads to rising crime rates), while setting a precedent we acknowledge is both strong and dangerous.

From a precedent utilitarian point of view, it seems unlikely that abolishing police unions will actually lead to any increase in utility. Instead, precedent utilitarians might focus on the outcomes they wish to see (increased use of body cameras, better use of force policies, more restrictions on discriminatory policing, funds for hiring more police officers from diverse backgrounds and diverse communities) and try to legislate them individually.

Of these, body cameras and hiring police officers from more diverse backgrounds (which can be spun to constituents as simply as “hiring more police officers”) seem the most likely to be easy to pass with broad support and probably represent the easiest starting place for a quick utility gain.

Small Government Religious Conservative

Several conservative controlled legislatures in America have begun to pass (or attempt to pass) so called “religious freedom restoration acts” or similar bills. These bills are largely designed to pre-empt local non-discrimination ordinances that conservatives feel place individuals into a conflict between their deeply held private beliefs and the law.

As above, I’m going to skip questions about the correctness of these beliefs or that they represent a gain in utility. Just as some people feel that forcing police to de-unionize will lead to a better world, some people feel that these bills will lead to a better world. Instead of disagreeing with these beliefs on the object level, I want to show that they are inconsistent with other conservative axioms and would fall under the class of beliefs that precedent utilitarianism suggests should be reject even if they’re based on correct axioms.

The generalized action here is: “it is acceptable for distant legislators to force lower levels of government to legislate as they would.” If you’re a conservative, I want you to take a moment and imagine what sort of effects there would be if your worst enemy did this kind of thing.

The first target would almost certainly be rural communities in otherwise liberal states, which tend to have much different laws around gun ownership and property taxes than the larger metropolises which make up the majority of the voter base.

Beyond guns and taxes, there are dozens of regulations that central liberal governments would love to impose upon rural conservatives. Look at what’s going on in Alberta for just one example. And would any conservative trust a liberal state government to protect the coal or fracking jobs on which so many rural communities survive? Living in a city, it’s far too easy to forget that these things have to come out of the ground somewhere.

If local bills could be overruled without setting any precedents, maybe there’s a utility gain to be had. But this seems unlikely. It almost certainly will require a few court cases to sort out which level of government has which power and once powers have been taken away from local government and given to the centralized government, they cannot be taken back. Politicians almost never let go of the power that they’ve fought so hard to gain.

In addition to setting strong legal precedents, to claim that overruling municipalities in the way you like is okay while demanding no other government overrules them in ways that you don’t like is definitely special pleading. And as Americans still trust their local representatives more than their state representatives, this is likely to backfire.

Looking at all of this, we’re looking at an increase in utility from state laws overriding local non-discrimination ordinances, while also setting a strong precedent that states can override whatever local laws they don’t like; something we should acknowledge as dangerous and negative.

From a precedent utilitarian point of view, it seems unlikely that overriding local non-discrimination ordinances will lead to any increase in utility. Instead, precedent utilitarians with these axioms should focus on increasing tax breaks for religious schools or other social institutions they believe will push society in the direction they think it should go.

Back to myself: one principle of small government conservatism that I find laudable is the belief that local governments are best placed to fix problems. All too often central planners come up with ridiculous, unworkable ideas out of ignorance of the conditions on the ground. In addition to my grave concerns about the content of “religious freedom ordinances” or “bathroom bills”, I’ve been shocked to see conservatives suddenly advocating for solutions at the state level and liberals claiming that local people know best. And I’m not the only one.

Downsides

I chose one of my examples very deliberately: to emphasize one of the weaknesses of precedent utilitarianism. People who are already privileged (like me!) are going to find it easiest to demand that potential changes must be considered and interrogated for bad precedents and abandoned if there is a chance that they might lead to enough disutility in the future.

It’s easy for me to urge caution around police unions. The police aren’t busy killing people who look like me. It’s easy for me to say that unprincipled exceptions should always be avoided. Unprincipled exceptions aren’t already being made at my expense. It’s reasonable to ask: “if they’re making exceptions for us, how come we can’t make exceptions for them.”

Pointing out that we wouldn’t have these problems if everyone already followed precedent utilitarianism doesn’t count as an argument. So what if it’s true? It wouldn’t change anything. The world should be engaged with as it is, not how we wish it to be. And we have to reckon with the fact that sometimes partially adopting an idea is worse than adopting none of it (see for example most arguments that start: “well, in a perfect libertarian society…”).

But this weakness isn’t unique to precedent utilitarianism. It’s a weakness of utilitarianism or of consequentialism more generally. Most constructions of utilitarianism place no inherent value on fairness, only value on some of the effects of fairness. Instead of trafficking in an ethical coin that is intuitively understood, they deal in cold, hard utility and disutility. Life years saved or lost, pleasure and pain, preferred and dispreferred states, all aggregated over the population of the world. These are the tools utilitarians have.

Precedent utilitarianism demands a deeper examination of consequences than some other constructions of utilitarianism. But it can’t change the fact that consequences are all utilitarians care about.

I advocate for precedent utilitarianism because I think that it doesn’t suffer from the problems of libertarianism. I don’t think even stumbling, imperfect precedent utilitarianism will lead to a worse state than the current one. But I don’t have proof. I can claim some institutions (the courts, liberalism) as obvious manifestations of precedent utilitarianism.

But this leaves two avenues of disagreement. First, you can claim that these are the by-product of something else and only have a serendipitous resemblance to precedent utilitarianism. Or you can claim that these are in fact not good things. It all depends on your axioms.

And this is all circular. People like me in positions of privilege tend to have axioms that assume their experience. Meanwhile, systematically disadvantaged people tend to have axioms that assume their experience.

Here’s what I have to try and convince you, even if there’s a huge gap between our axioms. Scott and Ozy often talk about ethical systems that fail gracefully. Imagine that you thought something or someone was bad and did everything permitted by your ethical system to stop it or them. Now imagine that you were wrong. How badly have you fucked up?

Precedent utilitarianism fails gracefully. Does your ethical system?

Epistemic Status: Ethics

Ethics, Philosophy

Utilitarianism: An Overview

What is a utilitarian?

To answer that question, you have to think about another, namely: “what makes an action right?”

Is it the outcome? The intent? What is a good intent or a good outcome?

Kantian deontologists have pithy slogans like: ” I ought never to act except in such a way that I could also will that my maxim should become a universal law” or “an action is morally right if done for duty and in accordance to duty.

Virtue ethicists have a rich philosophical tradition that dates back (in Western philosophy) to Plato and Aristotle.

And utilitarians have math.

Utilitarianism is a subset of consequentialism. Consequentialism is the belief that only the effects of an action matter. This belief lends itself equally well to selfish and universal ethical systems.

When choosing between two actions, selfish consequentialist (philosophers and ethicists would call such a person an egoist) would say that the morally superior action is the one that brings them the most happiness.

Utilitarians would say that the morally superior option is the one that brings the most ______ to the world/universe/multiverse, where ______ is whatever measure of goodness they’ve chosen. The fact that the world/universe/multiverse is the object of optimization is where the math comes in. It’s often pretty hard to add up any measure of goodness over a set as large as a world/universe/multiverse.

It’s also hard to define goodness in abstract without lapsing into tautology (“how does it represent goodness?” – “well it’s obvious, it’s the best thing!”). Instead of looking at in abstract, it’s helpful to look at utilitarian systems in action.

What quality people choose as their ethical barometer/best measure of the goodness of the world tells you a lot about what they value. Here’s four common ones. As you read them, consider both what implicit values they encode and which ones call out to you.

QALY Utilitarianism

QALY Utilitarianism is most commonly seen in discussions around medical ethics, where QALYs are frequently used to determine the optimal allocation of resources. One QALY represents one year of reasonably healthy and happy life. Any conditions which reduce someone’s enjoyment of life results in those years so blighted being weighed as less than one full QALY.

For example, a year living with asthma is worth 0.9 QALYs. A year with severe seizures is worth 0.7 QALYs.

Let’s say we have a treatment for asthma that cost $1000 and another for epilepsy that costs $1000. If we only have $1000, we should treat the epilepsy (this leads to an increase of 0.3 QALYs, more than the 0.1 QALYs we’d get for treating asthma).

If we have more money, we should treat epilepsy until we run out of epileptic patients, then use the remaining money for asthma.

Things become more complicated if the treatments cost different amounts of money. If it is only $100 to treat asthma, then we should instead prioritize treating asthma, because $1000 of treatment buys us 1 QALY, instead of only 0.3.

Note that QALY utilitarianism (and utilitarianism in general) doesn’t tell us what is right per se. It only gives us a relative ranking of actions. One of those actions may produce the most utility. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the only right thing to do is constantly pursue the actions that produce the very most utility.

QALY utilitarianism remains most useful in medical science, where researchers have spent a lot of time figuring out the QALY values for many potential conditions. Used with a set of accurate QALY tables, it becomes a powerful way to ensure cost effectiveness in healthcare. QALY utilitarianism is less useful when we lack these tables and therefore remains sparsely used for non-healthcare related decisions.

Hedonistic Utilitarianism

Hedonistic utilitarianism is much more general than QALY utilitarianism, in part because its value function is relatively easy to calculate.

It is almost a tautology to claim that people wish to seek out pleasure and avoid pain. If we see someone happy about an activity we think of us painful, it’s much more likely that we’re incorrectly assessing how pleasurable/painful they find it than it is that they also find the activity painful.

Given how common pleasure-seeking/pain-avoiding is, it’s unsurprising that pleasure has been associated with The [moral] Good and pain with The [moral] Bad at least since the time of Plato and Socrates.

It’s also unsurprising that pleasure and pain can form the basis of utilitarian value functions. This is Hedonistic Utilitarianism and it judges actions based on the amount of net pleasure they cause across all people.

Weighing net pleasure across all people gives us some wiggle room. Repeatedly taking heroin is apparently really, really pleasurable. But it may lead to less pleasure overall if you quickly die from a heroin overdose, leaving behind a bereaved family and preventing all the other pleasure you could have had in your life.

So the hedonistic utilitarianism value function probably doesn’t assign the highest rating to getting everyone in the world blissed out on the most powerful drugs available.

But even ignoring constant drug use, or other descents into purely hedonistic pleasures, hedonistic utilitarianism often frustrates people who hold a higher value on actions that may produce less direct pleasure, but lead to them feeling more satisfied and contented overall. These people are left with two options: they can argue for ever more complicated definitions of pleasure and pain, taking into account the hedonic treadmill and hedonistic paradox, or they can pick another value function.

Preference Utilitarianism

Preference utilitarianism is simple on the surface. Its value function is supposed to track how closely people’s preferences are fulfilled. But there are three big problems with this simple framing.

First, which preferences? I may have the avowed preference to study for a test tomorrow, but once I sit down to study my preference may be revealed to be procrastinating all night. Which preference is more important? Some preference utilitarians say that the true preference is the action you’d pick in hindsight if you were perfectly rational. Others drop the “truly rational” part, but still talk about preferences in terms of what you’d most want in hindsight. Another camp gives credence to the highest level preference over all the others. If I prefer in the moment to procrastinate but would prefer to prefer to want to study, then the meta-preference is the one that counts. And yet another group of people give the most weighting to revealed preferences ­– what you’d actually do in the situation.

It’s basically a personal judgement call as to which of these groups you fall into, a decision which your own interactions with your preferences will heavily shape.

The second problem is even thornier. What do we do when preferences collide? Say my friend and I go out to a restaurant. She may prefer that we each pay for our own meals. I may prefer that she pays for both of our meals. There is no way to satisfy both of our preferences at the same time. Is the most moral outcome assuaging whomever holds their preferences the most strongly? Won’t that just incentivize everyone to hold their preferences as strongly as humanly possible and never cooperate? If enough people hold a preference that a person or a group of people should die, does it provide more utility to kill them than to let them continue living?

One more problem: what do we do with beings that cannot hold preferences? Animals, small children, foetuses, and people in vegetative states are commonly cited as holding no preferences. Does this mean that others may do whatever they want with them? Does it always produce more utility for me to kill any animal I desire to kill, given it has no preferences to balance mine?

All of these questions remain inconclusively answered, leaving each preference utilitarian to decide for herself where she stands on them.

Rule Utilitarianism

The three previous forms of utilitarianism are broadly grouped together (along with many others) under act utilitarianism. But there is another way and a whole other class of value functions. Meet rule utilitarianism.

Rule utilitarians do not compare actions and outcomes directly when calculating utility. Instead they come up with a general set of rules which they believe promotes the most utility generally and judge actions according to how well they satisfy these rules.

Rule utilitarianism is similar to Kantian deontology, but it still has a distinctly consequentialist flavour. It is true that both of these systems result (if followed perfectly) in someone rigidly following a set of rules without making any exceptions. The difference, however, is in the attitude of the individual. Whereas Kant would call an action good only if done for the right reasons, rule utilitarians call actions that follow their rules good regardless of the motivation.

The rules that arise can also look different from Kantian deontology, depending on the beliefs of the person coming up with the rules. If she’s a neo-reactionary who believes that only autocratic states can lead to the common good, she’ll come up with a very different set of rules than Immanuel Kant did.

First Order Utilitarianism?

All of the systems described here are what I’ve taken to calling first order utilitarianism. They only explicitly consider the direct effects of actions, not any follow-on effects that may happen years down the road. Second-order utilitarianism is a topic for another day.

Other Value Functions?

This is just a survey of some of the possible value functions a utilitarian can have. If you’re interested in utilitarianism in principle but feel like all of these value functions are lacking, I encourage you to see what other ones exist out there.

I’m going to be following this post up with a post on precedent utilitarianism, which solved this problem for me.

Epistemic Status: Ethics