Moral Choice

Introduction
In previous articles, I summarized my views about moral agents. But what good are moral agents? What do they do? Moral agents are self-declared, but they are subject to social approval. A society of moral agents arises by mutual agreement, a recursive process I call the Moral Agent Test. "Agreement" is the key word, because it indicates a voluntary act. So, what is "voluntary" and what "involuntary?"

Introduction

In previous articles, I summarized my views about moral agents. But what good are moral agents? What do they do?

Moral agents are self-declared, but they are subject to social approval. A society of moral agents arises by mutual agreement, a recursive process I call the Moral Agent Test. "Agreement" is the key word, because it indicates a voluntary act.

So, what is "voluntary" and what "involuntary?"

Intelligence Required

Whether something is or isn't voluntary is decided by an intelligent agent, because only an intelligent agent could know the difference. As previously discussed, that agent is sufficiently equipped to think itself intelligent, even though that does not matter except in social contexts. In society, other creatures determine whether the agent is intelligent.

Thus, a horse or dog or nematode might think itself intelligent. But others only know it if they recognize that intelligence. For humans, nematodes have no intelligence, although dogs and horses may have various degrees of it. The eternal frustration for dogs and horses, if they are intelligent and seek to participate in intelligent society, is their inability (so far) to communicate directly with others that are intelligent.

Intelligence, so far as it can be discussed, is social and confirmatory in nature. We assent to a notion of intelligence which is public, not private, because we have no other choice, even if that concept requires further qualification. The private notion of intelligence, which is self-asserted, may or may not have public relevance. Nematodes might think themselves intelligent, but to date have no mechanism to lay claim to it among humans.

Society Required

Because the identification of others who are intelligent is a recursive process - only those already qualified as intelligent can decide - intelligence, hence moral agency, is always a social function. This is another way of saying that what one does alone on a desert island has no meaningful moral component (even if that sole resident thinks otherwise). Moral choice is also a social event; i.e., choices are reckoned in relation to others. Whether or not one calls what one decides on a desert island "choice" is irrelevant.

How would anyone know what was or wasn't chosen in a remote place? Essentially, the problem of isolated intelligence, moral agents and moral choice is the same as the tree falling in a forest. If someone prequalified as intelligent or a moral agent lands on a desert island, we might assign intelligence or morality to that individual's acts when we learn or speculate about them. Until then, they have no particular status. Does a tree falling in the forest make a sound? Is someone beating an animal on a desert island cruel? If we can suggest particular events attributable to the isolated individual, we can make judgements about them. In that case, to the extent that what happens on the desert island is a fact, that it fits into some theoretical scheme, we can make judgements based on our scheme of intelligence or morality. Otherwise these are all hypothetical decisions, made about suggested cases. They are all 'what if?'

In our Courts and other formal proceedings, it is forbidden to hypothecate; i.e., to draw conclusions based on speculation. We already recognize in the process of the law that what happens on desert islands is almost always beyond legislation and adjudication for lack of evidence or witness. Lawyers, judges and politicians confine themselves to acting on publically visible cases. Would it have been possible to pursue the Bounty mutineers except for the near miraculous return of Captain Bligh? In fact, those who sailed to Pitcairn Island became invisible to the rest of the world, only being rediscovered in their descendants nearly a century later.

Morality, like law, is about the world of our experience and action, not fantasy. So, moral choice is always social in nature; public, not private. That implies that moral choices are what we decide they are, nothing more or less. Again, those brought before the Bar are judged competent or not by the Court based on certain rules. What those judged believe can be heard and considered, but, in the final analysis, it is the Magistrate empowered hy a legal system who decides competence. This sort of procedure is universally accepted, even in the most primitive human societies. Even among aboriginal tribes, it is well known within the tribal society who is capable and who not, as determined by the local chief or shaman.

Social Competence

Everywhere in human societies, expectations are adjusted according to the degree of competence assigned. Euthansia of the incompetent has never been a common practice, although mistreatment and imprisonment have been used to prevent damage to the community. Society has usually reacted fearfully toward the incompetent, and treated them cruelly. Both the competent and incompetent are in a double bind in handling the situation. The incompetent are commonly acknowledged to be people, to be like us; not animals, but they can be also be like destructive or dangerous animals. They are almost always acknowledged to be members of one's own tribe, because they were born by members of the tribe. The fact of birth leads in most societies to the first level of response: let each family take care of its burdens. The presumption of that maxim is that families will shield defective members from social abuse (because of "natural" bonding), and prevent the incompetent from damaging society (for fear of retribution). Incompetents who are not tribal members have no such protection, and are usually considered fair game for enslavement or murder.

There is a difference in the death sentence meted out to humans and non-humans. We have no individual concern for non-humans killed for whatever reason. While there are rules against inhumane slaughter, they are made for reasons of preserving our conception of ourselves in society, not to benefit the victims. (It is generally believed that inhumane killing will cheapen the value placed on human life.) Imposing a death penalty amounts to dehumanizing those sentenced. Once someone is assigned to death row, the only valid question is the humaneness of the execution, the same question we would ask of killing cows and our enemies. Handing out a death sentence amounts to a demotion from competence: in declaring someone "non-human," thus outside of society, that person also becomes incompetent. (That is the logic of always appointing a defense lawyer in capital cases.) On the other hand, when we are unable to declare defendants incorrigble and incompetent, we still value that person's judgement or "humanity," sentencing is almost always easier. The more we see someone on trial as like ourselves, the more we are inclined to minimize or excuse the behavior being examined.

Thus, there is a gradation of membership in society, from non-human to fully human members. How we treat individuals depends on their status within those limits, with the best treatment going to those fully human. People don't care much about stepping on an ant. The importance of that gradation with respect to moral choice is that the same gradation applies. Non-members of a society are considered less capable than members, especially if those outside society are incomprehensible Barbarians. We usually treat members of our society better than others, and believe they have far more ability to make decisions than others. So, the extent to which we attribute voluntary choice to individuals depends on their integration into our society. (This analysis also suggests that the use of language and ability to communicate is a crucial factor.)

There is a very close connection between our perception of someone as 'one of us' and attributing independence to that person. Especially during wartime, even the most civilized people are capable of characterizing enemies as inhuman monsters, particularly if they are ethnically or racially different. That sort of prejudice about Asians was obvious during World War II, the Korean War and the Vietnam War. In each case, both enemy combatants and civilians were caricatured as "gooks," deathly yellow-brown animals with big teeth and twisted faces. It was believed gooks didn't care about their own lives, so always fought to the death when cornered. Those enemies were not thinking creatures in the same way as we were; instead, they were zombies following their orders. It was commonly said in the West that we, on the other hand, value each individual, that each person was not merely a clone. Thus, it was no more a crime to exterminate the gooks, or to take no prisoners, than if they were vicious beasts.

Distant Stereotypes

Even when there was no hot war, the enemies of the West, the Russians and Chinese, were characterized as faceless robots for the duration of the Cold War. The enemy was usually pictured en masse as soldiers, marching in lockstep through Red Square. There were the throngs of youthful Chinese holding up Little Red Books in salute to Mao Zedong. Despite the thousands of similar parades and events in the Western world, the dominant image of Euro-American soldiers was the individual committed to his cause. Of course, that is not the way the West was seen in the East. The Russian representation of Americans, for example, was a horde of ghouls in the service of Wall St. Plutocrats. The Communist explanation of worker docility in the West, especially America, was brainwashing. It was supposed that middle class Americans are deeply controlled by a combination of potent rewards and punishments handed out by their masters. Communists were quick to portray rebellious workers (strikers) and minorities as oppressed people, and to emphasize any punishments received for disobedience. In the Eastern view, people who saw through Capitalist propaganda were thereby capable of voluntary choice and free, whereas the rest of the population were zombies.

The same differential presentation occurs in local and even familial societies. When we look upon others dispassionately, we can see clearly how they are automatons. On the other hand, it is very hard to see people in our immediate, daily lives as anything but animated, voluntary actors. The distance between observer and observed makes a great difference in whether behavior is perceived as voluntary. What we believe to be voluntary is somehow tied up with small acts seen up close.

That distance matters should be obvious to everyone. When we think about people half way around the world that scarcely anyone knows - Tibetans, for example - all we have are stereotypes. We are sure that they are born, eat, sleep, work and die. They must perform all their natural functions in the same manner as everyone else: we are all physiologically nearly identical. On the other hand, apart from a few travelogues or postcards that show us the native costume or cuisine, or the Great Temple of the Dalai Lama, we have no idea how ordinary people live or what they think or say. For most of the rest of the world, Tibetans are a cartoon or a photo. It's difficult to sort them out as individuals, although it is clear there are women, children, men and monks. At our distance, it seems as if Tibetans live their lives accordingly to the mold in which they are born.

Environmental Constraints

If competence and voluntary choice are social in nature, is everything chosen? Obviously not; or, at least not for those Tibetans and other far away creatures who live generic lives. But we feel we choose almost everything about our lives. I buy the clothes and shoes I like, listen to the music I enjoy, and eat what tastes good. How could it be that my life is not what I have chosen?

If I take a "good look" at myself, it is clear how false the foregoing statement is. What tastes good, for instance, is determined by a complex system which is very primitive: the smell brain. It is true that tastes can be trained from an early age, altering how the smell brain processes incoming signals. Human diets in different parts of the world are vastly different in part because people became accustommed to them. Most Westerners are appalled by what passes for delicacies in parts of Africa and Amazonia. Asian and European foods differ in what is "sweet" or "sour." On the other hand, everyone everywhere loves sugar and cream (as in ice cream, candy and soda pop) because all of us are strongly driven by our sweet and fat sensors. Pure sugar and cream are newcomers to the worldwide diet, so most cultures have not had time to develop a stereotypical response to them. Our enjoyment of those treats is not mediated by nurture, nor is it likely to be any time soon. So, my genes and early training actually control most of my food choices. I only choose within a predetermined range what I will eat today.

In the same way, it is commonly agreed everything we do is limited by the nature of the physical world. Gravity pulls things back to earth, so it takes work to leave the planet. Animals require certain molecules - vitamins and minerals - which they must derive from plants and inorganic.chemicals. Without salt, we die, but if we drink salt water, we die. Not every choice is available to us, as it is possible to commit suicide or attempt other self-defeating acts. I take that as a given, and so do most reasonable people. There are people who do not accept those limitations, but I think they are at least deluded or possibly insane. Of course, my opinion about those who would defy Nature is conditioned upon my beliefs about the way nature works. The common opinion about Nature seems correct, but every so often someone tempts fate and gets away with it. Thus, I cannot be sure that what I consider natural limitations are such. I might have either a too strict or too loose conception of what Nature allows. But, within broad limits, there are constraints on the choices I make. I don't think I am free to abolish gravity, although I can imagine what it would be like. (Anti-gravs are ubiquitious in science fiction.)

So, as we try to get a fix on voluntary choice, the range of choice seems to get smaller and narrower. This should not be surprising, as a dispassionate assessment of most of our daily acitvities will reveal. Humans have to eat; consequently, they have to urinate and defecate. We are impelled by our hormones to spend a lot of time examining possible sexual partners and copulating. Normal physiology usually puts us to sleep about one-third of every day. With or without automation, almost every adult has to spend about 4 hours a day acquiring the basic means of daily life: food, water, clothing and shelter. (Most adults work even longer hours to acquire luxuries.) All of that time is spent in regulated activities which allow few or no personal choices.

We have more choices about our jobs than anything else in the basic list, but even that is largely limited by a multitude of factors. The work one does is usually arranged by social convention, as are the hours, conditions and duties. Some jobs are limited to those who are naturally endowed with special talents. (I include stunt and crop duster pilots in that group.) Many jobs are limited by the local environment. (You cannot grow watermelons on Wall St.) I think people tend to form guilds which apprentice their offspring and few others. This might be a result of inherited natural talent, but is more probably related to early childhood training. A child growing up in the household of an actor, politician or capitalist is far more likely than anyone else to have the "right" social and economic class, education and connections. That is the natural result of the parents living and working in cloistered conditions. Most notably, actors hang around Beverly Hills while politicians camp out in Georgetown. Their lifestyles determine who are their friends and what are the appropriate social, economic and political opportunities for their families.

When we do make choices, it is almost always within the preset, available range.

What's Left?

I've been busy whittling down the choices made in our everyday activities, leaving very little for consideration. For instance, before writing this section I took a coffee break and a nap. The nap was involuntary, a result of restless nights and high blood glucose associated with diabetes. The coffee is a habit I started more than 50 years ago. I love coffee. I'm hooked on it. I don't think about getting up to get another cup: it just happens. I could do otherwise, but that would require thinking about it.

Most of we do is habitual, even if it seems we make a decison at the time. I thought about gettting a cup of coffee around the time I picked up the coffee pot and poured a cup. Most of the act was already completed when I "thought" about it. Our days are filled with busy-ness like that. Especially as we get older, it seems the days and weeks and months rush by. One reason for that time compression is the huge number of habitual acts we perform every day without any particular attention. Habits build on habits, until a large part of our lives is filled with per forma activity. Anyone who has held the same job for a long time knows that most of it is reflexive. Older workers have a far better on-time and presence record than younger ones, simply because everything is on auto pilot. There is very little to think about.

On the other hand, young people have to decide everything anew. Days pass more slowly when we are young, partly because we actually spend a lot of time doing nothing. In our teenage period, especially, everything is being tried out. Almost everyone wants to talk, talk, talk when they are 16. As we grow older there is less and less talk and more action. This illustrates, again, that voluntary choice is somehow associated with language, because we are making choices when we are talking the most. One place to look for voluntary choice is among teenagers and young adults. The Rites of Passage set habits and associations for life.

Another place choices are made is in political institutions. In fact, we have delegated our leaders the responsibility of making major decisions for us, thus avoiding the trouble of deciding for ourselves. In most cases, the leaders are sent to places like Albany, New York or Sacramento, Calif. that are "in the boonies," further removing decision-making from our ordinary lives. Originally far from any settlement, in 1790 Washington, DC was a swamp ("Foggy Bottom") near the Potomac River. (Some say it is still a swamp.) The separation of political and business leaders - the elite classes - from ordinary people further routinizes ordinary lives. But that separation also allows us to concentrate our attention on voluntary choice.

What teenage life and political palavering show is that decisions are almost always made in very small chunks. I decided whether to drink coffee. Politicians decide whether to make me pay a few bucks to fix a road or build a school. Even though Congress spends about $2 trillion every year, the effect on my life is small. When they fix the Interstate, the crews will roll through here in a few days, messing up the traffic. Then they're gone and everything returns to "normal." It is very rare, as happened in the 1950s, that all of a sudden Interstates connect towns all over the country. Building the (now crumbling) Interstate highway system was a big decision.

How do Big Decisions get made? Arguably, by running an obstacle course of many small decisions. Eisenhower proposed the Interstate system as a result of his experience in World War I, when it became clear to him that future wars would be mechanized. The Interstate system was proposed as a military necessity during the Cold War. No thought was given to the economic impact of those roads, even though Californians had already learned that wherever the road went was a business opportunity. Shopping malls, Big Boxes and Wal-Mart exist because of the Interstate system, but they were not conceived as part of it. They are there because the opportunity arose. One decision sets the stage for other decisions.

Proponents of the traditional "free will" concept make of voluntary choice a giant happening requiring supernatural intervention and all sorts of co-ordinations between a soul and the organic brain. If every decision were such a cataclysmic occasion, it might make believers of all of us. Fortunately, that is not the case. I admit decisions are hard. I often have to wrack my brains when making them, even over little things such as what to eat for lunch. But, somehow, they get made. And, in almost every case, it comes down to a menu-driven choice: the restaurant offers just so many varieties of chicken, beef, pork, seafood or veggies. I recall my usual preferences and rule out most of what's offered right away. Maybe there is an unsual item, something slightly different. I can wonder what it tastes like (notice that word) and whether I will be experimental today. It's easy to decide upon a known quantity (habit), but requires an effort to do something new and different. In the case of food, I often make the effort, because I am easily bored. I consider whether an offering is sweet, and whether I have a craving for sweet today. Ditto for sour, spicy, hot, cold, etc. Or, maybe it will be crunchy. Perhaps a salad with unusual or uniquely arranged ingredients suits me. (Salads are often an easy experiment, as very little can go wrong and the good components are often salvageable from a bad setting.) I peer over at what other people are eating. My decision - a voluntary choice - is made from a combination of leanings and swayings unique to the time, place and manner. This decision might set a pattern which becomes habitual, or it may be a one-shot deal. Either way, it will join my repertory of meal-time decisions and thereby influence future choices. For example, since this sort of thing happens most when we're traveling, I will have a predispostion the next time I pass through a town where I might dine, what I might eat, etc. My choice of restaurant will be colored by the experiences I have had in this and other towns like it.

Did any of this require divine intervention? No, not at all. It only required perception of what was before me at the time, and being influenced by a million tugs and pulls from this, that or the other bodily part or memory.

One of the reasons I find the study of History fascinating is the difficulty of ascribing causes. Why is there a Conquest of Iraq? Why is Los Angeles freeway city? Why is San Francisco so different from the rest of the United States? I believe it is impossible to give any simple answer to those questions. Yet, there is an answer measured in millions of tiny things done every day. When I was a San Franciscan, I got up weekdays, took the Muni and went to work. I did things other San Franciscans did, and some things only a few people did. I am part of what San Francisco became. The explanation of the "causal chain" lies in humdrum events so ordinary as to be boring.

Perhaps it is the very humdrum-ness of everyday decisions that causes people to overlook how decisions are made. It is far more exciting to see San Francisco's history in a documentary about building the bridges, where the beginning, middle and end are compressed into an hour or two. What's left out are all those sandwiches made and lunch buckets filled, bus rides to work, lunches eaten, and bus rides home. In between, I-beams were placed and welded, one at a time, and cables were strung, one thread at a time. Most of the work was humdrum. San Francisco's suspension bridges are a marvel because millions of little things were done every day to make it so.

In the beginning, there was no grand scheme, no Big Decision to build the bridges. They were the result of population growth and economic factors that made them desirable, feasible and unavoidable. The same was true for the Bay Area Rapid Transit District (BARTD) which was hotly debated for years before it was finally undertaken. The United States may seem to have decided to force its way into Iraq in 2003, but a closer reading shows the decision was made years ago. The Iraq war didn't just happen; it was the result of many little things. Other wars like it are almost certain to happen in the future, because of the same "little things." (The United States is predisposed to wars like Vietnam and Iraq; i.e., it is an Imperial power.)

An Empty Sieve

After dissecting things and tracing their outlines, it seems we are left with ghostly habits and automatons. People do this or that, as they are inclined. In most cases, there is not a decision which falls out of the clear blue sky. Even when it feels like an unusually new and different choice must be made, there are clues how to make it. Those living "the day after" are not totally estranged despite their ghasty surroundings. Mad Max is a cop in a deranged world, but there is still some sense of justice. They still ride the roads on wheeled gas burners. To date, no one we know has been sucked through the Star Trek transporter to unknown worlds.

As in the mathematical analysis of series, we can cut it as fine as we like. A convergent series comes to a finite limit when calculated infinitely. Of course, we cannot make an infinite calculation in our everyday matters, but we can come as close as we like.

Voluntary decision is like that.