#ethicsoftwd

[englishoneeleven]

Revenge, Justice and Proportion

English Renaissance tragedies were largely preoccupied with revenge, and the downfall of revengers. One takeaway from Romeo and Juliet is the conviction that private citizens shouldn’t practice retributive justice; if families keep duking it out amongst themselves (1) it will only dispose them to further treachery and (2) soon there won’t be anyone left. Punishment for the Montagues & Capulets means losing their greatest assets: their children (talk about it coming back to bite you in the assets). Renaissance tragedy is big on the idea of comeuppance, so usually the justice revengers dish out is rebounded upon them. Because it’s a worse fate to see the ones you love suffer, the innocent must die in these stories.

In his analysis of revenge tragedies from this period, Michael Neill explains that “the centralizing ambitions of the Tudor monarchy led to an insistence upon the state’s absolute monopoly of justice”1, which included the right to revenge the murder of family members. The very fact that these plays were morbidly fascinated with revengers, even elevating their deaths to the level of such spectacles as the Passion of Christ, shows that English society, in its heart, resisted surrendering the power of revenge over to government. We ought not to assume that retributive justice is naturally placed in its hands, when evidence suggests that the source of this belief is the ideology of the very government that claimed revenge for its own.

It also reveals the once widespread belief that revenge is a legitimate form of justice, no matter who performs it. While it makes good sense for an impartial authority to punish wrongs, distinctions between the natures of revenge & justice are often tedious. After all, both demand fairness, and where they chiefly differ is how this is best achieved. As Neill writes, “[t]he hunger for payback […] rests on deeply felt principles of natural reciprocity which reflect the need to preserve a prescribed equilibrium in the order of things; and it is on this ideal of balance that the vexed relationship between revenge and justice can be seen to turn”2. One assumption is that revenge is always motivated by the desire to do harm, rather than restore balance. However, the morality of legally ordained punishments is just as suspect if those punishments have unvirtuous motivations.

Revenge is also condemned on the presupposition that it violates proportion, which is the sense that punishments should fit crimes. If you’re having trouble defending Abraham’s actions, he doesn’t give you much reason to. He tells Rick the manner of his revenge was not what he “had to” do but what he “wanted to do” (Chapter Ten). Perhaps unsurprisingly, Abraham’s feeling that his retaliation made him “no better than the ones [he] killed” (ibid) mimics the irony Neill identifies in revenge tragedy, which is that when a revenger creates balance, it means becoming the kind of person s/he wants to destroy3. One can easily hear a consequentialist appeal to this irony, or to another. Because they were horrified with what he’d done, Abraham’s family left, which put them in harm’s way and precipitated their deaths. Thus, Abraham’s vengeance, meant to defend the honor of his ex-wife & daughter, caused their deaths. In our society, we regard crimes against children (especially sexual crimes) so heinous that many might think a proportional response, no matter how heavy, is never enough. Abraham thinks of his daughter as both he & Rick are reeling from the previous night, when strangers attempted to rape Carl. One must wonder if the chiding voice of the consequentialist sounds flat, because it fails to empathize with Abraham’s (perhaps righteous) indignation.

1Neill, Michael. Bushnell, Rebecca, ed. “English Revenge Tragedy”. A Companion to Tragedy, pp 328 – 329.

2ibid, 337.

3ibid, 337.

[englishoneeleven]

Argumentum ad verecundiam

While defending his decision to execute Thomas, Rick declares his moral authority. Initially, the group disagrees whether capital punishment is ethical, but Lori & Tyreese point out things Rick hasn’t considered.

Is capital punishment ethical? Well, ethical according to what? A better question than “is it right to kill Thomas?” is “what makes it right to kill Thomas?” Tyreese is correct; the group hasn’t established rules or laws, and therefore no way of deciding what’s legal. We realize another set of principles must be used.

Who decides? As their de facto leader, Rick has made many decisions for the group, but never before have they had to decide how to punish someone. Should he decide? Should he be the only one to decide?

If Rick does get to decide, what makes him a more suitable judge? With this, we arrive at the question on which I want to focus: is Rick in a better position than the other members of the group to judge right & wrong? Here, we’re not questioning Rick’s competency as a leader, but rather his authority to administer justice. Our earlier question will remind us that, although Rick was formerly an officer of the law, this doesn’t make him a better interpreter of the group’s law, since they have none.

In logic, to use an authority or expert to support your argument is known as argumentum ad verecundiam, or an appeal to authority. More often we use this term when someone has appealed to an irrelevant authority, and thus committed a logical fallacy. Here’s an example: “If a celebrity basketball player tells you to buy a particular brand of batteries, ask yourself if the basketball player seems like an expert on electrochemical energy storage units before you take the player’s word”*. Appealing to authority is not automatically a fallacy. Students are taught to do it all the time, to create better-informed arguments. It’s important to understand how experts are verified, and to remember that no one is infallible.

Our legal system confers judicial authority on certain individuals, meaning it gives them the right to administer justice. At the same time, it denies that right to others. Capital punishment is a form of justice that, historically, was considered the right of a family that wanted to revenge the death of one of its own. No longer. In legal matters today, we only allow trained professionals to practice in accordance with state & federal laws. By virtue of his professional training, Rick is a relevant authority on the administration of justice. As far as humanly possible, we expect those who administer justice to remain impartial. They are to follow the rule of law, act fairly, and not use their power to impose their own morality on others. Consider that Thomas has killed two people close to Rick, and that Rick feels responsible for exposing them to harm. In this situation, can Rick still act impartially?

*McRaney, David. You Are Not So Smart, p 96.

[englishoneeleven]

Speciesism

In both the graphic novel and the TV series, Hershel is at first opposed to the destruction of zombies. Whereas many other examples of zombie fiction incorporate pseudo-scientific explanations for zombie transformations (eg I Am Legend), The Walking Dead shrouds this background information in mystery (in my opinion, this is a strength of the narrative). Given that characters & audience alike lack this knowledge, it’s rational for Hershel to hope that these transformations are reversible or temporary. However, we can’t construct an argument for protecting zombies on the premise that they can return to normal; there’s not enough information to prove it. Instead, we must argue whether zombies are entitled to certain rights in their present condition.

We can choose to rationalize killing zombies, appealing to the importance of the group’s safety, and ensuring their chances of survival. Whether or not we do, to make a good argument we must still respond to certain doubts. We must also define exactly what we’re dealing with. Are zombies human or not? If so, are they living or dead? We have rules for how to treat deceased human beings (decedents). On one hand, it’s unlawful (and for many, immoral) to desecrate a corpse. On the other, there are laws for disposing of decedents so that they don’t pose health risks for the living. But this is just to make a point. The real issue is that real human corpses don’t attack people. Although the dead are still protected by certain rights, we wouldn’t treat the undead the same as the dead. But neither would we treat them the same as the living. Living humans are capable of understanding & following laws. Imagine how ridiculous it would be to put a zombie on trial for murder! Therefore, if zombies are still human, they must be considered a special kind of human, one that is neither living nor dead.

It’s also possible zombies are not human. Human beings are capable of a great range of intellectual abilities which are seemingly not shared by zombies. With exceptions, preventing unnecessary harm to things that experience pain is a fundamental law of ethics. But zombies don’t appear to suffer in an identifiable way. Additionally, nothing confirms that they possess the capacity for moral reasoning, without which they would be unable to separate right from wrong, which humans can do. What if we regarded zombies as simply violent animals? To deny rights to a creature purely on the basis of its species* is known as speciesism. Great White Sharks are dangerous to humans, but their lives are still protected under certain laws. Living things should be treated with a certain amount of respect, and zombies are still arguable living, in the sense that they possess a biological imperative to feed. One could also argue they reproduce, although not sexually. But consider viruses. Viruses are living things, but unlike sharks, certain dangerous viruses, like smallpox, are inessential to a balanced ecosystem. Speaking of reproduction, viruses spread by infecting other living cells. Perhaps, because they are created through infection, zombies have more in common with viruses than humans. Looked at this way, they may seem far less deserving of rights reserved for creatures with human-like attributes.

*The Ethics Toolkit, p 198.

[englishoneeleven]

Survival, Eudaimonia, Supererogation and Duty

Is there an absolute value to survival? In other words, is staying alive the right thing to do, in all situations? Maybe not. If you knew that you’d spend the rest of your life in unbearable & unending pain, unable to enjoy any of the things you love, you might feel that you need more of a reason to stay alive. The Ancient Greeks had a word to describe a life worth living, and that word is eudaimonia. Moral philosophers like Julian Baggini prefer the term flourishing1, which literally means flowering. You can probably imagine what it feels like to burst with life, and how different that feels from merely surviving. Flourishing is a good translation, because it also means growing, and because Aristotle believed one achieves eudaimonia through commitment to personal growth2.

If how you live matters, perhaps what you live for is more important than life itself. This view is shared by Charles Verharen of Howard University. “The fact that survival is the pre-condition for all other values does not mean that survival of self is the most important value. Revered figures like Socrates, Christ, Gandhi and King sacrificed their lives for the sake of duty, love and freedom—and the survival of other members of their communities”3. The problem with his example is that those guys didn’t just do what was expected of them, they did a whole lot more. Going above & beyond the call of duty is what’s called supererogation (Ethics has words for everything). Neither did any of those men choose death. King & Gandhi were assassinated. Socrates & Jesus were executed. These latter two would have had to abrogate their duties (at least their perceived duties) in order to survive. A choice between survival and doing what’s right is really no choice at all. In fact, we could say they chose duty without choosing to live or die. Another way of saying this is that their dedication to their duty was consistent with their will to survive.

Gabriel Stokes chose not to follow the example set by his religion’s founder; he chose survival over sacrfice. Does that mean he did wrong? If he made the wrong choice, it means it was his duty to protect his congregation, no matter the cost. Most jobs only require you to help someone so long as it doesn’t endanger your own safety.  We’re not talking about the Secret Service. Is being a priest different than any other job? If Gabriel’s duty has limits, then doing more may be exceptional, but not expected. What makes a supererogatory act unique is that you can’t blame someone for not doing it.

1as is used in The Ethics Toolkit.

2This usage of eudaimonia is discussed in CrashCourse’s “Aristotle & Virtue Theory”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrvtOWEXDIQ.

3Verharen, Charles, et al. “Introducing Survival Ethics Theory Into Engineering Education and Practice”. Web. <http://www.urban.org/sites/default/files/survival-ethics-theory-verharen-excerpt-04-27-12.pdf>

[englishoneeleven]

Substituted Judgment

There’s another concept in medical ethics known as substituted judgment or substitute decision-making. It refers to situations when patients can’t make decisions for themselves (or their decision-making capacity is greatly diminished), and decisions about their medical care need to made by someone else. Basically, this concept means that decision-makers, or surrogates, are supposed to make the decisions that the patients would, if they could. Regardless of the actual decisions being made, there’s a crucial difference (ethically) between surrogates doing what they think’s best and doing what patients want. If you were going to use this concept to justify your answer, you might argue that saving Carl or letting him die is ethical only if doing either respects his autonomy. You would then, of course, need to defend Carl’s autonomy against the claim that his parents, Rick & Lori, have authority over his decisions.

For more, see https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/advance-directives/.

[englishoneeleven]

Love & Amoralism

Being in love with someone and treating that person right go hand in hand. But what if you don’t love that person anymore? And what if you do love someone else? I’m thankful that another writer1 has approached break-ups from a moral angle. The strategy he uses is to assess the utility of rebounds: how can lining up a new relationship produce the most happiness for all interested parties. Utility is a clever solution, but treating love (even the termination of love) as a math problem just feels, well, unromantic. It’s as if the writer suggests that we should strategize how to feel about someone based on possible moral outcomes. This approach makes me feel like love is a pile of aluminum cans that is weighed and then checked against the going-price for aluminum that day. (Romantic) love is passionate, and reckless, and aluminum cans aren’t.

This is not to say ethics has no bearing on love. The fact that, in the following post, I’ve tried to find a moral justification for love shows that I must think, on some level, love is subject to morality. Else, I might believe “all’s fair in love and war”. If this statement is true, then either love, as an end, is so good that it permits any means to it, or any act in the service of love has no moral distinction—which is as good as saying it has no moral definition. I hardly think love legitimizes any action whatsoever (see #governor), but I will consider whether love is neither moral nor immoral, but amoral.

The characters of The Walking Dead find themselves in a world of perpetual strife—a world in which, it would seem, love becomes one of the few things left to live for. Moral philosophers of the past have taught us that the purpose of upright conduct is not just to deny ourselves pleasure, and not just to avoid divine retribution, it’s to live better lives filled with true happiness and more peace. Romantic love may not be a condition for happiness, but it’s something that makes us happy, so surely ethics would be concerned with romantic love.

One of the hard parts about breaking up is figuring out how much consideration we owe our exes, and for how long—especially if the desire for them is gone. Should we be friends? Should I start dating right away?—those kinds of questions. To be fair, this is what the writer I mentioned above wonders. Does it even make sense to say I have an obligation to someone now simply because I did in the past? Deontology is about moral duty: we are duty-bound to obey certain principles; or, we are duty-bound to serve certain interests, such as the allegiance a citizen owes to his/her country. There’s a famous line written by the Ancient Roman poet Horace which goes “dulce et decorum est pro patria mori”, which basically translates to “sweet & seemly it is, for fatherland one should die” or, simply, “it’s honorable to die for your country”. As Dr Santanu Das shares from his study of WWI literature, this line appeared in many pro-war poems written while Britain mobilized against the Central Powers2. Late in the war, an English soldier named Wilfred Owen denounced the falsity of this phrase in one of the most famous anti-war poems ever written3. Owen’s poem dismantles a moral principle by describing in graphic detail the unenviable fate of a fallen soldier. Similarly, opponents of duty-based ethics think it’s more important to consider the consequences of morally-guided actions than the principles behind them. Nonetheless, we often feel we have a certain obligation to people we love—and to those with whom we fall in love (it seems that love and war are going to be constant themes in this post). It’s those people’s happiness that we should consider first. In contrast, utilitarian ethics asserts that we should always consider the greater good. Just imagine promising your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner/spouse that you’ll always consider his/her happiness…equally to everyone else’s. It would seem to make sense that if I feel obligated to someone because of my love for her, that that love has moral value.

Philosophy has a hard time justifying love—an even harder time than justifying war. Philosophy demands answers, which is why we would find it necessary to “justify” love, and not just relax and enjoy it. Bennett Helm has a wonderful summary of the most recent contributions to the philosophical discourse of love4. In it, he collects opinions about why it’s good to love, in general, and why it’s good to love a particular person. This latter justification prompts a few questions:

What, if anything, justifies my loving rather than not loving this particular person?

What, if anything, justifies my coming to love this particular person rather than someone else?

What, if anything, justifies my continuing to love this particular person given the changes—both in him and me and in the overall circumstances—that have occurred since I began loving him? 5

While the first question asks why a particular person deserves to be loved, the second question asks what makes that person special. We might say that a person contains objective traits, which deserve our love, but there’s no clear reason why we should love those traits in one person versus another. For example, if freckles are objectively valuable, my love for you is justified if you have freckles, but why love you instead of someone else who also has freckles? Of course, this is just an example. No one’s suggesting that love should aim for anything as superficial as freckles (despite how cute they look on you). The third question then asks why stay with a particular person, especially if you meet someone new with more freckles. One way to answer Questions 2 & 3 is to borrow an idea from Immanuel Kant (considered the father of deontology). Kant’s idea is that human beings, by virtue of being rational creatures, are “ends in themselves”. This means I shouldn’t use you as a means for my own ends, if doing so limits your freedom. I should value you as an end in yourself. So, I shouldn’t use you to get to your money or just stare at your freckles. The problem is this still doesn’t answer why I need you, when really all I want is money & freckles.

Enough about freckles. Obviously, not all kinds of value are moral value. Although plenty have argued that beauty has a moral function, loving truth or beauty is not quite the same as loving a person. And, as I’ve explained above, it’s difficult to say with any certainty that there are good reasons to be in love, although there are plenty of things that can cause us to love this or that person. Perhaps the most accurate cliché is “the heart wants what the heart wants”. If love has no moral justification, it’s hardly possible to justify an act on the grounds that it serves love (again, “justified” means it’s moral). Acts must be judged by different standards.

So far I’ve been referring to love as the act of feeling love for someone (which is part of an emotional state), but I want to differentiate it from other types of actions, namely those that exist outside my mind. But, because it is an action, I could still say that, in principle, it’s good to feel love for someone, and then wonder whether that’s true because love is moral, or because loving someone has good consequences. The problem with that is love doesn’t actually make me do anything. By no means are they easy to extricate, but the way we feel about someone and other ways we act towards them are different things. An action, such as the decision to break up or stay with someone, may be influenced by a feeling, but the rightness or wrongness of an action doesn’t make the feeling right or wrong. In most conceivable cases, affecting someone’s moral welfare is not the reason we fall in love, just as when we fall out of love with people, it’s not done intentionally to harm them. A wrong may be done to a person, by making that person feel sad, but if the alternatives are just as bad, or worse, the wrong is unavoidable. Such wrongs are “excused”. From another perspective, breaking up could be the right thing to do, but still have unavoidably bad consequences.

Earlier I wondered whether love, if it caused me to do right by someone, is moral. I’ve rejected that hypothesis. Right or wrong consequences don’t have to follow from right or wrong feelings. Couched within that hypothesis was also the idea that love might act as a moral guide, like conscience. This can’t be the case. For one, we wouldn’t expect our moral reasoning to “disappear” just because we don’t feel it anymore. I also demonstrated that there’s no strong reason why loving a particular person is justified, or that feeling love is any more or less moral than feeling gassy (both of them have causes, certainly, but no good “reason” why I should feel that way). All this leads me to conclude that love is amoral, which means it “stands outside morality”6. This is, for me, a more satisfying conclusion. Love feels good, and is good, which is different than being right. I would hate to qualify my love by the same standards I qualify recycling. We can quite rationally feel a sense of duty towards our love, without it being moral duty, and this may dispose us to serve a particular person’s interest. This interest still fits within an ethical framework, and is measurable against the interests of others. Choosing to serve the well-being of your beloved is proper in many situations, but sometimes the greater good is truly more important. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you, babe.

Finally, I turn to our real question: was it ethical for Abraham to pursue Holly while he was with Rosita? Let’s pretend we want to break up with someone, because we love someone new. We’ll take our cue from the rebound writer. If we are primarily concerned with consequences, we might be required to weigh the increase in our happiness against the decrease (we’re going to proudly assume the other person will be crushed, not relieved) in the soon-to-be-ex’s happiness. What then? If we weren’t going to create more happiness overall, could we ever rightfully leave the person?

While writing this I considered whether it’s wrong to break up with someone in the context of a survival situation, and decided no. Why? Because, most likely, the circumstances are out of your control. If sad feelings coincide with other terrible events, it’s just an unfortunate coincidence. Therefore, it would have been ethical for Abraham to leave Rosita, if she hadn’t beat him to it. Still, it does matter how you break up with someone, and the fact that there are so many differing theories about the best way to break up—face to face, via text, in public, in private—shows that it’s not so clear-cut. Again, how we treat people and how we feel about them are different things. It’s important to understand that people are affected by your actions in different ways depending on the unique emotional bonds that exist between you. It’s also important to understand that people respond to emotional stress differently, and that this can affect their readiness to deal with other difficulties. If it’s not a survival situation, context does matter, and it can be disrespectful to break up with someone at an inopportune moment—it’s not very tactful to announce to your girlfriend’s whole family that you’re breaking up with her, while at her grandmother’s funeral.

We may feel certain duties towards those we love, but not all the duties we have to others are contingent on our feelings for them. Despite that Abraham never truly loved her, Rosita deserved to be treated with decency. There was no reason he couldn’t have broken up with her before pursuing a relationship with Holly. And Abraham’s love for Holly didn’t excuse lying to Rosita or cheating on her.

Unlike previous posts, in which I supply you ammunition to defend your own view, here I’ve answered my own question. However, in the course of explaining my reasoning, I’ve outlined ways in which love may or may not have moral value. I’ve also suggested that the effect of a break-up (someone feels bad) can be wrong or bad, and that these are different concepts. Although outside the scope of my argument, I’ve left out other aspects of Abraham & Rosita’s relationship, which may help you decide how would you answer the question.

1https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/angst/201106/break-ethics-0

2https://www.bl.uk/world-war-one/videos/wilfred-owen-dulce-et-decorum-est

3“Dulce Et Decorum Est”. Read here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46560/dulce-et-decorum-est

4“Love”. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Web. Accessed 8/5/17. <https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/love/#6>

5ibid.

6Baggini & Fosl. The Ethics Toolkit, p 207.

[englishoneeleven]

Commission vs Omission

To Abraham, Tobin deserves blame for making no attempt to save Holly. Holly definitely feels Tobin deserves blame. Later, Tobin himself thinks he made the wrong call. Two ethical concepts, commission and omission, will help us decide just how blameworthy Tobin is—or could have been. Commission refers to committing a crime or error, while omission refers to failing to prevent a crime or allowing a mishap without directly causing it. In other words, commission is what someone does, and omission is what someone doesn’t do (or omits), but perhaps should have done. Those that argue that omission is unethical could appeal to the consequences of someone’s (in)action, but they could also appeal to the person’s intent. Consider the following two scenarios. In Scenario A, Tobin & Holly are all alone when out of nowhere a zombie attacks Holly. It’s possible that Tobin could rescue her, but, not wanting to put himself in harm’s way, he chooses to run. In Scenario B, Tobin has been secretly plotting to murder Holly. Just as in the previous scenario, a zombie suddenly attacks her. It’s possible that Tobin could rescue Holly, but he seizes the opportunity and watches her die. In both scenarios, Tobin did nothing to save Holly. Should he be judged the same in both scenarios? Since the consequences are the same, your answer would depend on whether you think Tobin’s intent matters. Virtually, Tobin is as culpable of Holly’s death in Scenario B as if he had physically murdered her himself.  The actual event is similar to Scenario A; Tobin doesn’t want Holly to die, he just doesn’t try to prevent it. The question before us, “would Tobin have been culpable for her death?” describes a hypothetical situation, but it’s still important to consider. Don’t forget, if Abraham hadn’t been present, things may have ended tragically for Holly.

Reference:

The Ethics Toolkit, pp 114 – 116.

[englishoneeleven]

Rights (again) & Catharsis

Putting aside how the zombies are kept “docile”, one may wonder if Woodbury’s bizarre form of entertainment is much more extreme than such sports as vale tudo, which is still practiced in Brazil. Its “anything goes” techniques were practiced in the Ultimate Fighting Championship in the United States up until the late 1990s, when the federal government pressured the organization to introduce more restrictions. Many of the criticisms of violent sports, or violent media, could be summarized “violent entertainment teaches people to be violent”. Most research—so much, in fact, that it’s hard for me to present you with a balanced argument—on the effects of violent media concludes that it indeed induces violent behavior in its consumers. This behavior may cause people to savor conflict instead of seek peace, which, in turn, makes the world a more dangerous place. If excessive violence is bad, then isn’t it bad to watch sports that instigate aggressive behavior in its viewers? Do that many fans exercise poor moral judgment? You might think differently if in place of “violence” we substitute “sugar”. Just like violence, too much sugar poses serious health risks, and can lead to behavioral problems in children, but do we really want to live in a world without ice cream? One might argue that people have the right to watch (or eat) what they want, even if there are potential risks. If you enjoy the flavor of this argument, you might like to know that the late Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia defended one violent medium, video games, on constitutional grounds.

Video games qualify for First Amendment protection. Like protected books, plays, and movies, they communicate ideas through familiar literary devices and features distinctive to the medium. And “the basic principles of freedom of speech . . . do not vary” with a new and different communication medium. Joseph Burstyn, Inc. v. Wilson, 343 U. S. 495, 503. (Brown v Entertainment Merchants Association)1

The above quote establishes that video games are a form of speech, and thus should be free from government interference. The Bill of Rights reflects the belief that expression, like private property (see #hershel), is entitled to certain negative rights. To encroach on these rights would jeopardize a freedom believed to be a natural part of being human.

Another persisting defense of violent media goes something like “violent entertainment allows a safe outlet for violent tendencies”. This argument is closely related to the concept of catharsis. In layman’s terms, catharsis refers to purging oneself of ‘bad energy’. The concept originates in the discourse of Ancient Greek drama. Just like crying at a tear-jerker, experiencing a violent or painful situation through a play gives the viewer the ability to let go of violent or painful emotions that s/he carries around. Or so the theory goes. However, a perusal of several competent psychology articles will show that the majority of scholars now reject the validity of catharsis. Similarly, the research on the supposed benefits of a good cry suggest that crying in & of itself doesn’t offer health benefits, but prompts others to comfort us, or prompts us to comfort ourselves. This is really what soothes us.2 Particularly untenable is the argument just mentioned; rather than allow one to rid him/herself of violent emotions, taking out aggression only accustoms one to violent behavior.

If you think catharsis is good, you are more likely to seek it out when you get pissed. When you vent, you stay angry and are more likely to keep doing aggressive things so you can keep venting. It’s druglike, because there are brain chemicals and other behavioral reinforcements at work. If you get accustomed to blowing off steam, you become dependent on it. The more effective approach is to just stop. Take your anger off of the stove. (McRaney 174)3

Observing violence seems to have similar effects to acting violently4, but a crucial difference is how violence is represented. The incidence of a character acting violently in a TV show may serve as an example of how not to act. As Ross Buck of the University of Connecticut writes, “[s]ocial learning theories of aggression imply that children learn to be aggressive because they are exposed to models of aggression which they imitate”.5 He suggests that these models of aggression are present in stories in which the use of violence is legitimized. But what if you change the story?

Social-cognitive models suggest that the effects of violent media on aggression operate in part by affecting hostile interpretations. Would it be possible to target the connection between aggressive exposure and hostile interpretation by paying careful attention to exploiting untapped potential of aggressive content to teach viewers to label, understand, regulate, and communicate angry feelings; and to eschew giving way to hostile action? Can media violence be presented in such a way as to teach viewers to respond in positively constructive ways? (Buck)

The Humanities have long justified their place in education by arguing that art civilizes human beings. Art draws us in through the depiction of experiences which are similar to our own. Having established that connection, art allows us to identify with other points-of-view, encouraging understanding & empathy rather than alienation & suspicion. The problem with media violence is not whether it’s present but how it’s presented, particularly if it’s presented as unavoidable, or presents those to whom violence is directed as persons to be feared or scorned. Back to our original example, determining whether Woodbury’s fights are ethical may require us to first ask what are the intended vs actual effects of these fights on the audience.

1https://www.scribd.com/doc/299200172/brown-vs-entertainment-merchants-assn?ad_group=&campaign=Skimbit%2C+Ltd.&content=10079&irgwc=1&keyword=ft750noi&medium=affiliate&source=impactradius

2https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4035568/#B107

3McRaney, David. You Are Not So Smart, p 174.

4http://www.apa.org/action/resources/research-in-action/protect.aspx

5https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/spontaneous-emotion/201008/media-violence-revisited

[englishoneeleven]

Duty/Act, Passion and Proportion

Beginning an essay or other formal writing with a definition is a hackneyed technique, and generally I recommend against it, yet here I am preceding the following set of ethical concepts by stating the definition of murder. To murder is to kill someone or something “unlawfully and with premeditated malice”1. I start off this way because the word “murder” is used by Rick & Tyreese in Chapter Four to describe distinct & unrelated killings, and we should consider whether the term murder can be correctly applied to each instance. Presently we are confining ourselves to two killings, those which are subjects of the argument between the two men. Let’s consider both of the conditions of murder supplied by its definition: (1) that it is unlawful; (2) that it is committed with “premeditated malice”.

As we must often do in ethics, we must draw a distinction between moral and legal. Some kinds of killing are lawful, and therefore not murder. If your country sends you to war, you would not be accused of murder by your fellow citizens for killing a hostile enemy soldier in battle. However, it’s important to recognize that laws are meant to reflect the moral principles of those who live by them. The notion that killing an enemy in battle is a right action reflects other ideas, like service to one’s country is virtuous, or the preservation of certain freedoms is paramount to the life of individuals who represent a threat to those freedoms. Still, one could argue that this, or another form of lawful killing, is murder, on moral grounds, but doing so relies on a different definition.

Ethical positions are often drawn to one of two poles: duties and acts. Just as you would suspect, duty- or rule-based ethics favor adherence to moral principles (eg “double-dipping is wrong”), and act-based ethics focus on the effects of ethically-informed actions (eg “double-dipping spreads germs to others, which is wrong, so it is wrong to double-dip when sharing food”). One could argue that murder is wrong in certain instances, or in all instances, because murder itself is wrong. If it is wrong in principle, it is the duty of moral agents not to commit murder. In response to Thomas’s murder of two children, and his attempted murder of Andrea (Chapter Three), Rick makes the rule “you kill, you die”, which is to say, no one is permitted to take the life of another (living) member of the group, unless performed in retribution. The very next chapter Rick breaks his own rule, deciding that killing Dexter is better than risking the harm he may cause to others. Rick’s latter decision reflects the concept of utility, discussed previously (#hershel). When determining whether Rick’s action was justified, we should consider whether Rick was more correct the first or second time—does taking Thomas’s life make Rick no better than him, as Lori suggests, or is it sometimes right to kill, if Rick believes that doing so will protect others?

Arriving at the second condition of murder, we may consider Rick’s killing of Dexter and Tyreese’s killing of Chris as different types of acts. “Premeditated malice” means if someone takes someone else’s life, s/he meant to kill, and made the decision to kill before the act was committed. If I’m backing out of a garage, and depress the accelerator without realizing I’ve put the car in drive, instead of reverse, I am guilty of crashing into the wall of the garage, but it was neither my intent, nor did I realize what I was doing. If I crack open an egg too hard, it was my intent to cause a fissure in its shell, but it was not my intent to also break the yolk, thus ruining the delicious poached egg meal I had planned. By their own admissions, both Rick & Tyreese intended to kill Dexter & Chris, respectively. One could argue that Rick acted in self-defense, but his decision to kill Dexter was not a response to an immediate threat. At the moment the act took place, Dexter was defending himself against zombies, like everyone else. Tyreese, on the other hand, was possibly provoked to kill Chris. Before discovering his daughter was dead, Tyreese did not intend to kill Chris. Instead, he may have done so in the heat of passion. Defining this well-known plea is difficult, especially given its terminology. In classical philosophy, passion is defined opposite reason2. Intense rage, such as what Tyreese felt, would be an example of a passion. Since philosophers have historically debated whether reason or passion is a better-suited moral guide, we might also treat passion as an ethical concept. In that case, does Tyreese have a duty to the love he feels for his daughter, and the sadness he feels for her loss, to respond in a fashion which likewise feels appropriate? By definition, killing in the heat of passion is not murder but voluntary manslaughter3. What weakens this justification in Tyreese’s case is that he didn’t simply kill Chris, he mutilated him repeatedly afterwards.

This last point may also lead us to consider the concept of proportion, as in proportional punishment or proportional response. Consider: was death the proper punishment for Thomas, and was the manner of his death appropriate, given his crime? Was death appropriate for Dexter? Should Rick have made the decision himself? Should an objective party decided what to do with Chris? Did he deserve greater dignity in death, despite his actions? These questions, and the concepts discussed here, will help us decide whether either of the two men, Rick & Tyreese, were ethically justified.

1Merriam-Webster.com.

2For more information, see https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/emotions-17th18th/#ConEarModThePas.

3https://nationalparalegal.edu/public_documents/courseware_asp_files/criminalLaw/homicide/VoluntaryManslaughter.asp.

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Moral Luck

If you’ve also watched the television adaptation of The Walking Dead, you may feel that it doesn’t so much recreate the story, first told by the graphic novels, as it does recombine many of its elements. The antagonism between Rick & Shane is the primary dramatic focus in Season 2, which plays out during their time at Hershel’s farm. In the graphic novel, as you will have learned by now, Shane is killed before the group ever discovers the farm. But, just as in the show, in Chapter One Rick & Shane have different ideas about ensuring their survival. Rick wants the group to camp someplace safer, and fears that not all members of the group are equipped to defend themselves. Shane hopes for rescue from the government, and believes remaining close to a major city such as Atlanta gives them the best chance of rescue. Each of them believes his own plan is the best. Neither of them are able to adequately assess their situation; they don’t know the likelihood of being rescued, or if a rescue effort still exists. As critical observers, it would help us to consider what the two men do know, and what they may conclude from knowns, rather than unknowns. They know how many supplies they have, how many more they have access to, and their approximate rate of consumption. They know how many firearms they possess, and how many group members are trained to use them. They have made certain observations about how the zombies move, how they are attracted to scent, and that they could appear at any moment, from any direction. They also have chosen to remain outdoors, near the woods, and use vehicles for shelter, but they know that other options are possible. Given this knowledge, is Rick correct: have others suffered for Shane’s decisions? The question becomes whether Shane put the group at unnecessary risk. Shane could not have reasonably assumed that rescue was imminent. In this case, are the risks of remaining close to Atlanta low enough that he could afford to hope for rescue?

The fact remains that Shane did not know they would be attacked, only that it was possible. Equally important, he didn’t intend for Jim & Amy to die (Amy immediately, Jim afterwards). On the contrary, he thought his plan provided the group its best chance for survival. But without having directly caused the deaths of Jim & Amy, one might still be inclined to hold Shane responsible, arguing that those two group members died as a consequence of his decision to stay put instead of relocate. Whether or not we agree, let’s assume for the moment that Shane made the wrong decision. What if nothing bad had happened? Shane’s actions are the same in this scenario, but most likely Rick would not have pinned so much blame on him. What differentiates Shane’s action in his actual predicament is the effect of an external factor. The behaviors of countless undead roaming the countryside is out of Shane’s control. Because of this, one might think Shane shouldn’t be held responsible. Maybe the fact that zombies did attack was just bad luck. The concept of moral luck is an excellent place to begin a study of ethics, because it informs us, right from the start, that assigning praise & blame to people’s actions can be complicated. The underpinning of moral responsibility is that agents should only be praised/blamed for actions they can control. The problem in a situation such as Shane’s is that his action resulted in the deaths of others, but only because of the influence of something beyond his control. Does the morality of his action change if no one dies? The concept of moral luck also reminds us that it’s possible for actions to have no moral status. If there were no deaths, or, in spite of these deaths, could Shane’s decision have been neither moral nor immoral?

References:

Baggini & Fosl. The Ethics Toolkit, pp 222 – 223.

“Moral Luck: Crash Course Philosophy #39”. Youtube. Video. Accessed 7/31/17. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpDSPVv8lUE>

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Property Rights, Prudence, Utility and Sympathy

One kind of right is a negative right; it’s the right not to do something or to not have something happen to you. It can also mean the right to do something free from interference, such as exercise free speech*. In our society, private property allows the owner to enjoy certain negative rights. For example, the private ownership of land allows the owner to prohibit trespassing. In the TV series, Rick defends Hershel’s right to permit the group to remain on his farm at his own pleasure, but at the same time pleads for him to let them stay. In the graphic novel, it’s Tyreese that speaks up for Hershel (#s2e7). If Hershel has the right to ask the group to remove themselves from his property, one should consider whether that right supersedes any supposed duty he has to protect the group. Of course, one must then consider on what basis (if any) Hershel is responsible for the group’s welfare.

Perhaps it’s more advantageous for Hershel to let them stay or to make them go. One could say that one or the other option is more prudent. In ethics, prudence refers to how practical an ethical precept appears in real life. If someone teases you, you could justifiably object to how that person treats you, but you may also consider that doing so will only provoke more teasing. You may rationalize that doing so will show the other person that teasing you is having an effect upon you—an effect desired by that person. Perhaps not speaking out in defense of yourself is, in fact, the better course of action. In Hershel’s case, it may be more prudent to keep the group around, on the grounds that more people means more defense against walkers or enemies. Or it may be more prudent to send them away, since they outnumber Hershel’s family, and may pose their own threat.

What if there is no personal benefit to helping the group? In such a case, allowing them to stay would mean that Hershel acts altruistically. Altruism means acting selflessly, although plenty would argue there is no truly selfless act. Others would say one needn’t directly benefit from an action for it to be moral. Utilitarianism is an ethical theory which dictates that one should create the most good for the most people. Applying this principle, if helping the group will improve their welfare more than it will importune Hershel, than it’s the right thing to do.

In the 18th c, certain Scottish philosophers (including David Hume) argued that our capacity for sympathy is what makes us moral creatures, and that right & wrong can largely be measured by the degree to which actions satisfy our “moral sentiments”. Sentiment became a very important concept in late 18th & early 19th c British literature, used by some writers to critique codes of social interaction, and by others to exemplify refinement & civility, considered then (and now) to encourage gentler, socially-constructive behavior. A familiar situation popularized by this kind of literature involves a hero/heroine motivated to break social protocol (often at the risk of losing friends or angering parents) in order to be with the one s/he loves. Sympathy is a relied-upon ethical concept, especially in morally-ambiguous situations: if it feels like the right thing to do, then it is the right thing to do. In the present case, both Rick & Maggie make strong appeals to Hershel’s sympathy, appeals which one could argue Hershel has no reason to ignore. In any event, it’s important to remember that one can hardly be said to do right if they are compelled to do so. Therefore, Hershel must have the freedom to choose.

*Referenced: The Ethics Toolkit, p 48.

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Paternalism & Autonomy

Paternalism means intervening to alter or prevent someone else’s actions. It rests on the belief that one may decide what’s best for another person. Paternalism is most often discussed when it concerns governments making laws for its citizens*, but it may also apply to individuals making decisions for other individuals. In many situations in TWD, characters are either responsible for each other, such as when Rick & Lori make decisions for Carl, or feel they are responsible for others, such as when Dale keeps Andrea from keeping her gun, because he fears she isn’t in the proper mental state (Season 2). These situations bring up another ethical concept, autonomy, which is the freedom to choose your own actions. Medical ethics aim to administer only those procedures that patients consent to. A dilemma popular in medical dramas is the do-not-resuscitate (DNR) order, which essentially gives a patient the right to die, in the event his/her body can no longer breathe or pump blood on its own. After Carl is accidentally shot by Otis and loses consciousness, Rick & Lori debate whether or not to even attempt to keep him alive. In this case, they have the right to decide, because Carl is not an adult and does not have autonomy. The decision to provide him with medical attention is up to his parents. In the graphic novel, Rick merely wishes that Carl could be spared the horror of their present circumstances. Lori misinterprets his meaning; she thinks that what he suggests is that it’s better if Carl not regain consciousness, but they don’t have long to wait before Carl wakes up on his own. In the show, however, this idea is actually explored, but this time by Lori. As the clip (#s2e3) illustrates, Lori considers whether letting Carl die is in his best interest. Although in future situations, such as her pregnancy and Beth’s attempted suicide, Lori’s attitude towards life & living sharply changes, one might still trust her initial argument. In this view, providing medical attention to Carl meant not acting paternalistically.

*as with the examples in The Ethics Toolkit, pp 185 – 187.