Two Article Reading (12 sentences)

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Please read the two articles and answer the following questions about the reading.

Your complete answer should be a full, 6 sentence paragraphs for each article.

1) The tragedy of the master: automation, vulnerability, and distance

a) What is the main idea of the reading?

b) What is one question you have about the reading? That is, what is one thing you either did not understand or need clarification about?

2) No Malibu Surfer Left Behind: Three Tales About Market Coercion

a) What is the main idea of the reading?

b) What is one question you have about the reading? That is, what is one thing you either did not understand or need clarification about?

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No Malibu Surfer Left Behind: Three Tales About Market Coercion Åsbjørn Melkevik Harvard University ABSTRACT: This article examines the question of private coercion in market societies, arguing for an unconditional basic income guarantee from a classical liberal viewpoint. It proposes three main arguments. First, classical liberals view the purpose of government to be the reduction of coercion, both public and private. Second, a proper understanding of the nature of coercion indicates that parties subject to certain types of hardship are being coerced. Third, where the total amount of coercion is reduced by eliminating the hardship, the classical liberal state must do so as to fulfill its purpose. Hence, this article argues that if the total amount of coercion in society can be reduced by the state employing the amount of coercion necessary to maintain an unconditional basic income guarantee, then the classical liberal state is obligated to maintain such a guarantee by its underlying justification. KEY WORDS: basic income, classical liberalism, Friedrich Hayek, market capitalism, private coercion, social safety net I. A PRINCIPLED JUSTIFICATION FOR THE BASIC INCOME GUARANTEE T he extent to which the classical liberal theory of freedom as defended, for example, by Friedrich Hayek can lead us to some original conclusions about social justice has not been sufficiently appreciated. This article remedies such a shortcoming. John Tomasi, a leading figure of the neoclassical liberal movement, recently said this about Hayek advocating for state coercion to support social service programs: “Like many others before him, Hayek leaves us to guess at his precise reasons for advocating these familiar features of the classical liberal political program” (2012, 22). Similarly, Jason Brennan and Tomasi (2012, 119) wrote that “while classical liberals such as F.A. Hayek and Milton Friedman advocate a social safety net, their advocacy seems ad hoc given their strong claim about the sanctity of property rights.” Although it is understood that classical liberalism allows for a social safety net, say in the form of a basic income guarantee or a negative income tax, it is thought that such a safety net is not necessary in a classical liberal polity, and that its justification is somewhat lacking. This article suggests an original response to such a problem, showing why an unconditional basic income guarantee is not only allowed but also required by the classical liberal theory of freedom. The classical liberal justification for the state consists of the need to reduce the amount of coercion to which individuals are subject. Such a concern for non-coercion can be used not only to limit the scope of the modern welfare state, as is often the case, but also, perhaps more interestingly, ©2017 Business Ethics Quarterly 27:3 (July 2017). ISSN 1052-150X DOI: 10.1017/beq.2017.12 pp. 335–351 336 Business Ethics Quarterly to explain why social justice is necessary from a classical liberal viewpoint. More precisely, this article will propose three main arguments. First, classical liberals view the purpose of government to be the reduction of coercion, both public and private. Second, a proper understanding of the nature of coercion indicates that parties subject to certain types of hardship are being coerced. Third, where the total amount of coercion is reduced by eliminating the hardship, the classical liberal state must do so to fulfill its purpose. After establishing (section II) that private relations in market settings can be coercive, I will examine three classical liberal theories of coercion: first (section III), a legal approach supported by Ludwig von Mises; second (section IV), an economic approach endorsed by Richard Epstein; and, third (section V), an autonomy-based approach championed by Friedrich Hayek. I will argue for the latter as the only one with which we can satisfactorily deal with the problems of private coercion. The classical liberal concern with coercion is thought to lead to a defense of the minimal state. For such a conclusion to be sound, however, the state has to deal with private coercion in the labour market. Along the way, I will relate three tales to illustrate some problems of coercion in market societies, so as to arrive in the end at a principled argument for a basic income guarantee. It is true, as Alistair Macleod (2008) noted, that whether a given institutional arrangement is coercive depends on whether the arrangement is morally defensible in regard to both the content of its rules and the process by which they have come to be adopted. For the sake of the argument, and this is not a controversial point from a classical liberal standpoint, I assume that market institutions are indeed morally acceptable. Hence, this article argues that if the total amount of coercion in society can be reduced by the state employing the amount of coercion necessary to maintain a social safety net, then the classical liberal state is obligated to maintain such a safety net by its underlying justification. This will permit us to offer a principled rationale for a classical liberal unconditional basic income, which is thought to be missing by many neoclassical liberals, and which, indeed, was never explicitly given by, say, Hayek or Friedman. Let us begin by identifying the problem of private coercion accurately, which is not always so simple in view of the many contradictory theories of coercion we can find in the liberal tradition. II. PRIVATE COERCION IN MARKET SOCIETIES: THE TALE OF SVEINN AND HARRI “Capitalist theory typically assumes that market transactions are voluntary and uncoerced,” Alan Wertheimer explained (1987, 4-5), “even if they are made against a background of economic necessity.” If we are to take further steps to reconcile market capitalism with social justice, such an assumption must be challenged. Overall, many classical liberal proponents of market institutions have endorsed a forgiving understanding of voluntary exchanges, establishing a distinction between coercion proper and circumstances that limit alternatives non-coercively (Nozick 1974, 262-63). As Wertheimer noted, however, the viability of such accounts of coercion is somewhat unclear. It becomes even murkier once we examine how market institutions No Malibu Surfer Left Behind 337 can contribute to many problems of private coercion. Paul Gowder (2014, 331-33), for example, recently wrote about what he calls “unfree immiserating work,” say jobs with extremely low pay, unusually long hours, unpredictable scheduling, and a likelihood of long-term physical degeneration. Similarly, Chris Bertram, Corey Robin, and Alex Gourevitch (2012) have shown how there is often a “systemic denial of freedom in private regimes of power, particularly the workplace.” Employers sometimes invade employees’ privacy, firing them for resisting such invasion, and they also fire workers for supporting some political candidates, for trying to join a union, and, what is even more bizarre, for drinking in the privacy of their own homes. These are indeed problems of coercion, as this section will now establish, and thus they must be addressed by the state. The usual problem with coercion is straightforward: getting one to do something by threatening one with some evil is generally inadequate in the liberal tradition. The use of interpersonal violence by individuals is an obvious example of coercion, say criminal activity, and yet we should note that coercion cannot be summed up by such violence. According to Matt Zwolinski (2015, 523), for example, it is “relatively uncontroversial that all systems of property rights are by their very nature coercive.” Now, although I agree with Zwolinski, we must recognize that this point is quite controversial for classical liberals. In fact, that the capitalistic organization of society itself includes some inherently coercive features is often categorically denied, which is one thing this article will address. But we may want to take a step back. A limited state is justified in the classical liberal tradition by the fact that it protects us from our fellow citizens. Simply put, as Friedman explained (2002, 2), the major function of government is to preserve law and order. Enforcing criminal law is coercive by nature, but since it reduces the amount of coercion to which individuals are subject it is nonetheless warranted. Talking about libertarians, Bertram, Robin, and Gourevitch (2012) rightly observed that “in fact, the idea that private action can diminish individual freedom is central to their justification for the state, which is that some state coercion is required to stop people from dominating, enslaving, and generally harming others.” Market capitalism is justified in quite the same way. Such a system counters the capacity monopolies or cartels would otherwise have to exercise coercion – for example, in withholding services that are essential to my existence (Hayek 1978, 136). This is uncontroversial. It is not clear, however, that some horrible condition of employment may lead to coercion in a market capitalist framework. Let me immediately introduce a first story, the tale of Sveinn and Harri, which captures one facet of the problem of private coercion in market societies. Harri means “master” in Old Norse, and Sveinn means “free servant.” Let us accordingly imagine that Harri is a tyrannical foreman, while Sveinn has to work for Harri all day every day, not being able to find a better job. Sveinn’s job is repetitive, dangerous, backbreaking, while Harri is disrespectful and is looking for any excuse for firing Sveinn. Sveinn is paid the minimum wage, but the best he can hope is for such an awful job, which he is forced to endure because of economic desperation. He could go work for someone other than Harri, but it would be more of the same; for example, mining, fruit-picking, textile sweatshops, and meatpacking factories. “Raw statistical 338 Business Ethics Quarterly data,” rightly said Gowder (2014, 330), “cannot truly capture the lousiness of these jobs.” The question, then, is whether Sveinn is coerced. Intuitively, the answer is yes – economic desperation has led Sveinn to a life of servitude. A first objection could go as follows: people like Sveinn are free to starve to death, as Gerald Cohen observed, sarcastically. Such a response, however, is too all-encompassing. It can defeat any understanding of coercion, since starving is always an option. Yet the concept of coercion, as Cohen explained, does not imply that one has no alternative whatsoever. “When I am forced to do something,” said Cohen (1983, 4), “I have no reasonable or acceptable alternative course.” Sveinn has no reasonable alternative to immiserating work, and therefore, we could say, he is coerced. He could become a beggar, or go work for another tyrannical foreman, but these are not reasonable options. Classical liberals, though, will resist such an account of coercion. We cannot, as Karl Marx thought we should, “hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, criticise after dinner” (1998, I.ii.17, 53). Poor people have limited options in market societies, and yet classical liberals like Hayek will nonetheless insist that they are not truly coerced – or, at least, if they are coerced, it is not because their reasonable alternatives are too few or nonexistent. There is one exception, which Hayek briefly mentioned, although it is a crucial one. Periods of extensive unemployment are situations in which employed people may be “at the mercy” of employers, having no alternative, and accordingly coerced. “In periods of acute unemployment,” Hayek wrote (1978, 136-37), “the threat of dismissal may be used to enforce actions other than those originally contracted for. And in conditions such as those in a mining town the manager may well exercise an entirely arbitrary and capricious tyranny over a man to whom he has taken a dislike.” Unskilled employees are particularly vulnerable to manipulation by others in the labour market, and therefore, from a classical liberal viewpoint, we may say that they are vulnerable to coercion. Such an account of private coercion is consistent with the customary cases of coercion classical liberals debated, say being mugged or conscripted, but it also accommodates economic coercion. “Coactus tamen voluit,” once said Max Weber (1978, 334), that is, “although coerced, it was still his will.” Such a phrase is an oxymoron, and the reason why so many understandings of coercion fail to grasp the evils of economic coercion is because they do not see the contradiction in such a phrase. One is coerced when one must act according to another person’s will rather than one’s own. As Arthur Ripstein explains (2009, 107-08), according to Kant, “consent is fundamental to a system of equal freedom,” as it expresses “each person’s entitlement to be his or her own master.” Alternatively, Michael Weinstein wrote that “coercion as compulsion produces the condition of slavery, in which the actions of the coerced become means to the realization of another’s plan” (1972, 66). Simply put, when someone attempts to mug you, when the state enacts a system of conscription, and when your boss threatens to fire you if you join a union, then you are not acting as your own master anymore. Such an understanding of coercion has been championed by Hayek (1978, 13), and it is a key component of the classical liberal rationale for market capitalism: No Malibu Surfer Left Behind 339 The question of how many courses of action are open to a person is, of course, very important. But it is a different question from that of how far in acting he can follow his own plans and intentions, to what extent the pattern of his conduct is of his own design, directed toward ends for which he has been persistently striving rather than toward necessities created by others in order to make him do what they want. Whether he is free or not does not depend on the range of choice but on whether he can expect to shape his course of action in accordance with his present intentions, or whether somebody else has power so to manipulate the conditions as to make him act according to that person’s will rather than his own. Freedom thus presupposes that the individual has some assured private sphere, that there is some set of circumstances in his environment with which others cannot interfere. The key point is that one is coerced to the extent that one is made to submit to the will of others, and one is vulnerable to coercion to the extent that one is vulnerable to manipulation by others. Having no reasonable alternative does not define coercion, but it can certainly make one vulnerable to coercion. Market capitalism provides people with an assured private sphere, and thus it reduces the amount of coercion in society, or so classical liberals have argued. Economic necessity, however, often provides opportunities for coercion. Having to do awful work for very low wages with no reasonable alternative but starvation may place one at the mercy of one’s employer. The manager may then become a “private tyrant,” requiring employees to submit to his every caprice, say random drug testing, as Gourevitch notes (2016, 18). Such an account of coercion is central to the classical liberal rationale, as it can be used to explain its noted preference for market capitalism, limited government, and decentralization. But it can also be used, as this article will demonstrate, to vindicate a basic income guarantee. Now, a second objection could go as follows: As Hayek said (1978, 120), most employed people are not coerced in a market society because they act according to their own will. “To do the bidding of others is for the employed the condition of achieving his purpose. Yet, though he may find this at times highly irksome, in normal conditions he is not unfree in the sense of being coerced” (Hayek 1978, 120). Such a thought had already been introduced by Adam Smith (1776, III.iv.12) in his discussion of the tradesman who “derives his subsistence from the employment, not of one, but of a hundred or a thousand different customers. Though in some measure obliged to them all, therefore, he is not absolutely dependent upon any one of them.” As Philip Pettit mentioned (2006, 142), markets reduce dependency and domination – or, if you will, it reduces the amount of coercion. Markets decentralize power. They are characterized by a large number of buyers and sellers, none of whom may manipulate specific people. Hence, Robert Taylor (2013) recently argued for a celebratory attitude toward markets. Economic coercion in the labour market, we could then say, should be addressed by more competition, that is, by a flexible labour market, not a more robust safety net. Classical liberals will thoroughly agree with Taylor, as, indeed, the rationale for market capitalism rests on the fact that competition reduces the total amount of coercion. Yet this is not enough from a classical liberal viewpoint. As I explained elsewhere (Melkevik 2016b), although market societies will make most people 340 Business Ethics Quarterly vastly better-off, they will also make a few people worse-off, that is, some people will inevitably fall through the cracks of market institutions. This is a problem since, as Zwolinski notes (2015, 523), the classical liberal theory “focuses on individuals, not on aggregates.” Though markets reduce the total amount of coercion, they may not do so for everyone equally. There is thus still a problem of coercion, if only because we know that some people like Sveinn will have to submit to their tyrannical supervisor. Before we go on to argue such a point, however, we have to consider three alternate understandings of coercion favoured by some classical liberals and libertarians. III. THE STATE AS AN APPARATUS OF COERCION: THE TALE OF EDWIN AND SÓLI Let us now consider two alternative theories of coercion championed by classical liberals like Ludwig von Mises as well as by libertarians like Robert Nozick, focusing not on manipulation but on the state as an apparatus of coercion. Such theories respond, for example, to Robert Lee Hale, a leading figure of the first law-and-economics movement, who criticized laissez-faire liberalism. Simply put, Hale’s challenge to laissez-faire (1923, 470) goes as follows: “The systems advocated by professed upholders of laissez-faire are in reality permeated with coercive restrictions of individual freedom.” Private coercion is ubiquitous and unavoidable for the working class, Hale claimed, as private coercion is actually backed by the law of property in market systems. Or, as Zwolinski said, property rights are by their very nature coercive. Suppose a worker wants to eat a bag of peanuts, said Hale, and let me add that this worker is named Sóli, which fittingly means “poor man” in Old Norse. The bag costs five cents, which Sóli does not have. Of course, Sóli may not use violence to get the peanuts from Edwin, name which means “rich friend,” as forcible dispossession is one of the most obvious cases of coercion. This, however, is not the real problem of coercion in the tale of Edwin and Sóli. According to Hale, the problem is as follows. Edwin may remove at his discretion the legal duty under which Sóli is in regard to the bag of peanuts. Provided Sóli really wants to eat peanuts, he may then have to obey the will of Edwin. For example, Sóli may agree to pay five cents for the legal permission to eat a bag of peanuts, or, in other cases, Sóli may have to conform to the terms of Edwin in ways which are much more unpleasant, say working at disagreeable toil for a slight wage. “Unless, then, the non-owner can produce his own food,” said Hale (1923, 473), “the law compels him to starve if he has no wages, and compels him to go without wages unless he obeys the behests of some employer. It is the law that coerces him to wage-work under penalty of starvation – unless he can produce food.” Can Sóli produce his own food, then asked Hale? Probably not. The law of property forbids Sóli to cultivate any particular piece of ground unless he happens to be its owner. Hence, as Hale thought, Sóli is truly coerced in a market capitalist system, and it is the law of property that enables such private coercion. No Malibu Surfer Left Behind 341 Many classical liberals and libertarians disagree. “A person’s choice among differing degrees of unpalatable alternatives,” Nozick explained (1974, 263f), “is not rendered nonvoluntary by the fact that others voluntarily chose and acted within their rights in a way that did not provide him with a more palatable alternative.” One is not coerced to the extent that the circumstances that limit one’s alternative are not themselves coercive in nature, for instance when the circumstances are just other people exercising their rights. Nozick assumes, for example, that Edwin cannot be said to coerce Sóli in acting within his rights, and that if all people act within their rights with respect to Sóli, then, no matter how poor Sóli’s condition, Sóli is not coerced. Therefore, following Nozick, libertarians have established a distinction between coercion and circumstances that limit alternatives non-coercively, and market exchanges are thought to be non-coercive inasmuch as such exchanges stay within the bounds of the law. Such a theory, however, leads us to some conclusions that cannot be reconciled with the broader classical liberal philosophy. First, we would have to say that the legal owner of a spring in a desert would not coerce people dying of thirst by asking an unreasonable price for his water, inasmuch as he is simply exercising his rights over the spring. This case, though, is the textbook example of a coercive monopoly. In the classical liberal rationale, it is used to explain why anti-trust actions may be necessary to break up monopolies, or it is used to explain why property rights must be arranged as to prevent such monopolies to arise in the first place. Second, we would also have to say that there is no market coercion involved when, for example, Edwin threatens to fire Sóli for no good reason. As Gourevitch explains (2016, 18), in the United States employers have legal powers called “managerial prerogatives,” which, within some broad boundaries, permit them to engage in a master and servant relationship with their employees. For instance, “managers may fire employees whose political views or sexual orientation or even physical appearance they disapprove of” (Gourevitch 2016, 18). Were such powers exercised by the state, surely classical liberals would condemn them as coercive. The general problem, as Hayek explained (1978, 139), is that “in defining coercion we cannot take for granted the arrangements intended to prevent it.” The rights employers have are such arrangements, and therefore we cannot say that Edwin does not coerce Sóli in asking him to work at disagreeable toil for a slight wage because he is permitted to do so per property and contract law. The same goes for the oasis case. It means that one cannot identify people’s rights by the criterion “minimize coercion,” and that people’s rights cannot define non-coercion in a given system. If the background institutions of markets can be shown to lead to economic desperation or manipulation by others, then we should not conclude that there is no problem of coercion inasmuch these institutions have appropriately defined people’s rights. It probably means that we should have additional institutions, say a safety net, which will further minimize coercion in markets.1 Now, we may think, without authorized power to use violence, an institution cannot be called coercive, such that only the state and some agencies can coerce. Such a theory was championed by Ludwig von Mises. That is, private organizations within market societies are not coercive, as they are not expressly authorized to resort to 342 Business Ethics Quarterly violent action. More precisely, in a review of Hale’s book Freedom through Law, Mises (1953, 410) wrote: A state or a government is an apparatus of coercion and compulsion. Within the territory that it controls, it prevents all agencies, except those that it expressly authorizes to do so, from resorting to violent action. A government has the power to enforce its commands by beating people into submission or by threatening them with such action. An institution that lacks this power is never called a government. As Barbara Fried noted (2001, 47), moreover, Mises clearly implied that an institution that lacks this power can never be called coercive. Edwin does not have the authority to beat Sóli into submission, as Sóli may very well look elsewhere if he wants a bag of peanuts, and therefore, Mises would say, the relationship between Edwin and Sóli is not coercive. Edwin lacks authorized power, or the monopoly of violence to put it in a Weberian way. Such an account, however, misses several important points. First, it is not because the state has a monopoly on legitimate force that it also holds a monopoly on coercion. In fact, one may remember that Max Weber (1978, 313-9, 334-6, 729-31) established a distinction between “legal coercion” monopolized by the state, “physical coercion” typical of a robber, “psychological coercion” as exercised by a church, and the “indirectly coercive force of the market,” the latter of which is what is missing in many classical liberal theories. Second, and more importantly, the monopoly the state has on force is not total. People can legitimately use force in self-defence. If Sóli tries to grab Edwin’s bag of peanuts, Edwin is presumably authorized by the state to use some force in resisting this invasion of his property rights. Hence, what the state has is not a monopoly on legitimate use of force, but a monopoly on the authorization of use of force, or, if you will, a monopoly on authoritative decisions about who can and cannot use force. For instance, the state authorizes homeowners to use some force in order to defend their property. These two accounts of coercion proposed by Nozick and Mises, therefore, fail to fit within the broader classical liberal rationale for market capitalism. A system of property rights is indeed coercive, or, in other words, the law allows some people to coerce others. “In protecting property the government is doing something quite apart from merely keeping the peace. It is exerting coercion,” said Hale (1923, 472). To be more precise, the state reduces the total amount of coercion in society by employing the amount of coercion necessary to maintain property and contract law. The same rationale is used more generally for limited government – though coercive, criminal law reduces coercion. Hence, market capitalism has never been a system of laissez-faire for classical liberals, as, say, Aaron Director (1964, 2) and Jacob Viner (1960) explained. It is rather a carefully designed system whose purpose is to limit coercion in society. That Nozick and Mises do not acknowledge the coercive nature of markets should make classical liberals wary of their understandings of coercion. These theories are non-generalizable, or ad hoc if you will, such that they cannot be used to shed light on many classical liberal objectives, save for vindicating limited government. No Malibu Surfer Left Behind 343 IV. ON MALIBU SURFERS AND BEACH BUMS: THE TALE OF VALDR AND LÓNI The previously discussed theories of coercion do not satisfactorily capture the classical liberal objective of reducing the total amount of coercion in society. Whereas Nozick’s theory defines coercion through the arrangements intended to prevent it, namely a system of rights, Mises refuses to even consider the possibility of private coercion in market societies. Overall, it therefore seems like classical liberals should favour a theory of coercion as manipulation, following Hayek. That is, one is free to the extent that one can expect to shape one’s course of action in accordance with one’s present intentions. Now, the problem is the following: economic desperation as well as periods of extensive unemployment can lead to coercion in market societies, even though, of course, state redistribution will be coercive as well. Classical liberals, therefore, are facing a dilemma. A system of property rights will create specific sets of circumstances that will make some people vulnerable to coercion, being at the mercy of tyrannical employers, and yet the state cannot address such a problem without having recourse to some coercion of its own. Broadly speaking, in a market society, there are only two ways in which the state can ameliorate poverty. First, and this is the usual strategy favoured by progressives, we may alter the proportion of the gain received by each individual member, such that we take from some to give to others. Second, we may increase the total social gains possible from political organization, or, as Epstein explains (1985, 4) with a tale of two pies, government action may move a society from a small pie to a larger pie, while preserving the relative entitlement among the members of the group. A rising tide, we are told, lifts all boats. Classical liberals normally favour this second Pareto improvement strategy, which is thought to be non-coercive, and which is certainly the best way to tackle poverty in the long run. But we could also ask the following question: What about the short run for people like Sóli and Sveinn who are faced with immediate problems of private coercion? Let me introduce a third story, which I call the tale of Valdr and Lóni. The conveniently named Valdr, which means “ruler,” is in fact the ruler of Malibu, while Lóni is a Malibu surfer, whose name fittingly means “the lazy one” in Old Norse. Malibu is peopled with somewhat affluent residents, though Lóni is certainly not one of them. He is what we might call derogatively a “beach bum,” someone who is resistant to work. It just so happens that Lóni likes to spend his days surfing, that is, he has a high preference for leisure. Now, say Valdr is embarrassed by the inequality between Lóni and everyone else in Malibu, and therefore he enacts a new municipal tax – the Malibu surfer tax. There are about 13,000 people in Malibu, each of whom now must pay $2 each year, which is then given to Lóni, hypothetically the only poor individual in Malibu, as a basic income guarantee. This is an obvious case of coercion for classical liberals – it is forced redistribution. Though I will later argue for an even more comprehensive guarantee to counter the evils of private coercion, we must first understand why state coercion has always been such a problem for classical liberals, so that we may, later on, compare the evils of redistributive and private coercion. 344 Business Ethics Quarterly The problem is then the following. A free market economy will make everyone better-off in the long run, including Sóli and Lóni, though it will also create the conditions under which Sóli may have to agree to work for Edwin at disagreeable toil for a slight wage in the short run. Meanwhile, Lóni will surf all day, as long as there are still waves on Zuma Beach. “In the sweat of thy face,” says the Book of Genesis (3:19), “shalt thou eat bread” – and yet Lóni could not care less about working, even if it means he has to fast until someone like Valdr is compassionate enough to present him a bit of bread free of charge. To be more precise, we are now faced with three problems. First, if the state alters the proportion of the gain received by each individual member, it is state coercion. Second, if the state does nothing, then poor people like Sóli will have to endure some cases of private coercion, perhaps forced to do some immiserating work, thus becoming vulnerable to manipulation by others. Third, as Epstein noted (2002, 147), state coercion will benefit some individuals greatly, like lazy Lóni, while others will benefit only a small bit. Classical liberals may then prefer the evils of private coercion to the evils of state coercion, as the latter carries additional risks; for example, state coercion may promote idleness and skew the distribution of gains. After all, “The strongest of all the arguments against the interference of the public with purely personal conduct,” said John Stuart Mill, “is that when it does interfere, the odds are that it interferes wrongly, and in the wrong place” (2008, 92). Many classical liberals have indeed been distrustful of state intervention, but, I want to suggest, such a position is inconsistent with their concern for non-coercion. Overall, we could think, classical liberals favour the following theory of coercion. One coerces when one does not preserve the relative entitlement of the people in a given society, as determined through a certain baseline – for example, the state of nature or laissez-faire. “The implicit normative limit upon the use of political power,” said Epstein (1985, 4), “is that it should preserve the relative entitlements among the members of the group, both in the formation of the social order and in its ongoing operation.” Such a theory permits us to explain why a limited government is needed to address private coercion – as, for example, the mugger disrupts the relative entitlements of the people he robs. It also explains the classical liberal distrust of progressive taxation, although as I have shown elsewhere (Melkevik 2016a), such a distrust may be misplaced. More importantly, such an account of coercion echoes the intuition behind the famous “enough and as good” proviso John Locke has championed (2003, 112, II.v.27): Whatsoever then he removes out of the state that nature hath provided, and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property. It being by him removed from the common state nature hath placed it in, it hath by this labour something annexed to it that excludes the common right of other men. For this labour being the unquestionable property of the labourer, no man but he can have a right to what that is once joined to, at least where there is enough, and as good, left in common for others. Such a proviso, as Nozick understood it (1974, 175), “is meant to ensure that the situation of others is not worsened.” Similarly, as Zwolinski notes (2015, 519), the No Malibu Surfer Left Behind 345 proviso says that, “Natural resources should be used, in some sense, for the benefit of all persons, not just a privileged few.” Now, although we may agree that market capitalism makes most people better-off, as it dramatically increases the stock of goods that can be acquired through trade, the problem is that some people will not benefit from such a coercive system of property and contract law. Markets do not benefit “everyone.” Hence, that people like Sóli cannot afford to buy a bag of peanut without having to submit to the will of Edwin is a problem for classical liberals, or at least it should be. It is true that people will develop legitimate expectations around their property rights, permitting them to shape their course of action in accordance with their intentions. But a given system of property rights can only be used as a rough benchmark to decide what is or what is not coercive in a given society, since such a system of rights cannot have any normative authority over our understanding of coercion. Redistribution will indeed alter the pro rata division within a given society, but that may not be such a problem if the goal is indeed to reduce the total amount of coercion. It is unlikely that a single mechanism, say market capitalism, will be able to fulfill on its own such a classical liberal objective, and thus we may have to accept some redistribution as a way to compensate for the shortcomings of market capitalism that cannot address some forms of economic coercion in the labour market. In this case, redistribution supplements market institutions, as we accept some coercion to reduce a greater amount of coercion. We should remember that private coercion is a problem in market societies hic et nunc, that is, here and now, for a few people living destitute lives. Valdr is certainly coercing Malibu residents with his Malibu surfer tax, but, I argue, he is also preventing another kind of coercion. The crucial lesson from a classical liberal point of view is that market capitalism will radically reduce the total amount of coercion in society, which will benefit most people, though not everyone, unfortunately. A few poor people like Sveinn and Sóli will have to submit to the unsavory character of people like Harri and Edwin, that is, some tyrannical foreman or exploitative businessperson. Since, as Zwolinski notes, the classical liberal tradition is individualistic, not aggregative, we therefore have to have a mechanism that ensures that the total amount of coercion is reduced for everyone, not just for most people. A basic income guarantee is such a mechanism, and, as I will suggest, such a guarantee should aid everyone, including people like Lóni, as lazy as they may be, if we are to be consistent with the classical liberal theory of liberty. V. FROM PRIVATE COERCION IN MARKETS TO THE BASIC INCOME GUARANTEE The classical liberal theory of freedom follows Kant’s intuition according to which people have a strong interest in having no other person determine their own purposes (Ripstein 2009, 111). Using such an account of coercion, I would now propose three conclusions, each linked to one of the three tales I recounted, so that we may see how the classical liberal theory of freedom justifies an unconditional basic income guarantee, without assuming any altruistic motive. 346 Business Ethics Quarterly First, concerning the tale of Edwin and Sóli, there is private coercion in market societies, inasmuch as poor individuals often have no real possibility for autonomyexercising choice. Though some people may be ready to consent, for example, to the conditions of sweatshop labour, it does not follow that such consent is also an expression of self-mastery. Following Justice Holmes, we may say that “the fact that a choice was made according to interest does not exclude duress” (Union Pac. R. Co. v. Public Service Commission of Missouri, 248 U.S. 67, 70 [1918]). Of course, we have to be careful with such an assumption, since not everyone can be a professional baseball player. Most courses of action are only open for so many people, and yet recall that a limited course of action does not make one unfree according to Hayek. The question is rather about having a private sphere with which no one can interfere. Extreme poverty, we could then say, cultivates private coercion, as it makes it that much easier for someone else to manipulate one. Economic desperation forces some people to submit to the will of others. In this case, that there are many well-off employers who would offer lousy jobs does not make the would-be employees any more free. Sóli’s consent to work for Edwin at disagreeable toil for a slight wage is not necessarily an autonomy-exercising decision. Hence, classical liberals should follow Gowder (2014, 306) in saying that the most plausible version of economic liberty requires the state to “guarantee, if possible that no one will be driven by economic desperation to engage in immiserating work, which may impair rather than facilitate his or her pursuit of the good.” Simply put, a classical liberal polity should be concerned with the pressing issue of occupational choice. For many unskilled workers, entering the labour market may be a coercive experience, in which they can be made to agree, through a binding agreement, to submit to the will of an employer so not to starve. Second, concerning the tale of Sveinn and Harri, and building on our first conclusion, we must consider an additional side of private coercion, namely what could be called the problem of “little tyrants.” Though Sóli may face coercion, having to go work for Edwin if he wants to eat, we must acknowledge that people like Sveinn also face coercion within the workplace. Such a point was well-understood by Nozick (1997, 16), as he gave the following example of workplace coercion: “You threaten to get me fired from my job if I do A, and I refrain from doing A because of this threat,” and therefore “I was coerced into not doing A.” In some industries, say the worst service-sector jobs, workers are regularly faced with such instances of private coercion, which should perhaps make us question the justice of the doctrine of employment-at-will, too often enabling “little tyrants” within a given company. Save for some protections against gender and race discrimination, employees may then be fired for good or bad reasons, as well as for no reason at all, which may enable bizarre and undignified cases of private coercion. For example, employees are sometimes forbidden to pee, or commanded to pee, or asked to dress in some unusual ways. As Bertram, Robin, and Gourevitch noted (2012), employers are then granted powers forbidden to the state – they are free to punish without due process. The tale of Edwin and Sóli demonstrated that the capitalistic organization of society itself includes some inherently coercive features, forcing people to enter the labour market, less they starve. The tale of Sveinn and Harri, conversely, shows how No Malibu Surfer Left Behind 347 people often have to face cases of coercion inside the workplace. Overall, then, there are problems of private coercion both inside and outside the workplace, which must be addressed by the state. A basic income guarantee is one such way to address the problems of private coercion. It permits people, first, to resist having to integrate the labour market under coercive circumstances, and, second, to refuse to go along with the caprice of tyrannical foremen. If no one is to be left behind, then classical liberals must embrace such a guarantee. This conclusion can be accepted by most, if not all, classical liberals. For example, we may remember that Hayek has argued for an assured minimum income (2013, 249), that is, a non-market safety net, or “a floor below which nobody need to descend.” The basic income, however, if made unconditional, will lead us to the Malibu surfer problem we examined. Third, then, concerning the tale of Valdr and Lóni, the Malibu surfer problem is not as serious an objection to a social safety net as may be thought. Some classical liberals like Epstein may very well complain against giving a 22-year-old $10,000 per year for living at home with his parents and hanging out with his friends (2002, 166), and yet, we should ask, what is the alternative? Are we to give money only to the “deserving poor,” like the Old Poor Law did? As a matter of fact, Epstein thinks so (167), as he wrote that “no gift of assistance should be made in unconditional fashion. Some investigation should be made of the condition of the recipient, and some restrictions should be imposed on the way in which the gift, whether in cash or kind, is used.” If we are to reduce the total amount of coercion for everyone, and not just for most people, our third conclusion must be that some gift of assistance should be made unconditionally, without which the so-called “underserving” poor would be vulnerable to private coercion. Also, we would then have to invade the private life of all those who would receive state assistance, which is not something that can be welcomed by classical liberals. Will an unconditional guarantee lead to a life of self-indulgence for some people like Lóni and idle teenagers? Yes, it will. But the problems of private coercion Sóli and Sveinn are facing are serious enough that we must be ready to shoulder such a cost. As undeserving as a few people may be, an unconditional safety net safeguards market societies from the evils of private coercion, permitting people to avoid intolerable works, be they degrading or unbearably tedious (Gowder 2014, 306). “For the ‘underserving poor,’ those responsible for their own fate,” once stated the Charity Organisation Society, “abuse of the relief system could only be curbed by ‘making it as distasteful as possible to the applicants; that is, by insisting (as a general rule) on a labour test or residence in a workshop.’” After approvingly quoting that passage, typical of the Benthamite rhetoric used in the Poor Law Amendment Act 1834, Rothbard (1978, 148) explained that the libertarian position calls for “the complete abolition of governmental welfare and reliance on private charitable aid, based as it necessarily will be on helping the ‘deserving poor’ on the road to independence as rapidly as possible.” Some classical liberals have indeed defended a similar position as they argued against the welfare state. The main problem was perhaps better captured by Jeremy Bentham (1843, III.ii.1, 401) when he explained the following: “In this country, under the existing poor laws, every man has a right to 348 Business Ethics Quarterly be maintained, in the character of a pauper, at the public charge: under which right he is in fact, with a very few exceptions, (amounting not to one perhaps in fifty,) maintained in idleness.” Simplifying greatly, welfare benefits putatively encourage laziness, and social justice is consequently not to be understood as a reciprocal relationship among different parties. It rather becomes an institutional protection of idleness. Such a problem, following John Rawls (1988, 257), is now colloquially known as the Malibu surfer problem, that is, the welfare state is thought to lead to a life of self-indulgence for some people who consume more than their fair share of public resources. To use state coercion to support these idle persons, it is therefore thought, is wrong. This article has disproved such a thought from a classical liberal viewpoint. It is not viable to merely help the deserving poor. Leaving aside the intractable problems that would accompany any attempt to pick up those who are indeed “deserving,” we need to consider how market institutions can be coercive, either directly or indirectly, which, of course, needs to be remedied if we accept the classical liberal rationale. Consider what may be called the “exploitation objection,” which says that it is wrong to live off the labour of others (Rawls 2001, 179). Stuart White proposed three responses to this objection, but for classical liberals only one of these answers suffices to justify an assured income. The “balance of fairness response,” explains White (2006, 4f), goes as follows: “Introducing a basic income will, on balance, prevent greater injustice than it might create.” For classical liberals, the greater injustice is private coercion, such as having one’s privacy invaded by one’s employer, having to obey the impulsive will of your manager, or having to do demeaning sweatshop labour so not to go hungry. As White noted, such a response concedes that the basic income guarantee will introduce some injustice. It will disrupt the relative entitlement of the people, making some people worse off so as to make others better off. Such redistribution is coercive. It is also most probably exploitative for Lóni to live off the labour of Sóli and Sveinn. But, overall, the argument is that the evils of private coercion are greater than those accompanying a comprehensive social safety net, and the evils to be removed by such a safety net are greater than those that accompany the governmental interference necessary to carry out such a net. If we follow Hayek in defining coercion as being made to act according to someone else’s will rather than one’s own, then it seems the above examples of private coercion are worse than being forced by your government to pay a few more tax dollars. Such a “balance of fairness” argument shows why classical liberalism should indeed be committed to an unconditional basic income guarantee. A different liberal tradition that would not be so concerned with coercion, however, may have to use additional arguments to justify such a guarantee. But the classical liberal concern for non-coercion is strong enough that no additional argument is needed, provided that we can show that the total amount of coercion in society can be reduced for everyone by the state employing the amount of coercion necessary to maintain such a basic income guarantee. No Malibu Surfer Left Behind 349 We have now established that the classical liberal state is obligated to maintain a basic income guarantee by its underlying justification. Yet one could want additional reasons to support an unconditional guarantee rather than a conditional one. Let me propose the following thought. The purpose of the basic income guarantee is to enhance everyone’s capacity to refuse to do immiserating work, which makes people vulnerable to coercion. To make such a guarantee conditional on willingness to work, therefore, would be self-defeating. That is, if we assess the people’s willingness or ability to work before we provide the basic income, then we essentially defeat the initial objective of the guarantee, which is to create a private sphere so as to counter the coercive nature of the labour market. In this case, coherence requires of classical liberals that they endorse an unconditional guarantee, because their individualistic theory cannot justify leaving anyone behind, and because they cannot invade the private life of all those who need or would need state assistance. It is regrettably common to say that the classical liberal tradition is consequentialist and focused on aggregate happiness (Gray 1982, 50), especially following John Rawls (2000, 366) and Samuel Freeman (2007, 45). Yet to do so is almost certainly to misread classical liberalism. After all, Hayek did not call his book The Constitution of Happiness but The Constitution of Liberty, and, similarly, Friedman did not title his book Capitalism and Happiness but Capitalism and Freedom. The classical liberal justification for the state consists in the need to reduce the amount of coercion to which individuals are subject, not to make people happier, and therefore the above argument for an unconditional basic income guarantee can explain both the wider features of a classical liberal polity as well as the principled commitment to that guarantee – which was never explicitly given by Hayek, and which is often thought to be missing by neoclassical liberals. In conclusion, following the theory of coercion championed by Hayek, this article has provided a thoroughly principled classical liberal argument for an unconditional basic income guarantee. Of course, classical liberals should try to find institutional ways in which we may lower the cost of such assistance, but the assistance itself cannot be questioned. As Friedman noted (2002, 192), any redistributive measure to ameliorate poverty will reduce the incentives poor people have to help themselves. This is a problem, and yet it is nowhere as serious as the problems of private coercion in a market society. “In the general course of human nature,” said Alexander Hamilton (Hamilton, Madison, and Jay 1999, 471), “a power over a man’s subsistence amounts to a power over his will.” If we are to accept the classical liberal rationale for market capitalism, this is simply not something that can be allowed: Sóli and Sveinn should always be able to act according to their own will, never according to whim of their boss. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am grateful to Andrew Lister, three anonymous reviewers, as well as to associate editor Jeffrey Moriarty and editor in chief Bruce Barry, for enlightening comments and sound advice. 350 Business Ethics Quarterly NOTE 1. Classical liberals, moreover, usually endorse the doctrine of employment-at-will, permitting both employers and employees to terminate the employment relationship for any reason. They must, however, address the coercive consequences of such a doctrine in market societies (Payne v. Western & Atlantic Railroad Co., 81 Tenn. 507, 518-19 [1884]). A complete government monopoly of employment, such as we could find in socialist states, is coercive from a classical liberal viewpoint. 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Ethics Inf Technol (2015) 17:219–229 DOI 10.1007/s10676-015-9377-6 ORIGINAL PAPER The tragedy of the master: automation, vulnerability, and distance Mark Coeckelbergh1 Published online: 3 September 2015 ! Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2015 Abstract Responding to long-standing warnings that robots and AI will enslave humans, I argue that the main problem we face is not that automation might turn us into slaves but, rather, that we remain masters. First I construct an argument concerning what I call ‘the tragedy of the master’: using the master–slave dialectic, I argue that automation technologies threaten to make us vulnerable, alienated, and automated masters. I elaborate the implications for power, knowledge, and experience. Then I critically discuss and question this argument but also the very thinking in terms of masters and slaves, which fuels both arguments. I question the discourse about slavery and object to the assumptions made about human–technology relations. However, I also show that the discussion about masters and slaves attends us to issues with human–human relations, in particular to the social consequences of automation such as power issues and the problem of the relation between automation and (un)employment. Finally, I reflect on how we can respond to our predicament, to ‘the tragedy of the master’. Keywords Automation ! Artificial intelligence ! Robotics ! AI ! Ethics of AI ! Philosophy of AI ! Master– slave dialectic Introduction Echoing a long tradition going back at least to Aristotle’s comments in the Nicomachean Ethics about the slave as a ‘living tool’ and the tool as a ‘lifeless slave’ (Aristotle, 1161b2-7), thinking about technology in terms of masters and slaves is more popular than ever. Current discussions about automation, robotics, and AI in the robotics/AI community and beyond seem to be am especially fertile ground for such a thinking. For instance, there have been many recent warnings about AI or robots taking over, indeed becoming our masters rather than the other way around. Consider for instance claims about AI in the media by Hawking,1 Musk,2 Wozniak,3 and Rees.4 Sometimes the future of AI, automation, and robotics is explicitly discussed in terms of ‘‘masters’’ and ‘‘slaves’’. For instance, echoing a well-known theme in the history of thinking about machines, Wallach compares technology with ‘a dangerous master’ which gets out of control (Wallach 2015) and Bryson has argued that ‘robots should be slaves’: we should not humanize them or make them into moral agents, but rather as ‘tools we use’ (Bryson 2010). In this paper, I do not simply deny that machines are going to take over (by contra-predicting that this will not happen), assume that this is a possibility (e.g. by endorsing Hawking or by claiming that instead we should develop robots that are slaves, as Bryson did), or point out that this 1 http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-30290540. http://www.theguardian.com/technology/2014/oct/27/elon-muskartificial-intelligence-ai-biggest-existential-threat. 3 http://www.afr.com/technology/apple-cofounder-steve-wozniak-onthe-apple-watch-electric-cars-and-the-surpassing-of-humanity-2015 0323-1m3xxk. 4 Martin Rees, ‘‘Meet your replacement’’, The Daily Telegraph, 16 May 2015. 2 & Mark Coeckelbergh mark.coeckelbergh@dmu.ac.uk 1 Faculty of Technology, Centre for Computing and Social Responsibility, De Montfort University, 5.79 Gateway House, The Gateway, Leicester LE1 9BH, UK 123 220 M. Coeckelbergh Masters, slaves, and automation technology a struggle for recognition: ‘each seeks the death of the other’ and this ‘involves the staking of its own life’ (Hegel 1807, p. 113). The result of this struggle to death is that one masters the other; this is the ‘‘master’’, the victor in the mortal struggle. The ‘‘slave’’ then works for the master. This, however, makes recognition impossible since the slave6 (qua slave) cannot give it to the master since the slave lacks ‘independent consciousness’ (p. 117). Moreover, whereas the master’s relation to nature is mediated by the slave, the slave has a more direct relation to nature through work: the slave makes products for the master. Having created products, the slave ‘realizes that it is precisely in this work wherein he seemed to have only an alienated existence that he acquires a mind of his own’ (p. 119). Hegel’s master–slave dialectic is more complex and must be interpreted in the light of the entire book, that is, in the light of the history of the spirit Hegel narrates. For the purpose of this paper, I will be content with this brief version as a working version of the dialectic used for the construction of the argument in this section, retaining in particular (1) the insight that the master, who has turned the other into a slave, then becomes entirely dependent on the slave and (2) Hegel’s interesting suggestion that masters and slaves have a different relation to nature: the one mediated, the other unmediated (through work). Now what does this dialectic imply if applied to the issue of automation and, more generally, to the human– technology relation? In line with previously mentioned claims recent claims about AI and robots taking over, it might be interpreted to imply that there is a struggle between humans and technology, in which technology becomes our master. There seems to be a reversal of roles: first technology was our slave, as Aristotle said and as it was ‘‘meant’’ to be (the idea being that technology is developed in order to serve humans), but now the machine becomes our master. The robots will be our new lords and masters, we will be the slaves. However, this is not really what the master–slave dialectic says, even in this brief working version. The slave does not become the master; the master remains master, but is what we could call a troubled master, who lacks true independence—being dependent on the master for recognition and subsistence—but at the same time cannot step out of the master role. One could call this ‘‘tragic’’, since on the one hand it is the result of the will and action of the In the Phenomenology of the Spirit (1807) Hegel describes how self-conscious develops between two beings. There is 6 kind of warnings distract from other, more urgent problems (as I have done in my Wired article5). Instead I first revise the thesis that robots will enslave us—claiming that it’s exactly the other way around: the problem is not that we become slaves but that we remain masters—and then question the very terms in which the problem is framed. Let me explain. In the first section I do not defend talking about robots and AI in terms of masters and slaves, but ask: if we talk about our relation to technology in this way, then how may this conceptualize the human–machine relation? What does automation imply for ‘‘masters’’ and ‘‘slaves’’? What follows for the role of humans? What follows for machines? Who is master and who is slave? What are the social implications? I construct the argument on what I call ‘the tragedy of the master’: automation technology developed to serve us renders us vulnerable, creates distance to material reality, and constrains our actions to those compatible with the technology. In the second section, I then present a critique of the argument constructed in the previous section. In particular, I question the terms in which this discussion is framed and criticize some assumptions. First I point to the concept of ‘‘slave’’, which is seldom unpacked in the present discussions, to moral–historical meanings attached to the term ‘‘slaves’’ (and indeed question what the very term means). Then I criticize the assumptions about human–technology relations implied in the discussion. I also ask whether alternative (automation?) technologies might avoid the problems indicated in this paper and whether we might move beyond master–slave thinking. In this way the paper aims to contribute to thinking about automation, AI, and robotics, but also to philosophy of technology in general. Section I: Automation technology and the tragedy of the master In this section I construct the thesis that, contrary to the received view, the main problem with automation is not that we might become the slaves of technology but that we remain its (troubled) masters. Let me start with Hegel’s influential so-called ‘‘master–slave dialectic’’ to support this claim and, on the way, re-cast some of the arguments in my work about technology, vulnerability (Coeckelbergh 2013a) and distance (e.g. Coeckelbergh 2013b, 2015a, b). 5 http://www.wired.com/2014/12/armageddon-is-not-the-ai-problem/. 123 Note that ‘‘master’’ and ‘‘servant’’ may be a better translation of the German Herr and Knecht. However, here I will continue to use the terms ‘‘master’’ and ‘‘slave’’ in order to remain in line with the popular discussion. The tragedy of the master: automation, vulnerability, and distance master to become the master, but on the other hand once the master position is achieved the highly desired independence and freedom turns into a new kind of dependence and bondage. This happens with technology, and in particular with automation technology: we created technology to be our slave. We gain from this since we do no longer have to do the ‘‘dirty’’ work and have more comfort, but we pay a price: we become dependent on the technology. In particular, re-interpreting what I have said about vulnerability and technology (Coeckelbergh 2013a, b), the master becomes a dependent and vulnerable master whose vulnerability is transformed in specific ways by the tools used. Furthermore, as masters of the machines we become alienated from nature since the work is done by the machine. Let me further explain and elaborate these claims, and add a related but third claim about what automation does to us. Automation technologies render us (1) vulnerable, (2) alienated, and (3) automated First, automation renders us vulnerable since we transferred work to the machine: if something happens to the automation system we are lost. In this sense, our vulnerability is transformed by technology in a specific way: we are no longer or at least not mainly ‘‘directly’’ vulnerable to natural processes but we become vulnerable to the machine. As we delegate work to the machine and the machine comes to mediate our being-vulnerable to nature, we are rendered vulnerable to the machine, to the technology. This creates the paradox or irony that we desired to become less vulnerable and more independent from nature, but the very tools we use for this purpose create new vulnerabilities and dependencies (Coeckelbergh 2013a, b). We wanted to be masters of nature and in our struggle with nature we put our lives at risk in order to achieve that mastery, but once achieved, then as masters of technology we become more dependent than ever—now on technology. We thus find ourselves in the Hegelian tragic situation of the master: it is through our own actions, aimed at freedom, that we achieve (a new kind of) bondage. Second, automation renders us alienated from material reality, since we now work in ways that no longer require intense and direct engagement with that material reality; the machine mediates between us and material–physical reality, between us and nature. It thereby creates a gap, a distance, between us and nature. Now in so far as technologies mediate our relations to the world this always happens to some degree (for instance a shovel is ‘‘between’’ a gardener and the soil) and hence there is always some distance, but some technology may increase the 221 distance.7 Automation, in particular, worsens the problem concerning distance to nature if and in so far the action is entirely delegated to the machine. This is different from mere mediation of what remains largely human action, as for example when we use a hammer or a shovel, or even a tele-operated robot.8 Whereas previously the technology was an aid to human action (for example the hammer is an aid; the agency remains with the human), now the action itself is entirely in the hands of the machine. This changes the relation to nature: it creates more distance. Agency is transferred from humans to machines in the sense that they now do the work (however, they lack the ability to give recognition to the human). The machines are now artificial agents, which, like humans, work upon the world but are— in contrast to us—in direct contact with nature. Thus, here the point is not that these artificial agents will become our masters, but rather that even if this does not happen, we have a problem qua masters. In order to master nature, we have created entities that were meant to be our artificial slaves, but this has created distance to nature. Only the entities that serve us engage in material–physical activities, mix themselves with nature. Only the machines are in close touch with nature; we are their alienated and dependent masters. Note that this point differs from Marx, who is of course a famous interpreter of Hegel: it is neither about loss selfexpression, as in the early Marx (1844), nor about capital, as in the Marx of Capital (1867). The emphasis here is on the alienation from nature, not so much on the alienation from the work, the products of the work, the other workers, 7 For instance, in my work on technology and distance, I have argued that electronic information and communication technologies (ICTs) tend to increase the distance—literally, by enabling communication over long distances, but also metaphorically, creating social and moral distance [see for instance my claims about financial technologies and distance in Money Machines (Coeckelbergh 2015a) and about nature and ICTs in Coeckelbergh (2015b)]. However, here I will focus on the issue of automation. 8 There is also use of automation technology that does not fully delegate the action to the machine. In such cases, the machine plays the role of mediator between humans and their environment. For instance, a surgeon may use a robot to remotely operate on a patient. In such cases, there is at least less distance to nature than in cases of full delegation of agency: there is technological mediation, but the action remains in the hands of the surgeon to an important degree. It could even be argued that at least some teleoperated systems decrease or bridge the distance between us and nature, in particular when they enable us to remotely manipulate and experience what could not be manipulated or experienced without the system. Consider for instance exploration of another planet by means of a tele-operated robot. However, in spite of this bridging of physical and experiential distance, there may remain some feeling of alienation as it is still an indirect way of relating to nature. The humans operating the machine and experiencing nature in this way are also highly dependent on the technology (see also the first point again). 123 222 etc., and the point is also independent from claims about capitalism. Third, automation automates us, ‘‘masters’’, since once a practice is automated we have to adapt our behavior and indeed the entire practice to the machine. Although we do not become the slaves of the machine in the sense that they ‘‘command’’ us what to do, it is in our very role as ‘‘masters’’ of the machine that we adapt to what the machine does and can do.9 Again this creates the paradox that we desired independence and mastery and used technology to achieve this, but the result is that, in so far as we become automated, we are turned into machines ourselves, that is, we are turned into the most unfree and dependent entities we can imagine. Since Descartes machines have always played the role of the negative of the human: we do not want to be machines, which means here that we do not want to be totally unfree; instead we want to be free, autonomous, and self-directing. And in a Hegelian context we should add: we want to be selfconscious beings. In so far as we become more machinelike, we lack the conditions for this freedom and selfconsciousness. Machines cannot do what the slave does through work: the slave sees herself in the products of her work, but the machine has no possibility to achieve that self-consciousness. Moreover, it is clear that in our relation with the machine we cannot get recognition at all. Whereas in the case of the human slave it at least makes sense to discuss the question, the machine as slave takes away every possibility for recognition, since only humans can give such recognition. To conclude, automation raises the question of what we may call ‘‘the tragedy of the master’’: there is a risk that the automation technology we developed and use to serve us renders us vulnerable and dependent in new ways, creates distance between us and material reality, and ‘‘automates’’ us in the sense that we have to adapt our practices what automation technology does and can do [what I have called ‘‘the automation of the social’’ (Coeckelbergh 2014)]. I have argued above, however, that if we take inspiration from Hegel’s master–slave dialectic we should not conceptualize these risks as implying that the machines become our masters. Instead, I have argued that we remain troubled and tragic masters, who become vulnerable and dependent on the machine, alienated from nature, and automated by the machine. Note that the vulnerability and the alienation mentioned are still the vulnerability and alienation of the master, not of the slave–machine. The slave–machine has other vulnerabilities as a machine and as a slave. As a machine it 9 See again my claims about ‘‘the automation of the social’’ in my recent keynote addresses at the Robophilosophy conference and at AISB 2015, 21 April 2015 (Coeckelbergh 2014). 123 M. Coeckelbergh lacks the being-vulnerable of the human master. As I have argued (Coeckelbergh 2013a, b), humans always experience their vulnerability, it is ‘lived’ vulnerability. As a slave, the machine is dependent on the master in the sense that the master uses the slave, can switch off the slave, can be violent towards the slave etc. Note again, however, that this is different from the threat of death in the case of the human slave, again because machine vulnerability is categorically different from human vulnerability: only humans and other living beings can die, only humans can anticipate their death and, more generally, compared to machines only humans are-at-risk (Coeckelbergh 2013a, b). Machines cannot experience, let alone experience risk and vulnerability. Thus, the vulnerability of the master is of a specific kind: it is a human kind of vulnerability. Furthermore, the vulnerability of the master is related to her alienated position: it is made possible by not working, with ‘‘working’’ understood as a mixing of one’s labour with nature.10 It is made possible by being dependent on the slave for the material economy, which alienates the master but also makes her vulnerable. If the machine stops functioning and hence stops working, she is lost, since she no longer knows how to work. This brings me to my next point. Vulnerability and alienation are also related to different kinds of knowledge: the human master lacks the embodied know-how of the slave, a know-how which can only be developed through work, through mixing with nature. Now when automation takes over work, not only the human master loses this connection and this knowledge. The human slave, who now uses a machine to do the work and becomes an operator rather than a worker, also loses this kind of knowledge, since when automation is in place, the machine is the only entity which is in direct and active contact with its environment (without, of course, having experience and therefore it lacks true engagement and involvement). There is a loss of knowhow. Furthermore, whereas before the slave could gain self-consciousness through work, now the slave loses this possibility. Therefore, both the human master and the human slave become alienated. Let me further discuss the issue of knowledge. 10 One may object that the master still has the work of ensuring that the automation continues to work. However, in so far as this means that the master functions as an operator who monitors and supervises, this does not count as ‘‘work’’ according to the definition ‘mixing one’s labour with nature’. It only counts as ‘‘work’’ when the master repairs the machine. This is indeed a less alienated relation and involves a different kind of knowledge: know-how. I will say more about this below. The tragedy of the master: automation, vulnerability, and distance Automation, knowledge and its relation to power, dependence, and alienation When automation is introduced in industry, health care, and the military, for instance, the slave–operators and the master–managers are distant from their environment. In so far as the machine takes over production, care, and military action, both the managers (commanders, etc.) and the ‘‘workers’’ (who are no longer workers but operators, including care-operators and soldiers–operators) become alienated from the things and people they used to work with. This distance also has implications for knowledge. The automation shift creates a problem in terms of loss of know-how: although at first the operators still have knowhow derived from their previous, hands-on work, as Bainbridge (1983) suggested the next generations of operators lack this practical knowledge: ‘Unfortunately, physical skills deteriorate when they are not used … This means that a formerly experienced operator who has been monitoring an automated process may now be an inexperienced one’ (Bainbridge 1983, p. 775) Thus, operators lack the knowledge to supervise the machines if they have never ‘‘worked’’ themselves. This means that they become even more dependent on the machines. Similarly, if something goes wrong supervisors ‘will not be able to takeover’ since they also lack the relevant know-how and manual skill (p. 776). Perhaps those people called ‘‘workers’’ can achieve a less alienated relation when they are no longer operators or supervisors but instead become experienced repairers of the machines: this requires know-how and skill, which are developed through work. As they work on the machine in order to enable the machine to continue its work, the repairers are less alienated than the operators and supervisors. Mixing their labour with nature, it seems that they are workers again. They become less dependent on the machine—indeed less vulnerable—and regain some power over those who do not know how to repair. However, it remains unclear how ‘‘direct’’ their relation to nature is since they mainly relate to the machine: Is this a direct relation to nature, and if so, how direct is the contact with the (rest of the) environment? Moreover, to the extent that repair is also automated, they lack this opportunity; then there is more distance again. Yet while operators and supervisors are still relatively ‘‘close’’ to both the machine and material reality and may have some know-how (e.g. through repairing the machines), the master–manager is the most alienated agent of all, being more distant from nature and from others. Distant from both the machines and from those who operate them (and those who directly supervise the operators), the master has no chance to do ‘‘work’’ in the sense of mixing with and transforming physical and material reality. (The same 223 applies to the master–owner, who does not work but merely owns.) The master–manager is also the most vulnerable and dependent of all: she is dependent on the human workers– slaves and the machine workers–slaves. She has formal power, and power to order and prescribe to the human slaves and the machine slaves. But if something goes wrong with the machine or if the human slaves–workers refuse to operate the machines, the master is in trouble since she lacks the know-how of both kinds of slaves. And because of this vulnerability, she is already troubled even before something happens. As I have argued previously, human vulnerability is not so much about an ‘‘objective’’ state of affairs or probability, but also about the experience of vulnerability, including imagining what might happen (Coeckelbergh 2013a, b). We are not vulnerable in the way an object or machine is vulnerable; as human beings we actively and consciously experience and relate to our vulnerability. Note that the human ‘‘worker–slave’’ should not only be understood as referring to workers in a factory, in an industrial setting. The term also refers to ‘‘information’’ workers in the ‘‘information society’’, who are themselves entirely dependent on their machines—especially in the case of increasing automation—and on the masters–managers. But again these information workers and these managers of people and information are also highly dependent and vulnerable on the machines they use. And for the ‘‘master’’ this means two orders of vulnerability and dependence: a direct dependence on the management machines she uses such as computers (first order dependence one could say) and an indirect (second order) dependence on the machines the slave–worker uses (industrial machines, machines related to the infrastructure which makes possible the computing, etc.). Note again how this picture is perhaps more complex and ambiguous, and in any case different, than the Marxian analysis of political economy. According to the Marx of the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, workers become alienated from their labour and from the products of their labour. Because of division of labour, workers could no longer determine the purpose of the work. Workers thus become automatized when they do ‘very one-sided and machine-like type of labour’ and are thus being ‘reduced to a machine’ (Marx 1844). This is in line with what I said, but (1) I emphasize alienation from the environment and the vulnerability and dependency that come with automation, (2) I noted that workers do not become automatized when they repair the machines, and (3) the argument I constructed differs from Marx since it connects this automation not only with slavery but also with mastery: in relation to technology, most workers are also masters—not only servants of the capitalists and slaves of their machines, as one may think on the basis of a 123 224 (superficial?) reading of Marx. And the managers have the same problem as the workers when it comes to dependence on technology. Furthermore, outside the sphere of production, the sphere of consumption can also be understood in this way. Consumers must be seen as spoiled masters who pay a high price for their mastery and their comfort and convenience: they get others to do the work and they merely consume, but they are totally dependent on those who have mastered nature for them, and they are highly alienated from the products they consume and from the people and machines which made them. For instance, in so far as food production is automated, the farmer (as master of the machine) is already alienated from nature, but the consumer’s distance from nature is even greater since the consumer does not even see where the food is produced and has no ‘‘work’’ relation with it whatsoever. Moreover, when farming becomes automated, the farmer is also alienated since her role shifts from that of a ‘‘worker’’ (with know-how, with a more direct relation to nature) to that of an ‘‘operator’’ and ‘‘manager’’—that is, a vulnerable and dependent master. The farmer becomes highly dependent on her machines. The consumer’s position, then, is one of double dependence: dependence on the farmer and, indirectly, dependence on the machines (and on the animals which were first turned into slaves and have then been turned into machines). Separated from nature by two orders of alienation, consumers are perhaps the most tragic masters in contemporary society. Thinking that they are the ultimate masters who have reached the pinnacle of freedom (an illusion communicated by advertisement), they are instead the most dependent and vulnerable of all. They are like very young children, but with one important difference: young children (young children qua pre-workers) can still gain self-consciousness through work as they grow up; consumers (people qua consumers) have lost this possibility. Table 1 represents some of the analysis made here. Conclusion To conclude this section, it turns out that automation technology—at least in so far as it takes over the human action—does not render us slaves, but, rather, makes us into vulnerable and dependent masters. Consumers, owners, and managers, but also most ‘‘workers’’ such as operators and supervisors find themselves in a position that is characterized by alienation from nature, lack of knowhow, and high dependence on the machines used to lessen our dependence on nature. New vulnerabilities related to our dependence on machines is the price we pay for our comfortable mastery. We wanted to become more free in relation to nature and we did not want to work, but instead 123 M. Coeckelbergh of becoming more free and very powerful, we became highly dependent on the slaves–machines that do the work for us (and on those that know how to repair the machines). It seems that if we continue to rely on automation, we will remain in this tragic position. Section II: Critical discussion: slaves, human– technology relations, and moving beyond master– slave thinking After having articulated this argument inspired by the master–slave dialectic, however, let me indicated some problems and limitations of this argument and approach with regard to assumptions it makes about (1) the term ‘‘slaves’’ and (2) about human–technology relations. At the end of the section, however, I will indicate what we can nevertheless learn from this way of thinking. I will also ask the question what can kind of technologies might avoid the problems discussed in Section I and how we can move beyond master–slave thinking. Criticism of arguments in Section I: Problematic assumptions about slaves and human–technology relations First, the term ‘‘slave’’ is not very clear in the discussion and needs unpacking. For instance, what is the difference between a servant and a slave? Historically, a slave would be owned by the master. But is this difference relevant to the present discussion, and if so why and how? In any case, more work is needed on the concept. Consider the very term ‘‘slave’’. It is a term which is of course very morally– historically loaded. As Bryson acknowledges, it is associated with ‘historical slave trade’, with ‘racism’, and with ‘endemic cruelty’ and ‘dehumanization’ (Bryson 2010). Bryson then attempts to take distance from these associations by using the term ‘servants’ and by saying that robots are servants ‘without being a person’. But this raises again the question concerning the difference between ‘servant’ and ‘slave’, and makes us wonder if ‘servant’ is so much less morally loaded. And indeed we may insist that when we use the term ‘slaves’ as a metaphor and apply it to machines we do not say anything about humans. However, it is doubtful if this purification operation is successful. When we continue to use the term ‘‘slave’’, the problematic meanings of the term do not disappear entirely. The ghost of historical slavery continues to show up. Do we really want to let in these meanings by talking about ‘‘slaves’’, even if, rationally speaking, we are indeed talking about machines and not about humans? Moreover, it remains doubtful if authors who make the comparison—from Aristotle to Bryson—are right about their definition of, and The tragedy of the master: automation, vulnerability, and distance 225 Table 1 Implications of automation for knowledge, dependency, and alienation Human master Kind of knowledge Power, dependence, vulnerability Alienation Lacks embodied know-how of the slave Power but dependent on recognition by slaves–workers, Which renders them vulnerable No direct relation to environment, technology, humans Lacks know-how of the machine Highest degree of alienation As a manager dependent on the workers and machines As a user dependent on the machines As a consumer dependent on the machine and on human masters (and slaves?) Becomes ‘‘automated’’ by the machine, risks to become a co-machine or metamachine Human slave Had know-how when craftsperson but when automation sets in becomes operator: know-how ‘‘transferred’’ to machine (involving loss of embodied knowledge, which becomes formalized—thus not a real transfer) (May be able to regain know-how and more direct relation through becoming repairer) Machine slave (slave– machine) Only entity with direct relation to nature? Entity with ‘‘know-how’’ (but not the same as human, embodied knowledge) As worker dependent on human manager As a user or operator dependent on the machines, becomes ‘‘automated’’, but also some power over master who has even less know-how (As repairer more power over machine and some power over master–manager, master–operators, and others who lack know-how) Dependent on humans but also ‘‘power’’ over humans in the sense that it renders them dependent and vulnerable But: cannot give recognition (and cannot receive recognition) assumptions about, (historical) slaves. In particular, in so far as it is assumed that historical slaves were ‘tools’, their humanity and their agency is denied. Historical slaves were human beings who experienced, interpreted, and resisted their slavery. They were never ‘mere tools’ (Aristotle) or even mere ‘servants’ (Bryson). By using the ‘‘slave’’ metaphor, then, we may affiliate our arguments too closely with a kind of thinking—a dehumanizing and morally– politically problematic kind of thinking—we should avoid. Second, this way of thinking in terms of masters and slaves has a number of significant drawbacks when it comes to thinking about human–technology relations. First, it reduces the range of human–technology relations to one particular one (master–slave). There are many more possibilities of human–technology relations. For example, rather than having its own kind of agency, technology may extend and enhance human agency. There are also different roles for, say, robots. The precise ways in which automation impacts on human–technology relations need further study and cannot and should not be reduced to a ‘‘master– slave’’ narrative. Second—and this is a more fundamental critique—this argument is in danger of assuming that technology is something ‘‘external’’ to the human. If we set up ‘‘technology’’ or ‘‘the machine’’ as an external agent Had less alienated relation to environment, but machine capitalism took it away, becomes co-machine or meta-machine (May regain less alienated relation if moving to repair) Only entity in direct ‘‘contact’’ with environment? (But not lived relation to nature, not lived work) which is either master or slave, then we assume that the technology has little to do with the human and that human subjectivity and practice is not really changed by technology. But quite the contrary is the case: technology is made and used by humans, and shapes our subjectivity and practices. It should not be assumed, for instance, that the ‘‘work’’ remains the same when it is automated. For instance, the heating and cooling of a building is very different when it takes the form of automatic air conditioning instead of older practices of regulating temperature of a building, including heating (e.g. by means of a stove or fireplace) and cooling (e.g. opening windows or keeping them closed). Even if and when machines are given ‘‘agency’’, this agency can only be understood in relation to the human. It is delegated agency, and delegation is a human process. There is not ‘‘the machine’’ apart from the human. Now one could deal with the latter problems in two ways: (a) by acknowledging the limited range and by restricting the scope of the argument to automation, which does typically involve a phenomenology of technological agency, where technology comes to be experienced as standing apart from us and sometimes appears as a quasiother—whatever other human–technology relations may be 123 226 involved—and (2) by moving towards a less dualistic view of vulnerability, alienation, and what I have called ‘‘the automation of the social’’. Let me briefly explain what I mean. First, in Human Being @ Risk (2013) I have conceptualized our relation to risk as being-at-risk and as beingvulnerable; technology may well be experienced as external but at the same time we are always related to it and entangled with it as worldly beings who again and again put ourselves at risk, render ourselves vulnerable, by using technology. Part of this vulnerability also means that we are changed and shaped by the tools we use (and of course by our relationships with other humans). Second, technology creates new ways of alienation—yet in contrast to a superficial reading of the master–slave dialectic I emphasize in this article that this also applies to the master—but there is also a sense in which we are always in the world; this kind of basis is not up to change, whatever else technology may do to us. Surely each technology may create new or additional forms of alienation. Automation creates its own kinds alienation, as explained in this article. But this does not release us from our worldly condition, a condition which Heidegger described as being-in-the-world (Heidegger 1927). For knowledge and experience, this implies that while there is certainly a sense in which automation alienates us from nature, we always retain some relation to it since, as embodied and environmental beings, we can never be entirely alienated. We are always in the world and in our environment; we are always already environmental (Coeckelbergh 2015b). Third, once we realize that technology is not so external, we can take responsibility for it; although we should acknowledge that we have never full control over it. With the later Heidegger we may see modern technology, including automation technology, as a condition which befalls us and which we cannot simply alter. Maybe it is a kind of destiny (see for instance Heidegger 1977). A remaining problem, however, is that by focusing on human–technology relations we might be blind to how technologies such as automation, AI, and robots mediate human–human relations. For this purpose, ‘‘master–slave’’ conceptualizations and the concept of alienation Marx talked about might be still relevant. More generally, social and political theory are relevant here. Automation is not only about a kind of power struggle between humans and technology (if this is an adequate way of thinking about humans and technology at all; in any case there are more types of relations—see my previous comment); it is also about social relations between humans. Is automation in the form of robotics and AI used to increase inequality and injustice? By whom is it used, will it be used? If the use and development of automation grows, who will gain and who will lose? What will be the societal consequences? 123 M. Coeckelbergh How does automation change and make possible different power relations? These kinds of social and political issues should not be neglected, and a focus on the tragedy of the master in relation to technology may distract from these human–human issues and from the precise role (automation) technology plays in them. Consider, for instance, the issue of power relations in the light of specialization and centralization. When knowledge becomes specialized and centralized, this changes the power relations between humans: experts get more power (sometimes on the basis of know-that, sometimes because of their know-how) and also certain institutions such as corporations become more powerful since they possess the knowledge/expertise and the machines. This process of specialization and centralization depends on the machine, but at the same time humans also create these new social structures and cultures, and then use machines to implement and materialize these. Mumford suggested in Technics and Civlization (1934) that before the machine mechanized us, humans aspired to mechanize human labour. He claims that Men had become mechanical before they perfected complica...
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No Malibu Surfer Left Behind: Three Tales about Market Coercion
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