Insignificant Wranglings

Introduction to Ethics

Today I want to give some sense of what constitutes ethics. I’ll start by attempting to differentiate ethics from morals. Both ethics and morals are a part of what we call practical philosophy–rather than dealing with “what is,” practical philosophy deals with how we should act. In simplest terms, both the study of ethics and morals deal with right and wrong. Generally, morality is thought to deal with personal convictions developed via abstract or religious/spiritual principles. Morals can be stated as laws: “thou shalt not kill.” Ethics are thought to be rules derived from “external” agencies–our secular social/institutional contracts. Ethics are far more fuzzy and ambiguous, and often arise as questions that problematize morals. “Thou shalt kill if a solider in war.” And something can be ethical, but not moral and vice versa. Murder, then, is almost always immoral and usually unethical (except, for say, the soldier example, which we wouldn’t call “murder”). However, adultery is often immoral, but it isn’t necessarily unethical (while it is against our understanding of right/wrong, it isn’t something socially deemed illegal–even legally it is grounds for divorce but not prison).

As I said, these are some generic, standard distinctions between morals and ethics. At heart it is a distinction between whether a law or rule has a transcendent or material basis–that is, was this law delivered to us from on high (whether a religious height such as God or a secular height such as Reason–does the principle extend from something trans-human)? I should say that I find the distinction between morality and ethics a bit too simplistic (and so does Bruno Latour–I’ve written about this and him here).

I think of ethics otherwise. For me, morality is the study of the rules that govern our behavior, our internalization of the rules, what we value and believe. The spiritual-internal vs. secular-external distinction isn’t particularly productive for me. I don’t care if the rules come from state agencies or spiritual institutions. Again, morality is how we develop and internalize the rules: thou shalt not kill. A moral. I am not particularly concerned where the rule comes from or who enforces it. I see morality as the study of the rules we internalize, and how those rules govern our behavior.

Ethics, for me, signals how we employ, actualize, our moral values in lived experience. It is how/whether we (choose to) act. It is attending to when the rules seem to fail us, or when rules appear in conflict, or those moments when we make a decision that we think is right even though the rules would tell us it is probably wrong (I think you can probably see how Papers, Please is an ethical game in the sense I am describing–a game in which what is “right” isn’t clear, a game that makes us decide through a haze of uncertainty). If morality is our sense of what should be, ethics is the study of how we actually act. Ethics operates in relation to morality, often in its shadow, in the places where morals break down. I think the study of ethics is the most interesting when we encounter a situation in which or moral convictions come into conflict. Again, if we believe that “thou shalt not kill,” then how do we also celebrate the soldier? How do we operate in the face of competing morals, competing “goods,” competing obligations?

My understanding of ethics is heavily indebted to the work of philosopher Emmanuel Levinas. Levinas’s work encourages us to recognize our aversion to difference, and the lengths humans will go to eliminate alterity (that which is strange, different, unknown or unknowable to them). He jests that we have an allergy to the strange and different, to the other. We seek to “joyously possess” the world as a certain knowledge. Such possession is akin to mastery–to rule the world without question. To eliminate questions that make us uncomfortable. Rather than deal with the other, we desire the same–we desire to know, label, categorize, understand something. Facing something we do not know, or cannot know, brings out the worst in us. To be ethical, for Levinas, is to learn to inhabit this discomfort, disequilibrium and repress the desire to transform something Other into something familiar, what he calls “the same.” To welcome the other as an other, to let them be different, rather than to convert them into the “same” thing that I already know. [First principle is ethics not ontology–before we know what is, we are aware of the presence of an-other that calls us into being etc etc].

Ethics, for Levinas, is learning to recognize and prioritize others, to put their needs ahead of our own. Ethics becomes extra complicated when we realize that others make different demands on us–and no matter how generous we might want to be, we cannot give everything to everyone. To give to one other often means we have to take away from an other. Thus, in his later career, Levinas pays more attention to the concept of justice. Justice requires I choose between the competing demands of the other and the neighbor–that I chose knowing I must betray one of them. Their is no justice without choice, no choice without imposition. [Levinas’s formula: to make the choice that causes the least amount of violence].

More than just an analytical science of how we act, ethics for me marks our ability to handle, to process, the unknown. How do we feel, and respond to our feelings, when we encounter the strange? Do we curl back in repulsion? Express exasperation (*why do they do that? that’s so weird?*). Or do we become self-critical? Do we invite reflection (*why don’t I do that?*). In short, for Levinas ethics is a practice of hospitality. How/do we welcome the stranger? Something different? Further, what happens when we encounter something we cannot control, when we have to make a decision with no clear right answer, when we face something that resists our mastery?

What does this have to do with the distinction between morality and ethics? I believe that the more we recognize and study ethics (as moments of moral indecision), the better we become at carefully choosing how to act when we have no one true, certain, “right” answer to guide our choice. We have to learn to deal with complexity, and the icky feeling that it can produce in us. Video games can help us do that.

Our last project, focused on the work of Miguel Sicart and the game Detroit Become Human>/a> questions whether games, by constructing *sophisticated* ethical problems, can make players more ethical in the sense I have just worked out.

Trolley Problems

Let’s talk about the Trolley Problem, created by Foot and complicated by Thompson. Very simply: the trolley problem is a philosophical thought experiment created in the 1970’s by philosopher Philippa Foot. If you have a laptop or mobile device in front of you, then click the following link.

Let’s play 4 quick choose your own adventure games.

So, if you haven’t guessed by now, here is my theory for what video games have learned is their unique province: they can leverage the emotional unrest, affectation, difficulty, disequilibrium of Trolley Problems. Foot’s trolley problem is meant to explore the moral consistency, or lack thereof, people use to make life or death decisions. Video games can proceduralize this thought experiment, to make it more visceral or “real.” We feel the decision–this kind of feeling is called “affective” or pathetic (deriving from the Greek term for emotion, pathos).

In a book or a film, we are left to watch the trolley driver pull the switch or not. The author decides. The author justifies. Perhaps she does so to secretly stir our outrage, to get us to deconstruct her flawed reasoning. She can spur reflection, contemplation, resistance. But we are always a bystander to the action, distanced from the choice. We are witness.

But not so in a game. I remember my first play through of Dragon Age: Origins. The details are a bit foggy–I remember encountering some elves and some werewolves. The werewolves were created by dark elven magic? And then, like Frankenstein’s monster, abandoned by their creators. At some point a wolf had killed an elf. Maybe it was self-defense? I honestly don’t remember. But I remember, unexpectedly, having to decide which species to exterminate. Only one can survive. Neither is innocent. And there is no heroic path to saving them both (well there is, but you are probably only going to have that option if you have made a series of other decisions, and only about 1 in every 10 player unlocks that “perfect” ending). The game forced me to be responsible. I must pull the lever and determine who gets hit by the train.

I’ve played games since roughly 1984 on my Atari 2600. I’ve murdered hundreds of thousands, if not millions of aliens and demons and terrorists and zombies and horde (“For the Vangaurd” or “For the Alliance!”). I’ve killed all these things from a moral position that authorizes their death. I’ve never been troubled by all this killing. Those aliens threaten our light. Those demons threaten Tristram. Those terrorists threaten democracy. Those zombies would eat me and the few others remaining in Raccoon City. I killed them all without friction. (Save for Silent Hill 3, one of the greatest mindfuck games of all-time unfortunately lost to history–“they look like monsters to you?”).

But Dragon Age interrupted my joyous possession of the world, my righteous action, my moral foundation. It stung me. This was something different. I introduce the Trolley Problem, the lever, the notions of disequilibrium, ethics, and agency as a way of thinking about games. I imagine many of you are already thinking of games that leverage this dynamic. Soon we will work together to generate lists of games–AAA, mobile, indie–that we can play and explore as a class (in addition to my required experience: Walking Dead episode 1).

Homework

As I indicated above, our first project investigates how video games incorporate ethical decision-making. Not all games do this well–what we need is some theoretical material that gives us a lens for viewing and analyzing games.

We’ll be using the lens constructed by scholar Miguel Sicart, first reading one of his essays and then chapters from his book Beyond Choices. As you read Sicart, keep asking yourself: how does the terms, distinctions, ideas he articulates help me answer these questions:

• What should/shouldn’t game designers do to make effective ethical dilemmas in their games?
• What should/shouldn’t players do to have more powerful ethical experiences while playing games?

To get us started, I want to read Sicart’s 2013 article “Moral Dilemmas in Computer Games” (you will find this in the Files section of Canvas). I’m not sure how much experience you have reading academic articles, so I’ve designed a Canvas “Quiz” to help structure your reading. Academic articles often have dense, disciplinary-laden prose; given that these articles are written for experts in the field, they do not always define key terms. Further, academic articles often have to acknowledge key debates even if that isn’t the purpose of the article (for instance, you’ll notice Sicart spends a lot of time reviewing definitions of “game play” early in the article–although I do think that section contains some useful and important information).

A Wicked Brief Lecture on Ethics

I’d open with this simple definition of ethics: it is the study of how we make difficult choices. To study ethics is to become more self-reflective and self-aware. As the skit from The Good Life implied, this can lead to a kind of paralysis by analysis (philosophers and theorists often are excellent at discovering and mapping complexity, less great at deciding on one definitive course of action). Rhetoricians (some of us) recognize the need for deep analysis, but often insist on a moment of decision, where analysis has to turn into action. That is a lecture for another course.

Given the complexity of human decision making, there’s a lot of different theories and approaches to ethics. Let me lay out 4 of them:

• Deontology or Moral Law
• Teleology or Consequentialism
• Virtue Ethics
• Hospitality Ethics

Deontological ethics are based on identifying moral laws and obligations. To know if we are making the right decision, we ask ourselves what the rules are. For instance, if you didn’t lie to Herschel because lying is wrong, then you were invoking a deontological frame. You made a deontological decision. You worked back from the specific concrete moment to a (prior) conviction. Deontological ethics get critiqued because sometimes moral laws come into conflict and because it requires absolute adherence to the law without thought of context. Three Minute Philosophy: Kant.

Consequential ethics look ahead, from the action and decision, to its consequences. You use prior knowledge to make hypotheses about what will happen. Your focus here isn’t on what other people or institutions would declare right or wrong, but on producing “the greater good.” Different philosophers have emphasized different terms for “good” here–pleasure and pain, help and harm, etc. This is called utilitarianism, which strives to imagine what will make the greatest good for the greatest amount of people. Another form of consequentialism is hedonism, which strives to make the most pleasure and minimize pain. If you didn’t lie to Herschel because you thought lying might lead him to question you further or kick you out of the farm, then you probably made a hedonistic decision. If you didn’t lie to Herschel because you thought lying might lead him to question you and kick you and Clementine out of the farm, then you made a consequential decision. Consequential ethics get critiqued because they can lead us into hurting minority populations (one can absolutely argue, for instance, that slavery contributed to the “greater good”–I’d say they are wrong–but one can rationalize pain in relation to happiness, which can lead us down dark paths). Ethics Explained Intro to Consequentialism.

Virtue ethics are a bit different–and a bit of a mash up between deontology and consequentialism. Like consequential ethics they rely on our imagination. Virtue ethics asks us to imagine, in that situation how an Ideal, good person would act. What are the characteristics of (to quote/fix Cicero) “the good person acting well”? This, in a sense, mixes deontology (who is the good here? what rules do they follow? what institutions would they represent?) with the situational flexibility of consequentialism. If deontology operates around rules that govern behavior, virtue ethics begins by establishing the characteristics common to good people (bravery, compassion, justice, etc). If you didn’t lie to Herschel because you believe a good person should tell the truth and be brave, and trust others (etc.), then you are exercising virtue ethics. Note: this is different than deontology, because here you don’t *have* to follow the rules, and there might be times that lying (say, to protect someone from Nazi pursuit), is justified. Ethics Center: Consequentialism.

Ethics of hospitality also involve an effort of imagination; this time it is our task to put ourselves in the other person’s shoes and imagine a decision from their perspective. Is this a decision we would want someone to make if they were in our position? We can think of this as a more radical version of the Christian ethic of the Golden Rule (from Leviticus: “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”–note, though, never quote Leviticus in an actual argument because that shit can go south on you real quick), accept here we are self-skeptical enough to realize that the other might not want the same things as us. So rather than assume the other is just like us, we train ourselves to recognize and honor their difference, their alterity. Hence hospitality, since we train ourselves to welcome the strange, the unfamiliar. Ethics, here, trains people to negotiate the unknown and the contingent. Ethics as the impossibility of ever walking in another’s shoes, but trying like hell all the same. [article on Levinas]

Thinking About the Walking Dead

Okay, so we have four different senses of ethics. Chances are all four reverberate through every decision you make. As a phenomenologist, Sicart is interested in what percolated to the surface as you made a decision. This is why rigorous reflection is so important to his method of ethical analysis: what were you thinking about at the time you made a decision? And how did the game designers reward/frustrate/respond to that decision-making? Did they pull a bait and switch (they anticipated I would make X decision, but surprised me). Did decisions become too predictable? To anticipate what I expect to find in the Sicart Summary papers, did they institute a scoring system that told you when they did good, and, if they did, then what notion of ethics are they reinforcing?

These are some of the questions you should be asking yourself as you play your game. Over the next week, I’ll ask you to play about 6-10 hours of your game. You will keep a gaming journal–after every play session (which really shouldn’t be more than 90 minutes), you should write for 15 minutes. Trace important decisions the game asked you to make, their level of complexity, their consequences. Identify where/how the designers made decisions that either amplify or diminish the ethical potential / impact of your game.

There is no right or wrong reflection here. You have space to articulate something smart about a game in light of Sicart’s theories. You might play a game that *doesn’t* involve ethical decision making, but does (you think) engender high ethical impact (my personal favorite for this is The Last of Us).

So, let’s talk about Shawn and Duck.

Let’s talk Sicart. Link for Quiz responses.

Hidden link!

Homework

Quick poll: I have a smart phone or a laptop that I can use in class.

Download the Poll Everywhere App for your phone.

As I indicated above, our final project investigates how video games incorporate ethical decision-making. Not all games do this well–what we need is some theoretical material that gives us a lens for viewing and analyzing the choices games provide.

We’ll be using the lens constructed by scholar Miguel Sicart, first reading one of his essays and then chapters from his book Beyond Choices. As you read Sicart, keep asking yourself: how does the terms, distinctions, ideas he articulates help me answer these questions:

• What should/shouldn’t game designers do to make effective ethical dilemmas in their games?
• What should/shouldn’t players do to have more powerful ethical experiences while playing games?

To get us started, I want to read Sicart’s 2013 article “Moral Dilemmas in Computer Games” (you will find this in the Files section of Canvas). I’m not sure how much experience you have reading academic articles, so I’ve designed a Canvas “Quiz” to help structure your reading. Academic articles often have dense, disciplinary-laden prose; given that these articles are written for experts in the field, they do not always define key terms. Further, academic articles often have to acknowledge key debates even if that isn’t the purpose of the article (for instance, you’ll notice Sicart spends a lot of time reviewing definitions of “game play” early in the article–although I do think that section contains some useful and important information).