Couldn’t this argument cut the other way? Maybe the only reason we think a small population with an average utility of 100 is worse than a billion people with an average utility of 99 is that we’re “kinked” to a world inhabited by billions.
Personally, when I read “The City and the Stars,” which takes place on a very sparsely populated future Earth, I agreed with the author that it was a bad thing that the local population was less ambitious and curious than the humans of the past. But I did not think it was a horrible travesty that there were so few people. I assume that for the duration of my reading I empathized with the inhabitants, and hence found their current population levels desirable. I’ve noticed the same thing when reading other books set in sparsely populated settings. I wish the inhabitants were better off, but don’t think there need to be more of them.
A typical argument against “quality” focused population ethics is that they favor much smaller populations with higher qualities of life than we currently have, while an argument against “quantity” focused population ethics is that they favor much larger populations with lower qualities of life than we currently have. Both of these seem counter-intuitive, but which intuition should be kept and which should be rejected? Considering that our moral intuitions developed in small hunter gatherer bands, I wouldn’t be surprised if the quality focused population ethics was actually the correct one.
… huh. I started to disagree with you, and found all the examples I came up with didn’t actually seem that bad—up to and including a lone loner roaming an empty universe.
On the other hand, they do seem a bit … dull? Lacking the sort of explosive variety I picture in the Good Future.
On the other hand, they do seem a bit … dull? Lacking the sort of explosive variety I picture in the Good Future.
I agree, I think that the reason that sparsely populated scenarios seem repugnant to us isn’t because we want to maximize total utility, and they have a lower total utility level. Rather it’s because we value things like diversity, friendship, love, and interpersonal entanglements, and we find the idea of a future where these things do not exist to be repugnant.
One argument hardcore total utilitarians use to claim people have inconsistent preferences about population ethics is that when ranking the following populations:
A) Ten billion people with ten thousand utility each, for a total utility of 100 trillion.
B) 200 trillion people with one utility each, for a total utility of 200 trillion.
C) One utility monster with 50 trillion utility.
People consider A to be better than both B and C. “Aha!” cry the total utilitarians. “So in one scenario utility is too heavily concentrated, and in another it isn’t concentrated enough! Intransitive preferences! Status quo bias!”
What the hardcore total utilitarians fail to realize is that the reason people find C repugnant isn’t because utility is heavily concentrated, it’s that in order to have such high utility when it is the lone being in the universe, the utility monster must place no value at all on diversity, friendship, love, and interpersonal entanglements, and so forth. C isn’t repugnant because utility is too concentrated, or because of status quo bias, it’s repugnant because the lone inhabitant of C lacks a large portion of the gifts we give to tomorrow.
To test this theory I decided to compare populations A, B, and C again, with the stipulation that the multitude inhabiting of A and B were all hermits who never saw each other, and instead of diverse individuals they were repeated genetic duplicates of the same person. Sure enough I found all three populations repugnant. But I might have found C to be a little less repugnant than A and B.
It’s possible I’m more of a loner than you, so I find the idea of hermits less repugnant.
On the other hand, clones tend to really mess up my intuitions regardless of the hypothetical. I’m pretty sure they should be penalized for lacking diversity, but as for the actual amount …
EDIT: also, be careful you’re not imagining these hermits not doing anything fun. Agents getting utility from things we don’t value is a surefire way to suck the worth out of a number.
It’s possible I’m more of a loner than you, so I find the idea of hermits less repugnant.
Maybe I was using too strong a word when I said I found it “repugnant.”
be careful you’re not imagining these hermits not doing anything fun.
I took your advice and tried to imagine the hermits doing things I like doing when I am alone. That was hard at first, since most of the things I like doing alone still require some other personat some point (reading a book requires an author, for instance). But imagining a hermit studying nature, interacting with plants and animal (the animals obviously have to be bugs and other nonsapient, nonsentient animals to preserve the purity of the scenario, but that’s fine with me), doing science experiments, etc, that doesn’t seem repugnant at all.
But I still prefer, or am indifferent to, one utility monster hermit vs. many normal hermits, especially if the hermits are all clones living in very similar environments.
On the other hand, clones tend to really mess up my intuitions regardless of the hypothetical. I’m pretty sure they should be penalized for lacking diversity, but as for the actual amount …
I’m not sure how much I value diversity that isn’t appreciated. I think I’d prefer a diverse group of hermits to a nondiverse group, but the fact that the hermits never meet and are unable to appreciate each others diversity seems to make it less valuable to me, the same way a painting that’s locked in a room where no one will ever see it is less valuable. That may come back to my belief that value usually needs both an objective and subjective component. On the other hand I might value diversity terminally as well, as I said the fact that no one appreciated the hermit’s diversity made it less valuable to me, but not valueless.
Couldn’t this argument cut the other way? Maybe the only reason we think a small population with an average utility of 100 is worse than a billion people with an average utility of 99 is that we’re “kinked” to a world inhabited by billions.
Personally, when I read “The City and the Stars,” which takes place on a very sparsely populated future Earth, I agreed with the author that it was a bad thing that the local population was less ambitious and curious than the humans of the past. But I did not think it was a horrible travesty that there were so few people. I assume that for the duration of my reading I empathized with the inhabitants, and hence found their current population levels desirable. I’ve noticed the same thing when reading other books set in sparsely populated settings. I wish the inhabitants were better off, but don’t think there need to be more of them.
A typical argument against “quality” focused population ethics is that they favor much smaller populations with higher qualities of life than we currently have, while an argument against “quantity” focused population ethics is that they favor much larger populations with lower qualities of life than we currently have. Both of these seem counter-intuitive, but which intuition should be kept and which should be rejected? Considering that our moral intuitions developed in small hunter gatherer bands, I wouldn’t be surprised if the quality focused population ethics was actually the correct one.
… huh. I started to disagree with you, and found all the examples I came up with didn’t actually seem that bad—up to and including a lone loner roaming an empty universe.
On the other hand, they do seem a bit … dull? Lacking the sort of explosive variety I picture in the Good Future.
I agree, I think that the reason that sparsely populated scenarios seem repugnant to us isn’t because we want to maximize total utility, and they have a lower total utility level. Rather it’s because we value things like diversity, friendship, love, and interpersonal entanglements, and we find the idea of a future where these things do not exist to be repugnant.
One argument hardcore total utilitarians use to claim people have inconsistent preferences about population ethics is that when ranking the following populations:
A) Ten billion people with ten thousand utility each, for a total utility of 100 trillion. B) 200 trillion people with one utility each, for a total utility of 200 trillion. C) One utility monster with 50 trillion utility.
People consider A to be better than both B and C. “Aha!” cry the total utilitarians. “So in one scenario utility is too heavily concentrated, and in another it isn’t concentrated enough! Intransitive preferences! Status quo bias!”
What the hardcore total utilitarians fail to realize is that the reason people find C repugnant isn’t because utility is heavily concentrated, it’s that in order to have such high utility when it is the lone being in the universe, the utility monster must place no value at all on diversity, friendship, love, and interpersonal entanglements, and so forth. C isn’t repugnant because utility is too concentrated, or because of status quo bias, it’s repugnant because the lone inhabitant of C lacks a large portion of the gifts we give to tomorrow.
To test this theory I decided to compare populations A, B, and C again, with the stipulation that the multitude inhabiting of A and B were all hermits who never saw each other, and instead of diverse individuals they were repeated genetic duplicates of the same person. Sure enough I found all three populations repugnant. But I might have found C to be a little less repugnant than A and B.
It’s possible I’m more of a loner than you, so I find the idea of hermits less repugnant.
On the other hand, clones tend to really mess up my intuitions regardless of the hypothetical. I’m pretty sure they should be penalized for lacking diversity, but as for the actual amount …
EDIT: also, be careful you’re not imagining these hermits not doing anything fun. Agents getting utility from things we don’t value is a surefire way to suck the worth out of a number.
Maybe I was using too strong a word when I said I found it “repugnant.”
I took your advice and tried to imagine the hermits doing things I like doing when I am alone. That was hard at first, since most of the things I like doing alone still require some other personat some point (reading a book requires an author, for instance). But imagining a hermit studying nature, interacting with plants and animal (the animals obviously have to be bugs and other nonsapient, nonsentient animals to preserve the purity of the scenario, but that’s fine with me), doing science experiments, etc, that doesn’t seem repugnant at all.
But I still prefer, or am indifferent to, one utility monster hermit vs. many normal hermits, especially if the hermits are all clones living in very similar environments.
I’m not sure how much I value diversity that isn’t appreciated. I think I’d prefer a diverse group of hermits to a nondiverse group, but the fact that the hermits never meet and are unable to appreciate each others diversity seems to make it less valuable to me, the same way a painting that’s locked in a room where no one will ever see it is less valuable. That may come back to my belief that value usually needs both an objective and subjective component. On the other hand I might value diversity terminally as well, as I said the fact that no one appreciated the hermit’s diversity made it less valuable to me, but not valueless.