The nice thing about being well acquainted with multiple theories of ethics is that you can pick and choose which one to proclaim as it suits your needs.
This past weekend, as I watched dozens of people's happiness turn to police-induced discomfort for the sake of some grumpy light sleeper somewhere, I was a strict utilitarian.
Utilitarianism was advanced most famously by John Stuart Mill, who, like many truly influential people in history, is always referred to by three names. He's right up there with Lee Harvey Oswald, William Randolph Hearst and even David Lee Roth.
Utilitarianism is the theory that whatever course of action most increases the sum happiness - also called utility - of the world is the just way to go. That means that in order to decide the rightness or wrongness of an action, all one has to do is calculate the amount of happiness created, subtract any sadness, and if you have a positive number left over, you're good to go.
For example, if seeing the Bobcat mascot get a projectile comically thrown at his Bobcat junk gives him 30 units of sadness, but it gives 30 other people that see it two units of happiness, then the net result is a gain of 30 units of happiness, and the Bobcat better watch out. Simple as that.
Of course, that theory has some obvious problems: First off, how can we measure if an action makes someone five units happier, rather than, say, 4.8 units happier. It seems like utilitarianism only will have a clear outcome in cases where it's obvious that one action produces more happiness than another, which is to say that utilitarianism basically doesn't help us decide tough moral decisions at all.
Secondly, it seems to say that if there is a commodity to be distributed, it makes no difference if it's distributed evenly, as long as the net gain of happiness is the same. For example, if there were an island of 30 starving people, and a crate of Twinkies washed up on the shore, it would seem the right thing to do would be to give everyone an equal share of that yellow, heavily processed delicacy.
But according to utilitarianism, if there happened to be one glutton on the island who would get as much happiness out of having a whole crate of Twinkies to himself as the others would get from each having a share, it makes no difference how it's distributed.
Some utilitarians address that second problem by amending their theory with a principle of distributive justice
which basically states that when there is a commodity to be distributed, it should be given out equally unless there are relevant differences. Whether being a twinky-loving fatass is a relevant difference is up for debate.
So, what would a utilitarian say about noise violations? Well, it seems clear that when 40-50 young people are hearing Get Low by Lil' John at 11:30 p.m., they are each experiencing at least 10 units of happiness, perhaps upwards of 15 if they are truly rocking from the windows to the walls.
Now, what about the neighbor who ruins the party?
Granted that they have to wake up the next morning because they have - insert disgust here - responsibilities. Granted that they might have small children who are being kept up.
Or the neighbor might not have the maturity necessary to understand the artistic depth behind the line 'till sweat drips down my balls being blasted at 120 decibels, you have to figure that they are experiencing a maximum of 200 or so units of unhappiness.
Clearly the 500 plus units of happiness experienced by the group of people who are getting crunked outweigh the 200 or so units of sadness felt by the neighbor. Thus, the Athens Police Department was acting unjustly when they ordered the music turned down.
Also, it's OK to throw things at people as long as enough witnesses laugh.
Isn't utilitarianism handy?
- Ben Kington is a senior philosophy major. Send him an e-mail at bk198002@ohiou.edu. 17
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