Intending and acting

This will be a rather dogmatic post, summarizing a bunch of my thinking about intention and action.

I think the fundamental concept in regard to intention isn't the binary relation of x's intending that p (or x's intending to G), but the ternary relation of x's Aing with the intention that p. In other words, intentions qualify actions: "The surgeon is cutting the heart with the intention of healing, while the assassin is cutting the heart with the intention of killing."

But isn't it possible just to intend? Maybe, but that's a defective case. Moreover, when you just intend that p, you are still acting—you are trying with the intention that p. Intending in the sense I am after—the sense that occurs in the Principle of Double Effect and that Anscombe is elucidating in Intention—is not the same as wishing, hoping, resolving or planning. We do use the word "intend" in cases of resolve or plan, and I think I can explain that. Start with resolve. When I resolve to A, I am trying to produce a future action. My resolving is an action done with the intention to A later. And so I can be literally said to intend to A. However, sometimes we have something weaker, like a plan. In those cases, I think we are simply extending the word "intend" from the stronger sense to the weaker.

This dovetails with Nietzsche's remark that making promises is tied to the great power of controlling our future actions. Plausibly, when I promise to A, I ought to be intending that I will A—a sincere promise, then, is also an attempt to bring about, or at least probabilify, a future action of one's own.

But isn't an action caused by its intention? Yes and no. The problem with a simply affirmative answer is that as soon as the intention has occurred, one has already begun to try. Since to begin to try is already to act, on pain of vicious regress it cannot be that every action is caused by an intention. Moreover, when the action goes on to successful fruition, there aren't two actions, a beginning-to-try and the full action. There is just one action which began when one began to try and went on to fruition. But we can temporally subdivide the action, and the temporally later parts of it are caused by the beginning of it. We can, if we like, use "intending" as a stage term, akin to "embryo", for that first part of the action—the beginning-to-try. But just as we should not say that the embryo causes the organism—the embryo, after all, is the organism.[note 1] But of course we can say that the embryo is a cause of the later stages of development, and likewise we can say that the intention is a cause of the later stages of the action. So while the action is not caused by its intention, much of the action is caused by its intention. The intention is an essential part of the action—the rest of the action is not necessary for the action's occurrence though usually necessary for the action's success. This is just as the embryo stage of life is essential to the organism's existence (any horse that came into existence fully-formed, skipping the embryonic stage, would not be Bucephalus), and later stages of life are unnecessary for the organism to have existed, but are necessary for the organism to have successfully matured.

This matters ethically. For it lets one hold on to the intuitions that (a) primary moral evaluation is of the intention, (b) the subject matter of moral evaluation is the action, and (c) the success or failure of an action can be morally relevant features. The intention is the essential core of the action, and the primary question whether a person has acted rightly is a question of the evaluation of the intention. But at the same time the success or failure matters morally. One is no better as a person if one's attempt to commit a crime fails, but one is better off morally speaking (for instance, one typically owes less to the prospective victim if one has completely failed).

Finally consider Knobe cases. We have the case of the CEO who is told of a possible new programme which will make the company oodles of money. There is one catch—the programme will also harm the environment. The CEO says he doesn't care about the environment, but will go for the program. Most people say that the CEO intentionally harms the environment.

Consider, however, this variant question which is tied more closely to what I think is the fundamental ternary nature of intention: Did the CEO go for the programme with the intention of harming the environment? Surely the answer is negative. We can, after all, paraphrase as: Did the CEO go for the programme in order to harm the environment? This suggests (but see also this paper by Wasserman) that we want to distinguish between intentionally Aing and doing something with the intention to A. The concept I am after is that of doing with the intention to A.

Hormonal contraception and informed consent

In a 2000 article in the Archives of Family Medicine, Larimore argued that because the extremely high effectiveness rate of hormonal contraception is much higher than what one would expect on the basis of its often not very high rate of ovulation suppression, there is very good reason to think a significant portion of the high effectiveness rate is due to preventing implantation of the early embryo. But many women believe that the early embryo is a human being, and hence would take this effect to be a morally unacceptable abortion (and I expect there are additional women who do not take the effect to be utterly morally unacceptable, but for whom such an effect is nonetheless a significant reason against the use of the contraceptive method). Since patient autonomy requires that the patient be informed of those aspects of treatment that are salient given the patient's values and moral beliefs, the physician's duty in the case of such women is to inform the women of the risks of prevention of implantation. Because a physician may not know whether a particular woman consider this factor relevant, Larimore suggests that a physician can say something like: "Most of the time, the pill acts by preventing an egg from forming. This prevents pregnancy. However, women on the pill can still sometimes get pregnant. Some doctors think that the pill may cause the loss of some of these pregnancies very early in the pregnancy, before you would even know you were pregnant. Would knowing more about this possibility be important to you in your decision about whether to use the pill?"

Even bracketing the question whether contraception and abortion are morally permissible, Larimore is right about what is required what the current consensus on patient autonomy and informed consent. I've had a look at the titles and often abstracts of the 55 papers listed as citing Larimore's, and surprisingly none of them appears to be an argument to the contrary (though maybe some contain such an argument in their body). One interesting recent study of women in Western and Eastern Europe found that only 2% can correctly identify all the mechanisms of oral contraceptives and the IUD (for which the postfertilization effect is probably even greater), but that 73% said that their healthcare provider should inform them about effects that occur after fertilization even when these effects are before implantation. So not only is the information salient to many women, it is information that many women want.

It seems to me that pro-choice physicians should be impressed by the need to obtain informed consent for such postfertilization effects insofar as a significant part of the reasoning for the pro-choice position involves considerations of women's autonomy.

Fetal potentiality

Jarrett Cooper raised an important and interesting question about the potentiality of fetuses to become adults in a comment, and I thought I'd make a post with a response. The center of the question is:

There are those who dislike the use of the potential verbiage that is used for pro-life arguments. Namely, to ground the moral worth of fetuses in that they have the potential (albeit undeveloped) to become beings with consciousnesses, intellect, language, etc. They argue that the word "potential" has a very broad scope and therefore defending the use of potential with regards to fetuses becomes arbitrary.
What I gather is that their concern is there are many things have potential to be such and such. After all, it is said that we are star dust, but yet we don't view exploding stars nor the mere star dust remnants themselves as human beings. This is because even if we are just star dust, there's a whole bunch of processes that have to occur to get a human being.

I think we can identify two relevant distinctions between how an F (say, a fetus, a bit of star dust, or some clay) becomes a G, and corresponding to these two distinctions there are relevant distinctions as to F's potentiality to become a G.

The first distinction is implicit in the rest of Mr. Cooper's comment and may be on a continuum. This is the distinction between F's changing itself into a G and F's being changed into a G.

For instance, an acorn changes or transforms into an oak tree, but an oak tree is changed or transformed into a canoe. In both cases there is both internal and external causal agency. The acorn needs water, soil and sunlight to become an oak tree. The oak tree needs cutting and joining to become a boat. Note, however, that the second of these two sentences, while having an interpretation on which it is true, sounds odd. For while the acorn seems to be primary agent when it becomes the oak tree, the boat-builder is the primary agent when the oak tree becomes a boat. The water, soil and sunlight have a supportive role in the transformation, and the acorn, driven by its DNA, has a primary active role. In the case of the boat, however, the boat-builder does not merely have a supportive role in the process. Either she is the primary agent, or else she and the oak tree are jointly primary agents.

Corresponding to this distinction there is a distinction between an F's potentiality to change itself into a G, and an F's potentiality to be changed into a G. Neither the human ovum nor star dust have the potentiality to change themselves themselves into an adult. In the case of the human ovum, that is because a genetically equal or almost equal input from the sperm is required (almost, since DNA may not be the sum total of the genetic code; cytological context matters, for instance). And a fortiori star dust can't change itself into an adult human.

There is a second distinction, perhaps more principled. There are three ways in which we can say that an F changes into a G. First, we have accidental change, where the entity that is initially identical with an F is eventually identical with a G. Thus, the child becomes the adult: the same individual that was the change is later the adult. Second, we have substantial change, where the entity that is an F perishes an a G comes into existence. For instance, this happens when a book burns into smoke and ashes. There is no one entity that once was a book and later is smoke and ashes (though there may be particles that once constituted a book and later constitute smoke and ashes). Third, we have what we might call constitutional change, where the F comes to constitute a G. In this case, the "be" in "F comes to be a G" is the "to be" of constitution rather than of identity. For instance, sticks become a house. But it is never literally true that the sticks are identical with a house. To be more precise, we should say that the sticks come to constitute the house.

It is never true to say that the entity that was identical with star dust is now identical with a human. What we can say, depending on difficult metaphysical questions, is at most that the star dust comes to constitute a human (or, better, a human's body) or that the particles that constituted star dust now constitute the human. Likewise, the ovum is not identical with the adult human. It changes substantially into a human adult: the ovum perishes, by merging with the sperm, and a human comes into existence from its death, like smoke and ashes come into existence from a book.

On the other hand, a fetus's change into an adult is an accidental change: the same entity that was identical with a fetus comes to be identical with an adult.

A potential to change oneself accidentally into an adult human is a much more morally significant potential than a potential to be changed substantially or constitutively into an adult human.

It may sound strange to say that a potential for an accidental change would give rise to a more important status than a potential for a substantial change. But the reason for that is that the fact that the fetus's change into an adults is an accidental change means that there is only an accidental difference between the fetus and an adult.

Early embryos

It is often argued that the early (pre-implantation, human) embryo does not have a right to life because it is capable of twinning. The question is important, because if such an embryo does have a right to life, then embryo-destructive research (such as stem cell extraction) at this stage is wrong, and forms of birth control that can prevent implantation (e.g., the IUD, and perhaps hormonal contraception) are problematic.

I am going to try to reconstruct the best argument for this position, and then shoot it down. As an initial attempt, consider this:

1. Early embryos can split in two.
2. Something that can split in two lacks a definite identity.
3. Something that lacks a definite identity lacks a right to life.
4. Therefore, early embryos lack a right to life.

This argument is unsound. Each of us can split in two, for instance if we find ourselves victims of the guillotine. Yet we have a definite identity. So (2) is false. (It wouldn't help to add "naturally" to "split in two". First, we don't know that the embryo's splitting is "natural"—it might be an accident of some sort. Second, we can easily imagine critters that have a definite identity, but die by breaking up into two pieces.)

To fix the argument, we need to improve on premise (1) by saying something more about how early embryos can split in two. They do simply split in two: they twin. One way to formulate this is by saying that an embryo can split into two "entities" (I will use the term "entity" very widely, to include non-substances, heaps, etc.) of the same kind as it. But that won't be enough. For suppose that George is a member of a species that reproduces by growing a new member of the species as a bud on the shoulder. Then George can twin, but the ability to bud in this way is no threat to his definite identity or his right to life (if it's a species of persons). The issue, rather, seems to be with symmetric splitting.

So now our first premise is:

5. Early embryos can symmetrically split into two entities of the same kind as themselves.

This premise, however, is ambiguous. To see that, consider the following argument: "Human beings can lactate; only female mammals can lactate; therefore, human beings are female mammals." The issue is that phrases like "Human beings can" and "Early embryos can" are ambiguous between a "some" and an "all" reading. Let's first try the "some" reading. Then the claim is that some early embryos have a capability for the right kind of symmetric splitting. But then the rest of the argument only leads to the conclusion that those early embryos that have a capability for splitting lack a definite identity and hence lack a right to life. One might try to paper over the difficulty by strengthening (2) to:

6. Anything of the same kind as an entity that can symmetrically split into two entities of the same kind lacks a definite identity

and adding the auxiliary premise:

7. All early embryos are of the same kind.

However, it is not clear what argument can be given for (7) if one thinks that the capability for splitting is of such great importance as the defender of this argument thinks. So I think this is a non-starter.

Thus, the quantification in our initial premise needs to be over all early embryos. Or, maybe, all "normal" early embryos, allowing for the possibility that some early embryos might suffer from a splitting-disability. The argument now is:

8. Every normal early embryo can symmetrically split into two entities of the same kind as itself.
9. Something that can split into two entities of the same kind as itself lacks a definite identity.
10. Something that lacks a definite identity lacks a right to life.
11. Therefore, a normal early embryo lacks a right to life.

Indeed, (11) follows logically from (8)-(10). So the question is whether (8)-(10) are true.

Now, a glaring problem is that we do not at present know (8) to be true. There are two parts of this problem. The first part is that, last time I checked, we did not actually know that embryonic splitting is in fact symmetric. If it turns out that embryonic splitting proceeds by budding, the argument falls flat. Thus, the argument rests on an empirical hypothesis which is merely speculative. This is a problem: obviously, if the case for the lack of a right to life on the part of some organism is based on a merely speculative hypothesis, we should treat the organism as if it had a right to life until that speculative hypothesis is checked.

The second part of the problem with (8) is that we do not in fact know that all normal early embryos have the capability for splitting. The alternative view is that only some early embryos have a special characteristic in virtue of which they are capable of splitting (and there is no particular reason to think that this subclass of early embryos exhausts all the normal ones). As far as I know, we do not at present have enough empirical information to decide this issue. So, once again, (8) is up in the air empirically, and if this is what the case against the right to life of an early embryo is based on, we should treat the early embryo as if it had a right to life.

One might think that (8) could be defended by saying that even if naturally splitting isn't symmetric, or if only some early embryos can naturally split, still all early embryos could be surgically split. Maybe. But then (9) must be understood in a way that includes artificial splitting as well. And I think (9) understood in this way, conjoined with (10), is implausible. For it seems likely that one day it will be possible to destroy all of your body outside of your brain, so that you would be reduced to a functioning brain in a vat. If you were thus reduced to a functioning brain in a vat (say, as a radical treatment for an otherwise untreatable cancer—a rest-of-body amputation), you would surely still have a right to life. But a brain in a vat could, probably, be artificially split into two hemispheres in their own separate vats. And the split versions would seem to be the same kind of entity at the original, namely persons. So this would be a symmetric splitting of a person into two persons. But the mere possibility of such splitting surely neither threatens your identity nor removes your right to life, whether it is remote (as it is now, when you are not yet a brain in a vat) or near (as it would be were you to have the misfortune of being a brain in a vat).

So if (8) is understood to be only about natural splitting, our empirical knowledge does not give us (8). And if (8) is understood to be about artificial splitting, we should deny the conjunction of (9) and (10) under the appropriate interpretation of (9).

But let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that in fact (8) is true, and even true as regards natural splitting. Why should we believe (9)? It is tempting to say something like this:

12. If x symmetrically splits into y and z which are of the same kind as x, then either: (a) x=y and not x=z; or (b) x=z and not x=y; or (c) x=y=z; or (d) x ceases to exist and y and z are new entities; or (e) x lacks a definite identity.
13. Options (a)-(d) are absurd.
14. Therefore, x lacks a definite identity.

But there are several problems with this form of argument. First of all, there is a serious technical problem. The argument as it stands only shows that those early embryos that in fact are going to split are lacking in a definite identity. But that is only a very small minority of early embryos, and so the argument at most establishes that some very small minority of early embryos lacks a right to life. To get around this, one needs to add something like the following premise:

15. If x is capable of doing something such that, were it to do it, it would lack a definite identity, then x lacks a definite identity.

Now (with a bit of modal work) we can probably show that (9) follows from (15) and a version of the subargument (12)-(14).

But is (15) plausible? Suppose I am able to split my brain in half, through programming a robot to do it, or maybe through a feat of auto-neurosurgery. Perhaps a split brain patient lacks a definite identity. But even if it were true that a split brain patient lacks a definite identity, it would not follow that my capability of turning myself into a split brain patient makes me already lack a definite identity. So I think (15) is very much problematic.

Moreover, I reject (13). First of all, if dualism is true, then the kind of symmetry we are dealing with is only physical symmetry. It is quite possible that the physical facts are symmetric but the facts about the soul are asymmetric. Thus, (a) or (b) might be true. There might be some law specifying which of y and z gets x's soul, either in terms of some minor asymmetry (nobody thinks the asymmetry is total, with each half having the exact same number of molecules, in exactly the same positions) or stochastically (maybe it's random where the soul goes), with the other output entity getting a new soul. Or it might be that God decides where x's soul goes. So if dualism is true, (a) and (b) are not absurd.

Moreover, whether or not dualism is true, (d) is not absurd. It seems very plausible that this is the right thing to say about an amoeba's splitting: the old amoeba perishes in the act of reproducing into two new ones. If I cut a sculpture in half, symmetrically, I have very plausibly made two new sculptures out of the one old one, which perished in the cutting. And, of course, the fact that something has a capability of perishing does not imply it lacks a definite identity, since all the non-human organisms on earth have a capability of perishing.

In fact, the case of the amoeba shows directly that we should deny (9). An amoeba has the capability of splitting into two amoebae. But surely it exhibits a perfectly definite identity at least when it is not actually splitting. If the amoeba in my microscope slide hadn't split over the last 12 hours, and hasn't yet started splitting, then I now have the same amoeba I had 12 hours ago. That seems perfectly definite.

Moreover, it would be very surprising if there couldn't be intelligent aliens who reproduce like amoebae. And if there were such aliens, they would be a counterexample to the conjunction of (9) and (10): for they would be capable of symmetric splitting, but would, nonetheless, have a right to life.

Perhaps, though, the conclusion of the argument should be more modest. Instead of concluding that normal early embryos lack a right to life, maybe the argument should only conclude something like this: Don Marquis' argument against abortion does not apply to normal early embryos. For, Don Marquis' argument requires an identity between an embryo or fetus and an adult, so that killing the embryo or fetus is depriving it of a future like ours. I am not sure Marquis actually requires identity here (what he says about sperms and eggs suggests that he is talking of a relation weaker than identity). But nevermind—suppose he requires identity. Then one might argue that if the early embryo is capable of splitting in the near future, then it is not identical with a future adult. More precisely:

16. If x is capable of symmetrically splitting into two entities of the same kind in the near future, then x is not identical with any far-future entity.

But I think (16) is clearly false. If x in fact is going to symmetrically split in the near future, then maybe x is not identical with any far-future entity (but see my discussion of (12a) and (12b), above). But the mere capability of such splitting is surely irrelevant. Imagine Fred, an amoeba-like critter that every day, at noon, has a 2% chance of splitting symmetrically. Suppose that Fred in fact hasn't split during the past week (quite likely). Then Fred is the very same entity that he was a week ago. If he were to have split, we would perhaps be uncertain as to what we should say about his identity. But if he hasn't split, surely we should say that we have been dealing all along with the same entity. The mere possibility of symmetric splitting is not a threat to diachronic identity.