Obligation in Arne Næss’s environmental ethics.  An ethical theory that posits a duty to act is Arne Næss’s Ecosophy T,²⁰ a specific kind of deep ecology that aligns fairly well with the action-oriented ethics described above. Næss’s philosophy is based on eight premises, seven of which are a mix of descriptive and normative statements:

• The flourishing of human and non-human life on Earth has intrinsic value. The value of non-human life forms is independent of the usefulness these may have for narrow human purposes.

• Richness and diversity of life forms are values in themselves and contribute to the flourishing of human and non-human life on Earth.

• Humans have no right to reduce the richness and diversity except to satisfy vital needs.

• Present human interference with the non-human world is excessive, and the situation is rapidly worsening.

• The flourishing of human life and cultures is compatible with a substantial decrease of the human population. The flourishing of non-human life requires such a decrease.

• Significant change of life conditions for the better requires change in policies. These affect basic economic, technological, and ideological structures.

• The ideological change is mainly that of appreciating life quality (dwelling in situations with intrinsic value) rather than adhering to a high standard of living. There will be a profound awareness of the difference between big and great.

But the most interesting premise is the eighth one, in which Næss describes an obligation to seek change:

• Those who subscribe to the foregoing points have an obligation directly or indirectly to participate in the attempt to implement the necessary changes.

The exact nature of this obligation is not specified, and Næss states that there will naturally be disagreements about what sort of action to take, what types of strategies are appropriate, and which challenges should be prioritized. However, he does not see such disagreements as a barrier to “vigorous cooperation.”²⁰ Næss’s obligation does in part stem from the theoretical underpinnings of his philosophy, in particular his suggestion that we are all part of an interwoven network of life in which we are merely nodes in a “total-field.” For Næss, realizing this—through what he calls self-realization—means that we must assume responsibility for our conduct toward other beings. Also, humans have greater understanding of the nature of all things than other beings, which gives rise to a duty for humans to act morally—a duty that will not apply to, for example, wolves and other animals lacking the necessary knowledge and capacities^.20

For the AI ethicist, an argument could be made that their training and background equips them with a) the capacities that constitute a duty to effect change, while their research activities provide b) the knowledge of challenges that further strengthens this duty. Finally, c) for the obligation to become real, they must evaluate the situation in a specific way and have a moral conviction that allows them to conceive of themselves as obligated to act.

Næss discusses researchers’ duties and obligations at length elsewhere, suggesting, for example, that those working on issues related to environmental science and ethics should contribute to the changes required to face environmental challenges.²¹ Of interest to the topic at hand, he specifies that such expectations also apply to researchers outside academia. He claims that it is unworthy for a researcher to accept to be a “tool, a functionary, a technician,” and that the researcher has a responsibility for how their employers use the results of their research.²¹ This is thus something beyond a professional duty. For those who accept Næss’s arguments, it is a personal moral obligation.

The idea that we have a duty or obligation to seek positive change is clearly not new, but most theories seem to focus on our general responsibilities as human beings, and not whether ethicists in particular have a responsibility to act. Furthermore, much of moral philosophy has been too focused on individuals, with the result that harms resulting from collective action have gotten insufficient attention. Understanding the intricacies of the attribution of praise and blame when individuals act together is difficult, but also crucial for understanding most real cases, in which individuals are rarely, if ever, acting alone or in isolation. In such cases, one might question whether the notion of ethics even applies.

Action AI ethics and the three mainstream ethical theories.  The three major ethical theories—virtue ethics, deontology, and consequentialism—can all be used to illustrate the potential obligation of AI ethicists to do action AI ethics. They also all have implications for collective action. In the following, I summarize these theories (discussed in Sætra et al.²⁷) and the key takeaways relevant to ethicists’ obligations.

Virtue ethics entails evaluating right and wrong actions based on what a person with virtue would do, and what would contribute to becoming more virtuous. If, for example, kindness, courage, honesty, and integrity are virtues, it seems quite straightforward to argue that acting in ways that minimize harms to others, even if this comes with certain personal costs, is a good thing. A courageous person with integrity would, for example, not actively contribute to the success of X if they are aware of harms to others resulting from such a contribution. It might thus be said that anyone who believes that courage and integrity are virtues, who believes that fostering and embodying these virtues is the right thing to do and believes that supporting X as a platform goes against these virtues, has a moral obligation to actively undermine the platform. However, such considerations also require us to account for legitimate disagreements regarding the effects of different strategies and priorities, as emphasized by Næss. This takes us to the need to evaluate consequences.

Consequentialism is a theory in which the rightness and wrongness of actions are evaluated based on their consequences. In brief, this theory allows us to legitimize seemingly wrong, evil, or bad actions if the overall outcome is good: The ends might justify the means. For the AI ethicist critical of X, then, the key question would be whether them staying on the platform, for example to gain more reach, will more effectively contribute to the desired changes than them abandoning the platform. If an ethicist accepts that consequences are the determinant of right and wrong, the ethicist who believes the world would be better without X will be morally obliged to act in ways that maximize their contribution to such an outcome. Not at all costs, of course—individuals will have to do their own calculus on overall consequences related to the costs to themselves, the costs to others, the costs of civil or legal disobedience, and so on. One potential problem with a duty to act based solely on instrumental considerations is that these are far detached from much of the moral life and senses of duty, right, and wrong as lived and experienced by real people. Such instrumental foundations of duty therefore might not be effective in giving rise to desirable behavior.¹⁵

Deontology often involves evaluating actions based on whether they can be turned into universal maxims or rules. For example, Næss’s eighth principle is a formulation of a universal rule that might make sense to some. Why would one object to such a rule? Some might, for example, adhere to a very different ethical theory—say, Ayn Rand’s objectivism²²—and will argue that individuals have no duty to act in ways that promote the interests of others if this is harmful to themselves. By such a standard, the only acceptable universal rules would be those that are clearly in every individual’s best interest. Immanuel Kant is perhaps the most famous proponent of a deontologist ethic, and one of his key principles is that it is never acceptable to use other individuals simply as means to some other goal.²⁴ Such a principle would entail constraints for AI ethicists who know that their actions involve harm to some individuals, even if they believe they will overall be able to help more people through engaging with instead of leaving X. The deontologist identifying with such principles would then have a moral obligation to leave X to ensure that they do not violate the principle and turn unknown others into instruments for their own—or others’—purposes.

These ethical theories all have much more nuance and many different directions not covered here. However, this brief overview helps us see some of the potential arguments and challenges related to different foundations of the potential obligation to act. Furthermore, they are all capable of addressing the relational and collective aspects of ethics. Virtues often relate to and involve collaborating with others; consequences deal with consequences not just to oneself but other individuals and groups; and deontology also tends to deal with our duties or obligations to others.

Complicity, hypocrisy, and the individual in the collective.  Sometimes we can readily identify the morally responsible individual who, for example, directly causes harm, or could have prevented harm but did not. In such cases, the three criteria of individual accountability referred to earlier (individual difference, control, and autonomy) suffice to dish out moral reproach, praise, and so on. We can easily pin the tail on the moral donkey.

Other times, however, harms are much more diffuse. They might be systemic or structural, leading to situations in which various structures generate harms to individuals or groups, without there really being one or a few individuals to easily pin the tail of accountability to. For example, if we believe that academic institutions unfairly benefit some while harming and excluding others, it would be unproductive to place the blame on a single government minister. These structures have evolved over many generations, and have been shaped by historical, social, and political influences, making it difficult to assign accountability to one person or small group.

The notion of complicity is again useful for coming to grips with individuals’ role in propagating harmful systems and practices—with others through collective action. Kutz¹⁵ describes it as follows:

[O]ur lives are increasingly complicated by regrettable things brought about through our associations with other people or with the social, economic, and political institutions in which we live our lives and make our livings. Try as we might to live well, we find ourselves connected to harms and wrongs, albeit by relations that fall outside the paradigm of individual, intentional wrongdoing.

Some of the examples he mentions are customers buying tables made from rainforest wood, owning stocks in corrupt companies, being a citizen of a state harming others through military action, or living on land once inhabited by indigenous people.

Technology now plays an important role in making complicity ever more relevant. For example, user-driven social networks such as X are developed and deployed by somewhat easily identified individuals. However, I as a user have spent much time and effort making content for the platform, have guided people toward it, and have engaged with others in ways that might have kept them there. Many of us have spent considerable time scaffolding the structure that is a social network this way, and the potential harms and goods stemming from it cannot be isolated to one or a few persons in control of it. I am complicit. Other users are complicit. Regulators, politicians, and media are complicit. At least, that is what I am arguing here.

Such forms of complicity in technological harms are central for understanding the scope and nature of the potential obligation for ethicists to act based on their findings. That is because complicity reveals how their actions or inaction contribute to harms and accountability, clarifying the ways in which they are involved in perpetuating these harms. And since one of the prerequisites of having an obligation to act is to understand and recognize both the harms and one’s own role in propagating them, AI ethicists will more easily be obliged to take action—that is, have an obligation to act to prevent the harmful practices in which they are complicit.

The ethicist’s challenge if they do not act in accordance with their stated personal standards is that they can be accused of hypocrisy. An interesting example could be someone researching environmental sustainability and forcefully arguing that climate change is a huge problem, yet frequently flying across the globe for various purposes. If these are work-related purposes, they could argue that they believe their positive contributions by doing so outweigh the costs associated with traveling. If they travel for fun and leisure, avoiding charges of hypocrisy would be more difficult. They could, however, as I discussed earlier, argue that they have done their part through normative ethics, and that they do not see themself as responsible for making change happen. Perhaps they believe no individual is responsible until collective governmental action is taken to address the problem and, for example, eliminate the problem of free riders.

Similar challenges could arise for an environmental ethicist or animal rights scholar who eats meat, or a researcher vocally criticizing copyright violations and the environmental impacts of generative AI while still using it in their own research process. The latter might argue, in line with the climate activist who does leisure travel, that they don’t want to act unless others do so, not wanting to bear a disproportionate part of the costs of achieving change.

Those content with being partial or full hypocrites can clearly do descriptive and normative AI ethics. However, they will not as easily be able to do action AI ethics, as this is premised on the idea that the ethicist accepts a moral obligation to effect change in line with their knowledge and capacities.

While some might have a desire to impose their own moral standards on others, I posit that an obligation to effect change is something that can and should arise only from a personal realization and acceptance of the obligation. No one can impose such an obligation on others. For example, an ethicist adhering to objectivism cannot be expected to act upon an obligation to effect change that is premised on some notion of solidarity and collectivism. This reflects Næss’s eighth principle, which does not state that everyone has an obligation to act for change—only those who agree with and accept the preceding principles are obligated.

Engagement vs. divestment.  The first question is to decide whether to engage with or distance oneself from the companies and services in question—here X, and thus also Musk and his ecosystem of companies and partners. This is similar to the debate about whether to “divest or engage” in the world of sustainable finance.⁴ For example, if an investor is concerned about a company’s lack of climate action, should they divest from the company or try to use their influence as a shareholder to change the company’s policies? This is also related to the two main strategies presented in Sætra et al.²⁷—working for change from within or from outside of what they refer to as “the system.” The case of the passive investor in a company doing harm is also mentioned by Kutz¹⁵ in relation to complicity.

This is, in theory, an empirical question, but one that does not have a definite answer. We do not know in advance what the most effective strategy will be, so our actions must be guided by what we think is the best strategy for alleviating or mending the problems and challenges caused by the platform. That could, of course, be to try to turn X back into something good. If we thought it could be good at some point, that is. Or we could try to radically undermine, weaken, or destroy the platform. We might try to get users to leave; we could persuade advertisers to withdraw; or we could work to delegitimize X in the eyes of other influential actors. For example, in Norway, in mid-2024, most newspapers often referred to posts on X, even when there are other equally good sources of information. Also, even when X is not a highly relevant source, its posts are routinely not just linked to but also embedded in news stories. Through such editorial choices, editors are legitimizing the platform and sticking with X’s “legacy legacy,” so to speak—the legitimacy the platform had when it was Twitter. If we seek to undermine the platform, we might want that to stop.

Incremental vs. radical change.  Associated with the first question is to decide whether you believe incremental change might be sufficient for fixing the problems at hand, or that radical change is necessary. Næss referred to his own theory as deep ecology, positioning it as an alternative to shallow ecology. The latter is concerned with fixing symptoms through incremental change, while deep ecology explicitly calls for radical change of economic and political systems. This, Næss argues, is required to achieve the necessary changes.²⁰

While AI ethicists might agree on a description of the symptoms of deploying various AI systems, we tend to disagree about the more complete diagnosis of the problem—meaning the fuller description of why a certain symptom emerges. For example, Morozov tends to argue that capitalism is the core problem associated with modern AI’s harms,¹⁹ while others might believe the causes of, for example, discriminatory systems, can be isolated to bad data used for training and insufficient corrective measures in the end stages of development and deployment. The symptoms might be similar, but the cure—the theory of change describing what it would take to fix the symptoms—can be wildly different.

Individual vs. collective action.  A major disagreement when discussing any kind of social problem concerns whether it should be seen as a problem that should be solved by individuals or one that requires systemic change.

In the case of X, some might believe it is up to individuals to stop frequenting and supporting the platform. If enough people do so, politicians will not feel forced to be there and advertisers and other users will find it less attractive. It is the same with climate change and other environmental challenges: Is it the customer’s duty to fly less and choose more expensive but more environmentally friendly products? Some say yes, while others strongly disagree.

The opposite of making individuals responsible is to call for collective voluntary or forced action. The first might come about if enough of us join forces and jointly pressure companies into change or leave their platforms, while the latter results from, for example, government action and regulation. In the EU, for example, the AI Act and the Digital Services Act relieve individual users of some responsibility to change the world of big tech, as they instead set clear limits on what big tech can do and how it can operate. However, such regulation is also the result of individuals joining forces in voluntary collective action to make policy changes, so the distinction is not absolute. That there is no clear distinction between individual and collective action is clearly shown in cases of complicity. Individuals are not relieved of moral accountability when they structurally support collectives that create harm (or good), even if they claim to be “just a small part” of said collectives.¹⁵ In all cases of collective action, individuals’ choices and actions have effects—positive or negative—and help either strengthen or weaken the collective.

For the action AI ethicist, it will be important to explore and identify their own stance on the importance and need for individual action vs. largely placing the impetus for action and accountability with other individuals or some form of collective. Næss, for example, was adamant that the researcher and all individuals engaged in an issue have a personal responsibility to act to effect change, but that change happens most effectively through joint action. Moreover, he believed that such change would not come about through top-down efforts or waiting for politics to play out—he championed the broad dissemination of knowledge and grassroots mobilization.²¹

Rivalry vs. support and collaboration.  Another crucial success factor will be to build cooperative and powerful constellations, despite the many potential disagreements bound to arise between different individual and groups of AI ethicists. Once again drawing on Næss’s hopeful writings, we see that he believed meaningful cooperation can be achieved even among heterogenous individuals and groups—that is, if there is a joint core objective they agree on. In Næss’s case, it would be his seven premises. For us, it would be some new set of premises related to the dangers of X.

For exploratory purposes, we can propose a set of very basic and general principles focused on X, to see if they might serve a purpose similar to Næss’s premises:

• X is a platform that does not sufficiently take responsibility for or regulate hateful speech, conspiracy theories, and other content, and this generates and/or exacerbates significant individual, social, and political harms.

• X as a platform, despite its technical potential for relative neutrality, is trending toward a particular form of conservative right-wing politics and provides support and visibility for politicians and supporters of anti-democratic and authoritarian politics, particularly in the U.S.

• X is not characterized by meaningful transparency, accountability, or predictability, and thus generates potential harms and uncertainties unacceptable for a platform with its reach and power.

• X’s owner publicly supports a range of theories and holds a worldview inimical to many liberal-minded (in the political theory sense, not the party politics sense) people and ideologically and monetarily supported Donald Trump in the lead-up to and aftermath of the 2024 election. Any support for X and its owner thus with equates support for Trump and the broader MAGA movement.

There are many other, and likely better, potential premises and formulations, but this tentative list tests whether common ground can be found in the AI ethics community. AI ethics has been plagued by a wide range of vocal and public disagreements and reciprocal attacks and animosity between different groups, for example between what are referred to as the “AI ethics” and the “AI safety” people.²⁹ A recurring topic is the argument from some group that other groups are focusing on the wrong problems, either because they are not real problems or because they are simply not as important as the problems focused on by the accusing group.

However, arguments can clearly be made that it is both possible and necessary to focus on more than one problem at once.^29,31 Threats to individuals, groups, and political institutions from X, alongside threats linked to how the success of the platform strengthens its owner and his ideology, might be issues that unite, for example, those concerned with discriminatory AI systems, underrepresentation of and algorithmic harms to minority groups, AI threats to democracy, and fears of accelerationist attitudes to AI leading to dangerous AI systems down the line. X arguably constitutes risks of all types.

If one agrees these threats are real, a key concern would be to combat the “balkanization” of AI ethics and to join, create, and support constellations and movements actively seeking to undermine X—unless you believe you can solve the problem alone, that is, or that collective action is not required. A concrete example could be to either initiate or join efforts to get people to leave the platform, while actively seeking and developing alternatives for those joining this initiative. For example, efforts to develop a new community on a platform deemed to be less problematic might be helpful, as would efforts to explore ways in which collective action could help disseminate knowledge about the challenges of X, to generate research that helps better understand these challenges and how to remedy them, and to actively engage with actors developing better alternatives to help these efforts.

Personal costs vs. solidarity.  An important issue already hinted at is that being an action AI ethicist will always come with certain costs. Technology companies—the ones being researched by AI ethicists—are largely the ones able and willing to pay the most for competencies related to AI, including AI ethics. Which means that if you are openly trying to combat these companies, you will be losing some personal opportunities. For gold, and for glory.

This further underscores the need for unity and solidarity among individuals and groups working toward a common goal. There is strength in numbers, and unity will increase the chances of successful rapid action—which would entail lower costs and potentially higher rewards.

Furthermore, the better organized an action AI ethics movement is, the better equipped it will be to use solidarity measures to shield junior researchers by, for example, having tenured and recognized researchers spearhead various initiatives and actions likely to be controversial or unpopular with those with power in the tech world.

Constructive attitudes and alternative-seeking.  Action AI ethicists will also need to determine the directness of their involvement in identifying and seeking solutions to the problems that concern them. The duty described by Næss was to directly or indirectly act, which opens a wide array of strategies. One indirect way of taking action could be to simply find and fund or otherwise indirectly support actors working for the changes they deem necessary. Effective altruism is an example of such a strategy,¹⁰ insofar as its proponents can engage in activities far removed from the ethical challenges they see, if these activities allow them to earn money that they can subsequently funnel into support for relevant action. If I’m a top finance professional and AI ethicist, it might make the most sense for me to focus on maximizing my income and financially supporting others in direct action, rather than personally attacking the tech industry.

A more direct form would require the researcher themselves to act in line with their convictions. If I personally identified significant X-related challenges, I would have to take action in line with these findings. The most direct form of action would entail me directly speaking out against the platform, personally leaving the platform, and encouraging as many others as possible to do the same, guiding them in how to avoid the platform and actively seeking alternatives to it in the cases where X provides—or provided—something of real value and importance to people and society. Activists in the climate change space provide many examples of how scientists and others take direct action and expose themselves to anger, harm, ridicule, and punishment to directly confront the issues they care about.³³ Incidentally, Arne Næss himself was an active participant in civil disobedience actions against the construction of hydro-power projects in Norway, objecting to how these projects destroyed nature and violated Indigenous rights.

The most successful action AI ethicist will be a part of the solution beyond only being an effective critic. The effective critic is, after all, largely the normative AI ethicist. To effectively change things, people require a path away from or toward something—not just to hear that something is good or bad. If I preach the dangers of X without taking part in identifying, disseminating, or creating alternatives, it is unlikely that most users will know how to act in ways conducive to achieving the changes we desire. Such constructive action will often require more than philosophers, however, as developers, private companies, citizens, and politicians will have crucial roles to play in creating alternatives to an undesirable state of affairs. Coalitions and cooperation are also crucial here, and that applies beyond the domain of AI ethics.

Three types of AI ethics at once.  Finally, the aspiring action AI ethicist must see how action ethics builds on—and does not in any way stand in contrast to—descriptive and normative ethics. Strong action stems from solid analysis and ethical evaluations. Action without these becomes pure activism and not action AI ethics, as described here.

Seeing how the three forms all come together in action AI ethics is both important and challenging. First of all, identifying the proper course of action necessitates knowledge. Those wanting to do action AI ethics could do their own descriptive or normative analyses but, as with all research, they can and should do their best to connect their work to existing research. If they do, they can focus on further developing normative critiques and identifying effective action.

Another key reason to combine all three roles is that the action AI ethicist will be much better positioned to convince others and get them on board to develop the cooperation and coalitions described earlier. As already noted, this cooperation crosses professions, roles, and disciplines, and the ethicist providing a solid knowledge base will play a crucial role in these efforts.