I’d like to reiterate and expand upon the post I mentioned in the forum this week to define the nature of a human. (Written by shipperx and quoted from here.)

I think it may be in what meaning one assigns to the term “moral compass”. Insofar as to vampires know right from wrong, I agree that they do know. On an intellectual level, they know. So if using “moral compass” in the since of delineating direction, I can see that point. On the other hand while having an intellectual construct of right and wrong, on a visceral, instinctual level they don’t ‘feel’ something is ‘right.’ That gut-level empathy is missing. So inasmuch as one ascribes a ‘compass’ to mean a integral property of a compass to point towards magnetic North (or in the case of a ‘moral compass’ an inherent bent towards visceral/gut level feel for morality or difference in moral direction ) then I do think that “moral compass” entails a sense of right and wrong that is different from an intellectual understanding of right and wrong that vampires possess by right of simply having a brain.

I propose that humanity is defined by the moral compass. So long as we have that gut feeling of right and wrong, that need to do what’s right regardless of what we feel that “right” is- after all, less than a century ago, many Eskimos resorted to female infanticide because in order to keep the rest of the family alive. Morally, that was right for them, so their innate need to do the right thing, and therefore their humanity, is still intact. Rationalization, too, is a major human trait, as the need to justify actions as “right;” as is guilt, which is a result of not doing something “right.” Animals, as far as we know, do what they do instinctively, unrestrained by right and wrong, and even what we might construe as shame is simply behavioral conditioning at work.

And what about aliens? Machines? Robots? Would aliens feel pain? Can robots be programmed to feel? Star Trek, significantly, addresses these issues time and again with their diverse group of aliens and artificial life forms, and though these can’t actually predict anything, science fiction presents us with sometimes plausible images of the future.

Data is an android from Star Trek: The Next Generation created to simulate (though never quite imitate) humanity, who spent many years striving to understand and emulate people. However, I don’t believe that he’s human, regardless of the many episodes spent attempting to prove his humanity and rights. He can’t use contractions because he’s been programmed not to (There are some exceptions to this, but I’d attribute them to writer and actor error). He can only feel emotions when he gets an emotion chip installed. His feelings and desires are all artificial, and because of that, his moral code is, as well. He has no gut feelings pulling him toward what he perceives as right; in fact, in the series he’s been manipulated by his fellow android Lore and his ethical program deactivated. Data is therefore not a person.

Interestingly, The Doctor from Star Trek: Voyager is merely a hologram, but is probably closer to human than Data. Modeled with a similar personality to his creator and similar ethical programs as Data, the Doctor has instead foregone his programming on various occasions to ally himself with other holograms, to fight for what he believes in at the cost of violating his first order of “do no harm,” and has striven to change his very nature (to the point of fighting for a position in command instead of medical) in a further attempt to do what he feels is right. Is he a person? It’s still debatable, of course, but he possesses more humanity than Data.

Next come the Vorta and Jem’Hadar, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine’s cloned minions of an advanced race. The Vorta have been created to serve as manipulators and diplomats; the Jem’Hadar as soldiers who blindly follow orders. To some degree, they lack humanity despite their status as thinking, breathing individuals capable of intelligent thought. They’ve been programmed to act as they do, and rarely vary from their programmed behavior. However, on various occasions these aliens, too, have proven that they’re beholden to what is right in their eyes; one Jem’Hadar sends his troops into a death trap because his Vorta supervisor orders it, and another does the same and then turns and kills the Vorta for doubting his loyalty. The variation in reactions to similar situations implies that the Jem’Hadar are capable of deducing what the right thing is, regardless of its programming, and selecting whichever action feels more correct to him. The Vorta, meanwhile, seem to be far more self-serving than the Jem’Hadar- in one episode, one Vorta is willing to lie to its creators to the point of killing one of them rather than to allow him to get in the way of the conflict at hand. Another one, labeled “defective,” chooses to defect to the enemy, believing that they are the right side in the war. Though I don’t believe that all Vorta and Jem’Hadar use their moral compasses, I think that they possess the ability to do so as a race, and therefore qualify as people.

I may have gone a bit off-topic here. 😀 In short, the most essential quality, the one that is the root of the nature of humanity, is the moral compass. It leads to rationalization (this is what’s right) and guilt (I didn’t do what’s right), to philosophy (what is right?) and originality (I will do what I feel is right, regardless of what those around me might believe).

What can school do? A school that encourages people to think, instead of just obey, can nourish and develop that sense of what’s right. A child might think that “right” is “what I want,” and it takes years before a higher morality emerges- mostly as a natural progression from interaction, but also from being taught by family and mentors to put others before himself, and what’s right above it all. The instinct to do right does emerge no matter what, but it can be suppressed, to some degree, in a restrictive educational setting. Remember the Hitler Youth? They were taught a different doctrine of right and wrong, to the point that most believed it whole-heartedly. It’s easy for a school to dictate right and wrong, and for people to act based on that. But do they lose part of what makes them a person then, by blocking out their personal, inner moral compass? Arguably so. Sending a Jem’Hadar to a school where it learns to play nice and obey teachers instead of its creators might destroy what it is, by forcing it to accept someone else’s “right” instead of its own. Conversely, a school where it learns to express itself and is accepted as is, without someone else’s values, would allow it to flourish.

And sure, that means that the Jem’Hadar will grow up believing that killing others because its creators have told it to is the right thing, but that’s not our decision. Introducing different ideas for it to contemplate is all right. But brainwashing them into it can strip away its humanity.

In considering what we are as humans, what makes us humans, it’s also important to consider how we treat the beings among us who are different kinds of humans (or not human at all). As humans, we have a very negative history of dealing with other beings–particularly when we judge them as not being human, as being less than human. Genocide, slavery, factory farming, vivisection, destruction of habitat, imprisonment, exhibition as curiosities or captives, the list of ways that we humans abuse non-humans or less-than-humans is not a list that makes us look very good at all.

There are non-human partners in your life, in your planet, every day. Some of them you may eat (I enjoy a good hamburger, a chicken pot pie, or a bite of yellowtail sashimi myself). Others may provide your clothing, belts, shoes, the tests which ensure that your medicines or other products are safe, or the down that fills your fluffy pillow.

We are moving to a world with more recognition of the non-human beings around us. And we are creating more beings and intelligences (how big a step is it from an iPad or a Roomba to a Cylon? Maybe a long step…but maybe not all that long!) to help and serve us. And (maybe–someday) we might be meeting intelligences from other worlds than ours. We’ve been listening for a long time. It’s possible that soon we’ll hear something. Or have “someone” come to visit us. How will we react to these beings? Will we accept them as partners and comrades? Even as friends? When they look at us, and see how we have treated our neighbors in this world, how will they judge us? How much integration, how much assimilation will we want? Would you want your sister to marry a Cylon?

Education, in the past (and maybe the present?) has often played a role in determining how our fellow beings are treated. In this country, not all that long ago, Native American children were removed from their homes and families and placed in schools where the motto was “kill the Indian and save the man.” It seems that we’ve made progress since those days–we no longer have schools which are segregated by race…at least not explicitly, not by law. But the struggle to end segregation in schooling was a long and hard one, and may still not be ended.

Think about where your education has taken you–has it been a force for tolerance and diversity? Should it have been? When colleges (including this one) recruit students, what should we be looking for? What kinds of diversity are important in a college? And how can we make sure that we get that–how will we proceed when Cylons or Bulburs or genetically-enhanced animals want to join us fully, in education and in the world?

It could be that quite a bit of your conception of how education shapes human beings is related to your conception of just what human beings are at heart before they’re shaped. Homo homini lupus (“Man is a wolf to [his fellow] man”) is one way of looking at that basic human nature. The idea that people are naturally predatory, violent, selfish, destructive, and in need of constant supervision to prevent that nature from breaking out is inherent in many ideas about education (and politics, but that’s a separate subject). Education, in this view, is about teaching people to rise above their nature–or at least to control it.

But then there are other views. Homo ludens (the title of an excellent book by Johan Huizinga, if you want some extra reading) says that humans (or human culture–which may or may not be the same thing) are defined by play. Animals do play–but it might be worth thinking about (“playing with the idea”) whether the full development of play–particularly of games–is a defining human element. And this certainly can be explored (“played out”–but I’ll stop with that–you see the point) in schooling. We’ve talked in previous units about the role of learning in play and play in learning–and how sometimes one can completely ruin the other, sadly.

And we can look at some other definitions at the same time. Humans make art. Is creativity (or creation) the definitive human characteristic? Homo generum? Heinlein’s Valentine Michael Smith in Stranger in a Strange Land says that man is the animal who laughs. Homo risum? (Excuse my terrible Latin in each of those!)

Or are we the animal with a soul? (And what is a soul?).

What is it about being human that education can speak to, and how should that speaking take place?

(Google has a new tool–so I made a quick “ScreenStory”)

We’ve talked in the past about the differences between training and education, and one difference we mentioned (or at least I mentioned it) was that “training” is something for animals. Education is for human beings.

But there’s a deeper question at the core of that distinction, and in this unit we can start to explore that deeper question. What does it mean to be a human being?

One way to begin defining a word or concept is to look at it differentially–to try to define what it’s not. There are several ways to slice up the concept of “human being.” Anthropologists and paleontologists look at our pre-human hominid ancestors (there’s a great timeline here). Sahelanthropus tchadensis (around 7-6 million years ago) really wouldn’t fit what we think of as “human” today. Homo neanderthalensis (200-28 thousand years ago) was a lot closer, and what we used to call “Cro-Magnon” is now pretty much accepted as “early Homo sapiens sapiens.”

So at some point between Sahelanthropus tchadensis and Homo sapiens sapiens some very important things changed.

And we can also slice the concept in terms of species–we have some very intelligent non-human neighbors today. Dolphins and chimpanzees are probably the closest to us, but my dog, Jerry, certainly thinks he’s a human being. And my cats are certain that they are superior to human beings.

Or we can go in another direction–a different kind of neighbors. Is an intelligent alien (probably not a Martian–but what about a Vulcan? A Romulan? an Overlord?) a human being?

And there’s yet another direction. The artificial beings–computer intelligences, cyborgs, androids–are they human?

So if we look at those various slices, we see that there are certain things that the non-human ancestors and the non-human neighbors don’t have, while the human ones do.

And if education is something for human beings–what is it about human beings that education is for?

In Yiddish, as I’m sure some of you know, the word mensch means a lot more than just a human being. To be a mensch is to be what a human being should be (Judaism has some pretty definite ideas about what qualities are included there–but what are your ideas?). And maybe that’s what education is for–to make us what we should be.

How can education take us to the place where we are the best that we can be?

The robot has become a commonplace not just of SF, but of general technological culture. From little toy dogs children play with, to the small pieces of software that help you search the web, to the machine that vacuums your floor while you are out running errands, to the highly synchronized, untiring extensible claw-arms of automobile factories, robots, both as real machines, and as characters and ideas, are everywhere.

The first use of the word, “robot,” was in the Czech play, R.U.R.. The word “robot” in the play is derived from a Czech word meaning “servitude,” or “drudgery.” In the play, the robots end up rebelling against their masters. Once again, the role of these non-humans makes us think about how we treat, and how we see, the real humans around us–whether they serve, protect, think, feel, or rebel.

In the best SF stories, rebellion is always a possibility. In good SF, the robot is a fully self-aware and active subject. Although created by humans, these robots are true characters, with intelligence and emotions. They consider their own nature, and their own roles.

Isaac Asimov may be said to be the father of the modern robot in SF. His “Three Laws of Robotics:”

1. A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being
   to come to harm, unless this would violate a higher order law.
2. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings, except where such orders
   would confict with a higher order law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict
   with a higher order law.

neatly illustrate the human anxieties about the dangers of technology, along with its benefits, which are inherent in all the robot stories.

So we love these machines, we hate them, we’re scared of them, we appreciate them.

But what about the machines in your life? Have you ever named a car? Or a computer?  Are there machines that are like servants to you? Even friends?