Allocation of responsibility

by Simon Longstaff

A correspondent recently faxed to me the details of a 'loyalty' scheme which allows its members to secure substantial discounts at participating restaurants. Under its rules, the diner is presented with a bill for the full cost of the meal. After presenting the membership card, a charge and receipt for the full amount is processed. In due course, the member's credit card statement records two transactions. The first is a debit for the amount shown on the receipt. The second is a credit delivering the promised discount.

My correspondent's worry is this - has the scheme been contrived in order to provide an opportunity to 'rort' expense accounts? With records indicating an entitlement for reimbursement to the value of $100.00 will people make the claim even though the actual cost was only $75.00?

My initial response was to suggest the possibility of a more 'innocent' (but perplexing) explanation. I suspect that I was judged naive. My correspondent believes that the promoters of the scheme see it “as just a commercial venture”. The implication? That the ethical dimension of the matter has not been recognised - let alone explored. So, here goes.

In thinking about the issue, it occurred to me that the promoters could respond by arguing that there is nothing, in the scheme, that actually requires (or specifically encourages) a participant to act dishonestly. True, they might argue, some unscrupulous individual could cheat on their expense account or tax return. However, that would be a matter for the individual. How can the promoters be held accountable for what others do?

Such a response raises some fairly fundamental questions about the way in which responsibility should be allocated. There are many people who would agree with the proposition that mature citizens ought to be recognised as responsible and accountable for that which they do. Yet, what are the boundaries within which such an argument makes sense?

Should smokers be able to sue tobacco companies? Successful actions have been brought in a number of jurisdictions. Should a victim of shooting be able to sue the manufacturer of the weapon? Such a case was successfully prosecuted in the United States of America. Should the manufacturers of powerful motor vehicles share responsibility for the speeding offences of errant drivers? I know of no litigation in this area, yet!

One can distinguish between the the examples listed above. In the case of tobacco products, there is an argument that the qualities that make them highly addictive for some people, lead smokers to start out in a voluntary capacity - only to become hooked at a later date. In these cases, subsequent addiction nullifies (or seriously limits) the smoker's responsibility for maintaining what is known to be a life-diminishing habit.

Suppose we conclude that addiction diminishes personal responsibility and hence, accountability. Does it necessarily follow that the purveyors of addictive substances are culpable in relation to their deleterious effects? This column is not the place to offer a comprehensive analysis of the arguments. However, it seems plausible to conclude that knowingly engaging in the sale or promotion of addictive substances is to invite censure because to do so is to profit from another's weakness - a weakness over which the individual may have little or no control.

The principle is this; one profits by holding out the promise of a benefit which the buyer is entitled to assume will be enjoyed through the consumption of the product or service as a whole. In some cases the deleterious effects are unable to be 'quarantined'. That is, the 'hazardous element' cannot be removed. Those who have profited in these circumstances, may then be required to make restitution for ill effects that could reasonably have been foreseen at the time of the sale.

What of the manufacturer of guns and fast cars? Can these cases be distinguished? One way to do so would be to take into account the underlying purpose(s) for which such things are made. Except in the limited case of target pistols, guns are designed and manufactured for only one purpose; namely, to maim and kill. In some cases, the purpose is even more refined; namely, to maim and kill people. On the other hand, automobiles are designed as a form of transport, or to race but not to kill.

Thus, it is possible to see the bones of an argument for distinguishing between these two cases. Guns fall into a general class of things that are designed to cause specific harm to individuals (even if the overall intention is to do good). Cars do not.

It could be argued that a special responsibility and accountability should attach to those who design and build hand-guns, land mines, nuclear bombs and so on. The existence of such things might be open to justification. For example, they may be the only way in which to meet a particularly dire threat. However, this would not negate the possibility of a kind of prima facie accountability.

This leaves open the possibility of a killer being responsible and accountable for that which he or she has done. This is to suggest a kind of 'joint responsibility' in circumstances where lethal goods are used for anti-social purposes (even though these purposes were unintended by the manufacturers). In particular, some account might need to be given of a lethal weapon's lack of safety features, or of its comparative ease of use (even in less extreme circumstances), or why the level of damage done is so disproportionate when compared to the type and level of threat normally encountered.

Interestingly, this argument would protect the manufacturer of implements regularly misused for violent ends - for example, the makers of kitchen knives, machetes and so on. In a similar way, we can see why car manufacturers are free of this obligation. Even a cursory consideration of these cases suggests a need to take into account the intentions and knowledge of those who make and sell potentially harmful products and services. Is harm intended? If not, could the unintended ill effects have reasonably been foreseen?

What then of the scheme with which this article opened? One might be tempted to assume that its use is not addictive. It may be an open question as to whether or not the scheme has been deliberately designed to cause harm (albeit, something less than lethal harm). The promoters are certain to argue that the potential for harm is an unintended side-effect - much like the carnage caused on our roads by drivers who abuse the capabilities of their vehicles. What then might they do to minimise any unintended, adverse side effects?

Perhaps my correspondent's concern lies in a perception that the scheme seeks to tap into the human vice of greed - a vice that is addictive and dangerous as any.

On the other hand, why presume that the worst in human nature will prevail? Are we beyond being able to trust people to act with honesty? Even if it was possible, would it be desirable to shape a world in which the free exercise of virtue has no place because there is no opportunity to resist vice? Are such questions further evidence of my naivety triumphing over prudence?

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Dr Simon Longstaff is Executive Director of St James Ethics Centre.

This article was first published here on some date.

© St James Ethics Centre

© St James Ethics Centre