At the end of this chapter you will be able to:
1. Outline the characteristics of a profession and assess what traits and responsibilities are part of professional technology development.
2. Summarize the need for professionalization and break down the advantages and disadvantages of centering the locus of ethical responsibility on the profession rather than the individual.
3. Discuss the strengths and limitations of codes of ethics as a decision-making tool and use a code of ethics to justify or rebut a decision or course of action.
4. Give original examples of applying your ethical toolkit, including professional codes, institutional processes, ethical frameworks, and moral imagination, to problems that could arise in practice.
Throughout most of this book, we have focused on the impact of technology in very broad ways: how it affects us in our own lives, in our communities, and within society at large. We hope this has given you new perspectives to apply to your career path and your participation in civic life, but it is understandably difficult at times to know how to translate some of these insights into action in your routine work.
Professional ethics is more down-to-earth; it focuses on the day-to-day expectations of the individual worker rather than the broader impacts of the field as a whole. But there is more to professional ethics than just taking ordinary standards of personal behavior into the workplace. For instance, both an engineer and a cashier would be expected not to embezzle money from their employers—yet organizations have spent decades carefully refining their expectations for engineering ethics, whereas there is no widespread standard for “cashiering ethics.” This is because, as we explore in the next section, society entrusts those who practice “professional” jobs like engineering, law, and medicine with an unusual degree of latitude in their work, and in return society expects professionals to continually earn this trust.
We have discussed how to apply ethical reasoning frameworks to thinking about dilemmas that we will all face as technology professionals and as users of technology. This chapter, however, explores how others have already codified this reasoning. Professional societies within applied sciences including engineering, law, and medicine publish guidelines for ethical practice of their field. Indeed, the Accreditation Board for Engineering and Technology (ABET), the largest accreditor of many STEM programs including computer science in the United States, requires instruction in professional ethics.
Section 6.2 focuses on the history and development of the technology practitioner as a professional. Section 6.3 considers the ethical codes that guide the profession; how, when, and why to apply these codes to decision making, and the limits of these codes for decision making. Sections 6.4 and 6.5 conclude the chapter with thoughts on how professional ethics combined with a deep and meaningful interaction with ethical theories and other reasoning tools can help you prepare for situations that are not (yet) covered by established ethical guidelines.
In this section we give an overview of what professions are, how they have developed in the engineering and technology development fields, and how they interact with laws and regulations.
To understand why the notion of a profession is ethically significant, we first investigate what it means for an occupation to be a profession. Greenwood (1957) proposes five core characteristics of a profession.
First, a profession has a core body of theoretical knowledge. While a practitioner of a nonprofessional trade (e.g., a mechanic or plumber) may be highly knowledgeable from practical training and experience, professional work requires a combination of practical skill and academic study.
Second, this deep specialized knowledge gives professionals authority. Or, as Greenwood paraphrases, a nonprofessional has customers; a professional has clients. In the former relationship, the customer holds a lot of power; the customer decides what they want, and if the worker cannot meet the demand, the customer can simply look for someone else. In the latter relationship, though, the client depends on the professional to make judgments that the client is not qualified to make for themself; the client’s ability to “shop around” is limited to deciding who can be trusted to act in the client’s best interests. Note that this form of authority is not moral authority, of the sort that matters in deontology, but rather is a matter of in-field expertise and financial relationships.
Third, a profession is given special and often unique privileges by the community. A common example of this is licensing requirements in order to practice the profession. An organization establishes licensing procedures for a profession and persuades legislators to pass laws mandating the licensing, in essence giving the organization authority over who is and is not legally allowed to practice the profession. An organization may also develop certifications, which are not legally mandated like licenses but likewise serve as markers of confidence and may be expected or preferred by employers. Additionally, when a profession develops standards of what constitutes a properly educated professional, an accrediting body (such as ABET for science and engineering disciplines) may adopt those standards for giving a mark of approval to college degree programs. Although licensing is enforced by the law, certification and accredited degrees are only “enforced” by the market. All three serve a similar purpose: they give a professional organization the power to set entry barriers to the profession.
Fourth, a profession regulates itself with a code of ethics. This serves as a counterbalance to the previous point—the community grants the professional organization a monopoly on a particular type of business, and like any monopoly, it could easily be exploited. For instance, suppose the members of a professional organization decided to charge unreasonably high prices for their services. With nobody outside of the organization legally able to set up a competing business and drive prices back down, clients would be forced to pay the demanded amount or else go without a critical service. To prevent such scenarios, a code of ethics states the organization’s commitment to use its privileges in a way that aligns with the community’s well-being.
Finally, a profession has its own culture. Beyond the technical competencies of the job, a new professional learns how to fit in among other members—their common language and lore, social conventions, and ways of viewing the world and the profession’s role within it.
In short, a profession provides a service that is needed by the rest of society, but the deep expertise needed to understand the profession means that it is not easily controlled by nonexpert regulators or market forces. Because of this, the profession and the community establish a sort of social contract in which the profession is granted special authority in exchange for an expectation of self-regulation. Ethics, therefore, is a fundamental part of the concept of a profession.
Throughout this book we discuss the individuals responsible for making technology in very broad terms. They may be the networking experts who make systems communicate or the electronics designers who lay out the newest smartphone, but what parts of technology development and deployment are proper professions and what parts are not?
One part of the process of technology development involves writing software for a smartphone, an embedded device, or a website, among many other options. Let us focus on the experts in this part of development—to what extent are they professionals? We typically call people software engineers if they write software, but what are the parallels to traditional engineering fields like mechanical or civil engineering, which have established themselves definitively as professions?
Software engineering matches Greenwood’s first, fourth, and fifth aspects of a profession: It has a strong element of theoretical knowledge, as the standard education for practitioners includes topics such as analysis of algorithms from a mathematical perspective and best patterns for solving problems. The community of software engineering and those who build software products has its own culture as well, including websites and memes specifically for software engineering (e.g., https://
The other two aspects are less clear-cut. Is software engineering given privileges by the community, including licensing? In certain jurisdictions, including Ontario and Quebec in Canada, one must be granted an engineering license to practice professional software engineering. Likewise, in the United States, the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers (IEEE) offers the Certified Software Development Professional exam, and the National Society of Professional Engineers offers an occupational license for software engineering (Wikipedia 2022b). As of 2020 in the United States, the answer depends on the jurisdiction; in some states, the title “software engineer” carries legal status and requires licensing, whereas in others, many companies use the term freely for any position that involves computer programming.
And finally, do software engineers have authority in their relationship with clients? The answer depends on how we define a software engineer. Experts in the rigorous design of complex and safety-critical software systems may have the same authoritative status as traditional engineers. But the world of people who program and create software seems more akin to a trade than a profession in this regard—while skilled, they do not normally have the power to make judgments about a client’s well-being that the client cannot simply override.
Most of these points apply to technology development overall; many technology jobs like system administrators or software testers have even less clearly defined community privilege and individual authority than software engineering. However, Greenwood’s aspects of a profession are a matter of degree, rather than of strict “yes” and “no” answers, and it still makes sense to discuss these jobs in a professional context. Furthermore, as we will see later, professionalization is a process. Software engineering, like the traditional engineering fields before it, gained many of its professional traits because a group of people made a focused effort to establish those traits.
During the late nineteenth century there was a growing tension between engineers and the firms for which they worked. Many engineers envisioned themselves as practitioners of a technical profession instead of simply employees in large enterprises. The early formation of many of the professional societies for engineers can be viewed as a first step toward the establishment of engineering and technology development as a profession (Layton 1986).
There were four founding engineering societies: The American Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE), founded in 1851; The American Institute of Electrical Engineers (AIEE, later the IEEE), founded in 1884; the American Society of Mechanical Engineers (ASME), founded in 1880; and the American Institute of Mining Engineers (AIME), founded in 1871 (Wikipedia 2022a). The AIEE included some of the most famous technological innovators of the time, including Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla, and Alexander Graham Bell. In 1963 the AIEE merged with the Institute of Radio Engineers (IRE) to become the IEEE (IEEE 2022b).
A motivation for much of the formation of these professional societies came as fallout from a number of major failures of civilian infrastructure including bridges and roadways, as well as mining and other manufacturing facility accidents. These high-profile failures of engineering and technology, along with a growing class of engineers that increasingly viewed themselves as individual professionals and not simply workers for large firms, spawned the creations of the first engineering codes of ethics. The AIEE adopted its first code of ethics and standards of practice in 1912, followed shortly thereafter by the ASCE and the ASME in 1914 (Layton 1986).
One of the oldest codes of ethics still used in the United States comes from the National Society of Professional Engineers (NSPE). In 1934, the NSPE was founded as an organization for professional engineers with the goal of providing licensure and formalizing the profession. Over the years, professional licensure has become required for undertaking or bidding on certain types of contracts and technology development, including offering “engineering services.” Indeed, the NSPE now administers the professional engineering (PE) exams that are required to practice certain types of engineering and contracting services for things like buildings, bridges, airplanes, cars, and electrical infrastructure. As we will see later, licensure is not as well established or enforced for things like software services and other small technology products.
The Code of Ethics for Engineers was first adopted by the National Society of Professional Engineers in 1964, replacing a previous code dating to 1947. Much of the code, which has undergone revisions throughout the years, focuses on ethical trade practices such as rules on bidding on contracts, a moratorium on accepting bribes, and other standards governing acceptable behavior as a service provider. The code also discusses how to deal with conflicts of interest and balancing objectives of various parties when providing services. The document continues to go through changes, being updated to reflect changing societal values (NSPE 2022b). For instance, earlier iterations prohibited engineers from participating in “collective coercive action” like strikes, but in 2001 that clause was removed. In 2003, a clause was added that engineers should “continue professional development throughout their careers.” In 2006, a clause was added that engineers should practice “sustainable development,” the first time that environmental concerns appeared in the code. And in 2019, a clause was added that engineers “shall treat all persons with dignity, respect, fairness and without discrimination.”
As we have seen throughout this book, many ethical considerations that engineers and technology development professionals encounter do not have easy answers. The NSPE runs a board of ethical review that has over 600 advisory opinions on topics ranging from conflicts of interest to public health and safety (NSPE 2022a). A board such as this represents an effort to continue to stay ahead of changes in the impacts of technology and development to provide guidance to practitioners. Other efforts in this vein include more focused professional organizations like the ACM and the IEEE, which we discuss next.
As we saw in the history of engineering, professions can begin as nonprofessionalized occupations; the transition is gradually brought about by a conscious effort from members of that occupation. The status of “profession” is not a clear-cut category but rather a spectrum.
Many technology-related jobs outside of the traditional engineering disciplines occupy a hazy place on the spectrum of professionalization. In computing, for instance, there are professional organizations such as the ACM, but those organizations’ power extends only as far as the people who join them or otherwise voluntarily follow their standards. According to Johnson (2008), nonprofessionalized computing puts workers in the role of “guns for hire”; when a computing worker is asked to work on a legal but morally questionable task, they are under pressure to either fulfill the request or cede their job to somebody else who will fulfill it. Johnson argues that increased professionalization is needed “to take certain issues out of the marketplace.” That is, in a well-established profession like law or medicine, it is difficult to simply threaten to replace a worker who refuses a request based on the profession’s ethical standards, because the workers who would be hired as a replacement are beholden to the same standards.
On the other hand, a profession relies on higher barriers to entry and stricter specifications for training and practice than do traditional occupations, and these traits come with some risks (National Research Council 2013). Professionalization can place a greater burden on workers to acquire training at their own expense, rather than receive on-the-job training from employers. The profession’s standards can be slow to adapt to changing technologies; these standards can limit innovation by reinforcing older practices and by keeping out unconventional thinkers who do not fit within the profession’s rigid entry requirements. In a rapidly changing field, the roles for which people are hired may themselves evolve so quickly that the profession’s official definition of its job may not match the jobs that are actually in demand.
These factors suggest that professionalization is most effective when a field has developed a stable, widely agreed-upon set of practices; debates about how much to professionalize (especially regarding features like legally mandated licensing) often revolve around whether a field is “mature enough.”
We have seen that software engineering is a prominent example of a technology field in the limbo between profession and nonprofession. Its status has been shaped by professionalization proponents who cite the potential for public harm from faulty software and thus the need for a high standard of competence, and by skeptics who argue that software engineering practices are evolving too rapidly for a fixed set of practices to be reasonable. In the 1990s, the IEEE and the ACM formed the Software Engineering Coordinating Committee (SWECC) to advance software engineering as a profession. One of the first products of this collaboration was a series of reports aiming to articulate a core body of knowledge for software engineering and to establish a consistent definition of the field (Duggins and Thomas 2002). The 1990s also saw efforts to establish licensing for software engineers, with Texas becoming the first US state to require the same licensing for software engineers as for traditional engineering fields. However, the ACM withdrew from the SWECC and announced its position that licensing would be premature and counterproductive. Nonetheless, the licensing movement in the United States continued into the twenty-first century, with the National Council of Examiners for Engineering and Surveying developing a software engineering examination intended specifically for engineers in public service or safety-critical applications. This examination was discontinued in 2019 because there were too few examinees. Despite the relative failure of licensing efforts, though, software engineering has made noteworthy strides in other areas, such as the growth of accreditation for software engineering degree programs (Mok 2010).
We have discussed how professions, as organized institutions, exist in part to moderate the needs of practitioners with the needs of the public. The public wants to receive high-quality, trustworthy services through fair business practices. Practitioners typically want a degree of autonomy in their work that could be sacrificed if too much of the oversight is done by people who lack expertise in the area they are regulating. Hence, while most practitioners are not opposed to all regulation, they are sometimes opposed to regulations that they perceive as being inappropriate, overbearing, or onerous. Professional organizations offer a compromise by regulating from within the community of experts. From this perspective, professional ethics serves as a supplement to the law in response to the limitations of public regulation.
Consider the handling of medical negligence suits in courts in the United Kingdom (Jones 2000) and the United States (Gossman et al. 2020). These cases involve evaluating whether a physician or other healthcare professional harmed a patient by failing to follow appropriate standards of care. Such standards are not necessarily codified into law—instead, the courts often call upon “expert witnesses” from the medical community to help determine what the appropriate standards are.
Why rely on expert witnesses to articulate the standards in each case, rather than writing those standards into comprehensive laws? As mentioned above, one argument is that only people with deep expertise are qualified to set the standards, and the people with the expertise are different from the people in charge of making laws. Additionally, standards can evolve quickly; when researchers discover an important new technique or invalidate a technique that was previously accepted, practitioners may need to change faster than the law can adapt.
Many technical professions share a critical feature: often the rate of change in technology outpaces the rate of change in the legal system, leaving a “policy vacuum” (Moor 1985) in which current regulations do not prescribe a way to handle the newest developments. Recent examples include the standard practice of collecting data and cookies about every user that comes to a website without requiring explicit permission, a practice largely shaken up by the introduction of the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) and other data processing and notification requirements passed in 2018 in the European Union. Likewise, in the early years of AirBnB, many cities did not have particular legislation in place about renting out one’s own apartment. In the ensuing years there have been numerous legal battles attempting to clarify the legality of renting out one’s home, who’s responsible, and how its insurance works. In technical research, advances are made at the pace of dissemination of advances that, with modern platforms, can be days after an innovation is made. Likewise, within the business domain, the mantra of “move fast and break things” (Vardi 2020) often does not leave room to wait for regulation to catch up to the technology being developed.
Technology is developing rapidly, and the law is shifting constantly to try to accommodate these advances by refining existing language to include new technologies, or by finding new legal frameworks that offer precedents that can guide the legislation of technology. Just as important as the changes in technology itself are the changes in how technology is conceptualized and understood both in the law of the land and in the minds of the public that uses it. For example, after the advent of online mail (email) being run by third-party companies, it was unclear to many that email is actually more similar to a postcard, where the contents are plainly visible to the entity passing it around, than to a post in a sealed envelope. This lack of nuance in the distinction laid the foundation for questions such as “Who or what is allowed to analyze email that passes across a server? ”
In many online email platforms, the email is read by algorithms, not real people, but before the rise of third-party email providers, it was not anticipated that a program would read your email in order to serve advertisements. However, once this became a reality, a legal interpretation was created that still protected a user’s right to privacy from the government, even though a commercial algorithm was reading their mail. Many of our notions of privacy for email rely on resoning based on the metaphor that mail to our home and mail to our computer are similar. However, in thinking about privacy, this metaphor fails us: sealed physical mail is afforded many more legal protections than online mail. Indeed, most online mail is typically read by algorithms for target advertising and user profiling (Gould 2014). However, even this landscape is rapidly changing as services such as Gmail and others attempt to turn what was once consumer facing free products into productivity tools for large corporations. Within the realm of corporate productivity, there is often a much more rigid expectation of privacy on the part of the corporation purchasing the tool, and this has required a change in how these tools handle data (Wakabayashi 2017). Here we can see that a technology (email) is interpreted through the metaphor of an older law (private mail), but not always strictly.
Sidebar: Metaphors, Personhood, Technology, and Autonomous Cars
One place where professional codes and the law intersect is the rapidly advancing field of autonomous vehicles. Consider a self-driving or autonomous car. At first glance it seems that this system would meet many of the criteria for moral agency discussed in chapter 4. In order to be useful, it seems that a driverless car must be able to do a few different things:
1. A car must be able to move its location, convey passengers, turn on headlights, and perform other physical feats. If agency is defined in terms of effecting change in its immediate environment, the car can be said to have agency.
2. The car must be able to react in ways not fully determined by the environment, for example, reacting to other drivers or perceptions of where they may move their cars (or selves) in the future. If it does, we could say it has self-determination.
3. A car needs to understand its location in an environment; this could imply self-awareness.
4. If a car can set goals and ends and act on those ends, it could be said to have rationality.
5. If the car is held accountable for its actions and if it can be forgiven and praised, then it could be said to be responsible; or perhaps the company that manufactured it is responsible.
Consider a car that contains software that is sufficiently advanced to drive itself, and there is no steering column nor other input. Now consider a setting in which a humanoid robot gets into a car and drives it through the means that the average adult would (i.e., using a steering wheel and pedals). Is there a difference? Should there be? Reflecting on this difference requires drawing on the idea of material substance-based metaphysical definitions of personhood. It is possible that from a technological point of view, the car that drives itself and the robot that drives the car are made of the same sensors and software. However, does your idea differ about the car, the robot, and the moral and legal responsibility of, for example, what happens if there is an accident? If so, why? Is it because your intuition is complicated by thinking about the body that is actually getting into the car? (Richards and Smart 2016).
This example is important to consider because the way the law handles robots and robotic technologies, including automated decision-making technologies, will have a huge impact on how these technologies are developed and what the rules for developing them are. Richards and Smart (2016) discuss the pros and cons of the common practice in law of using metaphor to understand new technology and to apply past laws to new technology using this metaphor. They warn that adopting insufficient or incorrect metaphors for extending these laws to new technologies can lead to problems later. In the context of the United States, for example, it was decided that the same privacy protections for email should not be applied to physical mail. Similarly, as we detailed in chapter 4, the metaphors that we use for space and privacy become complicated in the face of changing technology. Richards and Smart warn that if we decide on an insufficient metaphor to undergird our legal reasoning for robots and autonomous vehicles, it could be problematic for the way we develop and regulate these technologies.
Here we can see that although some definitions of personhood would recognize a robot with a humanoid body as being distinctly different from a nonhumanoid robot (or even from a person), there are methodologies of reasoning about personhood that ignore this distinction. Richards and Smart argue that one dangerous pitfall for the law, which they call “the android fallacy” (2016, 20), is that there is a meaningful difference between humanoid and non-humanoid robots.
Unexpected effects of new technologies can take regulators by surprise. For instance, companies such as Bird Rides, which allow freestanding electric scooters to be rented via mobile app, deployed their scooters in many cities suddenly and with little warning to local governments. Unanticipated issues arose, including high rates of accidents, unclear liability for accidents, and parked scooters obstructing walkways; this prompted some cities to temporarily ban the scooters until regulatory questions were resolved (Herrman 2019). Another example from the early 2010s are ride-sharing companies such as Uber and Lyft. Both of these companies operate under the idea of a “cab service” or “giving a ride to a friend,” and the specifics of legal liability and even local licensure for cabs has been bitterly contested in courts since the beginning, with some cities completely banning Uber and Lyft (Ongweso and Koebler 2019). These examples illustrate how law can lag technology development, and why professional ethics codes such as the ACM’s encourage developers to take a proactive role in how technology is integrated into existing societal structures.
Despite the distinction we have made between regulation by lawmakers and self-governance within a profession, these realms do not exist in isolation from one another; dialogue between lawmakers and professionals helps to shape the law. When both parties prioritize the public interest, this interaction can benefit consumers. For instance, many of the fundamental rules for governing traffic and regulation on the internet were written in collaboration between the public, private companies, and academics in the World Wide Web Consortium (W3C) and governing bodies at the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) and other regulatory bodies.
On the other hand, in some cases professionals’ influence over the law has undermined consumer welfare. For instance, in 2018 and 2019, a new software system that was omitted from manuals caused two fatal crashes by Boeing 737 MAX airliners. Remarking that the United States Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) had been unusually slow to ground any further flights by these planes, commentators suggested that close relationships between FAA inspectors and Boeing’s own safety experts may have contributed to this regulatory delay (The Economist 2019). Other examples of the complex interplay between technology professionals, the public, businesses, and governments include the history of safety belts (Nader 1965) and stock market trading (Lewis 2014).
In addition to thinking about the impacts of your own work, we encourage you to think about the ways in which the laws and regulations related to technology could be better, and what part you can play in improving them. This is not dreamy idealism! Both the law and professional codes of conduct are works in progress, and as citizens with specialized knowledge, you play an active role in helping to build or revise these statutes. Part of what you are doing, when you make choices about how to act, is participating in the ongoing civic discussion of how technology should be used and regulated. Beyond your everyday practice of technology development, you may very well be in a position to have an impact on the direction that the law takes. These impacts can be made through professional organizations and standards which either inform or become the law, such as IEEE open requests for comment on standards from image exchange to responsible algorithms. As we discuss in the next section, the rules and guidelines from these professional organizations are living documents and professionals are actively encouraged to refine these rules. Likewise, even as an individual you are empowered through commenting, blogging, public talks, testifying in a court or to a legislature, teaching, or petitioning, to name only a few avenues of public engagement.
It’s only plagiarism.… None of us are monsters. We’re symptoms of a sick system.
And then his face crinkles up … and he says, “I liked you.”
“Not Smart, Not Clever” is a story about a plagiarism epidemic at a British university, which persists despite the University’s many attempts to surveil it out of existence. It is also the story of several students struggling to find a way through a hostile and challenging system—and one who has given up on finding a place and instead decided to practice their would-be profession’s skills on their own terms. These two threads are closely related: as Lin, the story’s narrator, makes clear, her boyfriend Zach and his friends are tempted to plagiarism because their futures feel so precarious. An unsympathetic read might suggest that this is a story about individuals dodging their responsibilities to a profession. After all, degree requirements are one way a profession maintains its integrity by making sure practitioners have the knowledge needed to practice responsibly; plagiarism is taken so seriously because it offers a way of clearing these requirements without actually mastering that knowledge. But the story also raises questions about a profession’s responsibility to the individual, showing what happens when the system puts its resources toward inventing new ways to make sure future professionals check the right boxes, rather than toward nurturing their growth as human beings.
We have discussed how professions make moral commitments, and how these commitments are embodied in professional organizations’ codes of ethics. But what are these commitments? In this section, we review the contents of two organizations’ codes of ethics: the ACM and the IEEE. The ACM is a society that broadly encompasses computer science, while the IEEE includes electrical engineering along with related professions that also include computing disciplines. Along with the individual organizations’ codes, we also review the SECEPP, which was composed jointly by both organizations to target software engineering specifically. Although these codes differ in their style (e.g., the IEEE code is a brief list of principles, whereas the ACM code provides paragraphs of elaborating text with each principle and the SECEPP has finer-grained subclauses) and precise target audience (computing and other technology workers vs. computing workers specifically vs. software engineers specifically), they reflect many of the same core values. We organize our review by identifying and discussing several of these values, followed by pointers to the relevant clauses in the codes.
Prioritizing the public good. The codes quoted below emphasize this as one of their most important concerns by placing it as one of the first clauses and by using strong wording such as “hold paramount.” This echoes the idea of a profession being a sort of contractual exchange with society, with practitioners gaining special privileges and owing special duties to humanity in return. Both the IEEE code (via “sustainable development” in the main clause) and the ACM code (in the elaboration, not shown) group environmental concerns with the public good, suggesting a utilitarian view of nature as a contributor to human welfare.
Avoidance of harm and disclosing risks thereof. Along with the general directive for the public good, these codes specifically emphasize care when building safety-critical systems in which flaws could lead to tangible damage (think of the computer systems that control an airplane, a medical device, or a nuclear power plant). The ACM’s version is much more broadly worded than the others, but its elaboration emphasizes “unintended” and “unjust” harm; the code is carefully phrased so that it does not necessarily prohibit society members from working in areas like weapons development or cyberwarfare.
Honesty. These codes cover avoiding deception in a variety of forms, from untruthful personal statements to dishonest business practices.
Accurate assessment. Besides negative mandates against intentional deception, these codes include positive mandates for making sure claims are well supported.
Avoidance or disclosure of conflicts of interest. A conflict of interest is a situation in which a professional is serving multiple parties (possibly including the professional themself) and acting in the interest of one party may harm another. For instance, suppose a client hires a consultant to help decide whether the client’s business should purchase a certain software suite. There could be conflict of interest if the consultant also works for, or owns stock in, the company who makes the software. In both cases, it would be difficult for the consultant to make an unbiased judgment, because there are incentives (either benefit to the other client or personal profit) to treat the software suite favorably.
Nondiscriminatory treatment. In the ACM elaboration, sexual harassment and bullying are regarded as forms of discrimination. This recognizes that the effects of harassment go beyond the experience of the victims of the individual acts; the mere possibility of harassment creates a pervasive climate that discourages participation by those most likely to be targeted.
Education of the public. No technical field exists in isolation; ultimately, nonexperts will need to interact with, and help regulate, the technology created by the experts. This requires the professionals to develop a common language with the rest of society.
Working only in areas of competence. In other words, the codes quoted below urge computing professionals to only accept tasks for which they have the appropriate skills. They have this principle in common with the National Society of Professional Engineers, whose code of ethics lists it as one of the “fundamental canons” of engineering. However, for many computing workers, their areas of competence are less clear-cut than for engineers: Practicing engineering in many jurisdictions requires a license that establishes specific competencies, while there is less regulation around what competence means in most computing fields. In both engineering and computing professions, though, the principle implicitly asks the professional to understand the limits of their own skill set in addition to having the required degrees and certifications.
Credit-giving and respect for intellectual property. If you are a student, the violation of this principle you may have heard about most is plagiarism, the direct reuse of others’ work without giving credit. This is distinct from infringement of intellectual property such as copyrights, trademarks, and patents; plagiarism is about attribution of the work, and intellectual property infringement is about permission to use the work.
Professional development. In each of the codes below, this includes both self-improvement and helping colleagues, and both technical and ethical development. The principle recognizes that computing is a rapidly changing field, so quality work requires continued education throughout a professional’s career.
Accepting and giving review. Professional engineers are often called on to review drawings and other technical work which needs peer review before being deployed or sold to the public. Similarly, it is common in software development to use peer review to ensure good programming practices. This requirement is also especially prominent in academia, where a paper is traditionally expected to undergo peer review, with other researchers acting as gatekeepers, before being published and accepted as credible. The purpose of these review processes is not to ensure politeness, but rather to ensure that the work of any individual within the profession is of high quality. Poor work by any member of the profession jeopardizes the entire community, hence it is the responsibility of every member of the community to ensure these standards through the review process.
Workplace confidentiality. Professional work sometimes involves being entrusted with sensitive information; for instance, a company developing an innovative product may expect (or mandate, via a “nondisclosure agreement”) its software engineers not to discuss the design with parties outside of the company, to avoid competitors copying the idea and undermining the product’s profitability. Societies like the ACM generally tell their members to honor these expectations. However, unlike in some professions such as law, this guideline is not absolute. A defense lawyer, at least in the United States, has special legal protections and obligations to keep their client’s admissions of criminal activity confidential because the lawyer-client relationship depends on the client’s willingness to speak freely; meanwhile, a computing professional who learns of lawbreaking by a client might be legally compelled by a subpoena to share this information with the court, and the codes quoted below would make an exception to confidentiality for someone obeying this subpoena. These codes also recognize that confidentiality sometimes conflicts with other principles, like protecting the public good.
Equitable design. This encompasses themes of accessibility: on an individual level, design of systems with disabled users in mind, and on a societal level, consideration of whether less enfranchised people stand to benefit from a technology as much as more enfranchised people. The ACM text was added in the 2018 update, reflecting increased public consciousness around these issues; for instance, machine learning was increasingly used to supplement or replace human decision making in areas such as loan approval and criminal sentencing in which there was a history of racial bias, with infamous cases of those machine learning systems replicating the patterns of bias.
Privacy-protecting design. We discuss the meaning and moral significance of this concept in chapter 4.
The principles discussed above have been present in codes of ethics for decades; for instance, the SECEPP text (Gotterbarn et al. 2001) was adopted in 2000. New principles are emerging as the profession adopts new priorities, however. After previously being updated in 1992, the version of the ACM Code of Ethics reviewed here (Gotterbarn et al. 2018) was updated in 2018 in an iterative drafting process by a task force of computing, philosophy, and policy experts adding the equatiable theme and updating others (Association for Computing Machinery 2018). The drastic change in the ubiquity of the Internet and other computing technologies since then is reflected in the new clause: “Recognize when computer systems are becoming integrated into the infrastructure of society, and adopt an appropriate standard of care for those systems.” Clauses were also added about the previously unaddressed principles: to design systems with security in mind, and to “retire legacy systems with care.” To avoid the code becoming dated quickly as technologies change, the authors avoided references to specific technologies; even machine learning was considered too specific to mention specifically, although some text was added about the extra care needed in managing self-modifying systems. Addressing the ethics of specific technologies was left to additional ACM initiatives outside of the code; we discuss an example in the next subsection.
Sometimes a professional association will have guidelines for certain issues, in addition to the more general principles outlined in a code of conduct. Starting in 2016 both the ACM and the IEEE began to turn their attention to the specific issues surrounding how deeply algorithms have become a part of our daily lives. The IEEE established the standards working group SA 7003 which is specifically focused on developing its Standards on Algorithmic Bias Considerations, dedicated to examining and averting the often-unintentional phenomenon of prejudiced decision-making (e.g., racial discrimination) by machine learning algorithms trained with biased data, as we discuss in chapter 3.
This effort has expanded into a set of IEEE Standards on Ethically Aligned Design efforts (IEEE 2022a) that include starting multistakeholder conversations to create standards and best practice documents for topics including Transparency of Autonomous Systems, Data Privacy, and even Emulated Empathy in Autonomous Systems. Various academic conferences have also sprung up around these efforts including the ACM FaccT Conference on Fairness, Accountability, and Transparency in Machine Learning, Natural Language Processing, and Computer Vision Conference and the ACM/AAAI (Association for the Advancement of Artificial Intelliegence) Conference on AI, Ethics, & Society. Finally, since 2015 there have been numerous white papers and statements of ethics released by governments, academia, and businesses. A critical look at the similarities and differences in these guidelines can be found in Fjeld et al. (2020), who find a “normative core” of principles including concerns for privacy, accountability, safety, transparency, explainability, fairness, human control, professional responsibility, and promotion of human values.
Most directly, the ACM has outlined seven principles for designing and deploying algorithms in order to maximize transparency and accountability. This set of principles, according to the ACM, is intended to support algorithmic decision making while minimizing the potential for harm. These principles are an interesting starting point to think about what issues are important when creating, deploying, and maintaining systems that make decisions with little to no human intervention. We reproduce these principles below with some additional commentary.
1. Awareness: Owners, designers, builders, users, and other stakeholders of analytic systems should be aware of the possible biases involved in their design, implementation, and use and the potential harm that biases can cause to individuals and society. This directive is designed to reinforce the idea that one should consider where, how, and under what considerations algorithms will be deployed. While this may seem obvious to some it is important to remember that this may mean seeking outside consultation or help when creating and deploying systems.
2. Access and redress: Regulators should encourage the adoption of mechanisms that enable questioning and redress for individuals and groups that are adversely affected by algorithmically informed decisions. This is aimed at a notion of legal transparency; people should be able to appeal the decisions of algorithms and institutions. We will see this more explicitly pointed out in some later principles like accountability and explanation. However, the goal of access and redress is an interesting one. For instance, some social networks do not include mechanisms to appeal or recover deleted content. Should all businesses that use algorithmic decision making for moderation and ad placement be required to allow inquiry? The GDPR has recently enacted ideas like this into law. What about algorithmic sentencing, credit approval, or loan approval? For some of these cases (i.e., sentencing) there is an established process for access and redress (appeals), however, with respect to financial credit decisions, there is no universal legal standard. Here we can start to see the tension between professional society directives and established law.
3. Accountability: Institutions should be held responsible for decisions made by the algorithms that they use, even if it is not feasible to explain in detail how the algorithms produce their results. This is a strong statement with an ambitious goal: that organizations and institutions should stand by the decisions of their algorithms. This principle can become murky when one extends the logic to, for instance, driverless cars. Should a company be responsible for every crash an autonomous vehicle has? Think about what accountability means in all the domains where algorithms are used; is it possible to always have a person or corporation be accountable for the algorithms they deploy?
4. Explanation: Systems and institutions that use algorithmic decision-making are encouraged to produce explanations regarding both the procedures followed by the algorithm and the specific decisions that are made. This is particularly important in public policy contexts. Again, in many contexts this explanation is required by law. However, it is an interesting question to consider at what level of detail this explanation must be provided. Does source code always count as a sufficient explanation, or in some cases must data be provided as well?
5. Data Provenance: A description of the way in which the training data was collected should be maintained by the builders of the algorithms, accompanied by an exploration of the potential biases induced by the human or algorithmic data-gathering process. Public scrutiny of the data provides maximum opportunity for corrections. However, concerns over privacy, protecting trade secrets, or revelation of analytics that might allow malicious actors to game the system can justify restricting access to qualified and authorized individuals. Here we can see a tension between the need to disclose information and keeping some things secret. This specific example is interesting in an era when Google and Facebook (among others) are collecting more data about users than ever before. How much of this data should be made public and auditable? What about the data that credit card companies or banks collect?
6. Auditability: Models, algorithms, data, and decisions should be recorded so that they can be audited in cases where harm is suspected. This is a principle that many professional programmers, academics, and system designers, no matter the domain, should follow as it ties into the need for reproducibility. This is again enshrined in legal standards for areas like accounting and safety-critical systems (e.g., airplane autopilots) but has yet to be rigorously enforced across all algorithmic decision-making systems.
7. Validation and Testing: Institutions should use rigorous methods to validate their models and document those methods and results. In particular, they should routinely perform tests to assess and determine whether the model generates discriminatory harm. Institutions are encouraged to make the results of such tests public. This principle is interesting when one thinks about an age of continuous deployment and ever-changing code bases. Should models and algorithms be tested before deployment? What about the results of A/B testing, where two different versions of a service or interface are shown to different people, or live bucket testing in which tests are performed on users without their knowledge? Many companies participate in this type of testing without their users being aware in order to test algorithms with “real users.”
Of course, Carly was right, and if they wind up being ten minutes late to pick up Keystone that’s nobody’s fault but her own. “All right, Carly, I’m sorry—good job, really,” she says, only vaguely aware of how ridiculous it is to try to mollify a computer or worry about hurting its feelings.
“Since we’re at the library,” Carly says, “will you be acquiring books? Because they have three copies of the latest installment of the Carson Umquist series you like—and they’re all in the special ‘Hot Reads’ rack when you first walk in. I mean, they’re right there—you don’t have to go twenty feet. If that’s what you’re looking for.”
How much decisional power should a technology developer assume on behalf of their end users? When using one’s unique expertise to help others, it is easy to drift into paternalism, that is, taking autonomy away from the people you are trying to help. Cindy’s life is made easier—at least most of the time—by her self-driving car, “Carly.” Sometimes Carly simply manages Cindy’s schedule and spares her the worry of getting herself from place to place. Other times, Carly reminds Cindy of shopping opportunities that interest her. But sometimes, Carly’s programming leads it to challenge Cindy’s preferences, such as when she wants to spend time with her intriguing but reckless client Keystone. It’s easy to spot the paternalism at play when Carly will not unlock its doors for Keystone, but “Asleep at the Wheel” suggests that our concern should begin earlier, and that the entire interlocking smart system that Carly is a part of is unavoidably paternalistic.
We have noted that professional societies often have their own codes of ethics; in fact, we have seen that having a code of ethics is an essential part of some definitions of a “profession.” Professional ethics can be divided into two types. One type consists of those rules and guidelines that govern behavior and are aimed at preventing cases of professional misconduct and particular disasters—as Harris et al. (2013) refers to them, preventive ethics. Other parts of professional ethics precepts are aimed at positive, or aspirational ethics, aimed at using technology for the betterment of humankind.
Technology businesses have taken an increased interest in promoting ethics at an organization-wide level. But a company’s claim of ethical consciousness deserves scrutiny. One possible trap is conflating regulatory compliance with ethics. Not only have there been innumerable cases throughout history of the law failing to protect certain vulnerable populations, but also, recall that regulators cannot always anticipate the situations that technology developers will encounter, leading to a “policy vacuum.” A code’s guidance can help fill this vacuum, but another possible trap is making only shallow appeals to ethics (Gotterbarn 2020). Lining the workplace’s walls with posters featuring a code can be an effective way for a company to appear morally upstanding while making little change to its actual practices.
So, what are codes of ethics actually for? At a basic level, we could say they exist to state expectations about how a professional should behave. However, this seemingly singular purpose has many different dimensions. To whom are these expectations being stated, and why? Codes of ethics serve both “inward-facing” functions by communicating to professionals themselves, and “outward-facing” functions by communicating with the rest of society (Metcalf 2014).
Recall that the concept of a profession, compared to other occupations, revolves around an exchange of power. Professionals do work that needs regulation, but meaningful regulation requires expertise that only the professionals themselves have. A solution is for the community to hand over regulatory power to a professional organization. The organization’s code of ethics serves an outward-facing purpose by telling the community, in easily understandable language, what to expect from this self-regulation. The code is part of an organization’s strategy to maintain the community’s trust, so that the community will continue to let the profession keep its self-governing privileges.
A clear example of this in the United States is the way medical licenses are given to professionals, which enable them to practice medicine. Each medical practitioner in the United States must be licensed by a state medical board, which is (usually) made up of practicing professionals, and a common national evaluation of training and standards. These boards are (typically) created by an act of the state governing body but the rules, interpretation, and regulation of these rules is left to practicing professionals. Most of these standards are self-imposed by the various professional societies; reviews of practice and ethics are also undertaken by these professional societies, not state legislatures (Carlson and Thompson 2005).
Ultimately, maintaining the community’s trust requires that the profession actually fulfill its promise of good behavior. The inward-facing roles of a code of ethics help ensure the promise is fulfilled. For new professionals, who may have each individually developed different ideas about professional conduct from their respective workplaces and universities, a code gives a standard point of reference (Johnson 2009). For established professionals, a code serves as a continual reminder of the professional culture’s values and aspirations. When a professional resists pressure from outside forces (such as an employer) to act unethically, a code affirms the organization’s support for that professional. And when an organization member or licensed practitioner behaves disreputably, the code may be cited as grounds for revoking their membership or license.
When an ethical question arises, a code of ethics can serve as a decision-making aid. In general, a code is not designed to be a definitive source of answers; however, the code can highlight relevant values and suggest angles for thinking about the problem. For instance, in 2016, the US Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) wanted to access encrypted data on a smartphone connected to a terrorist attack and sought a court order that would compel smartphone manufacturer Apple to create software to bypass the encryption. In theory, though, such software could be used to compromise the security not only of this particular smartphone but also of smartphones belonging to Apple customers anywhere. Because of this, a group of Apple engineers considered refusing to build the software if the court order were issued. One commentator (Markoff 2016) invoked the ACM Code of Ethics to discuss this possible protest: The code includes a directive for computing professionals to follow the law. However, it makes allowances for violating the law when there is a “compelling ethical justification.” Since the code also enshrines the principles of respecting privacy and avoiding harm to the public, the commentator concluded that refusing to carry out the court order would be consistent with the code.
On the other hand, one could invoke the ACM code in favor of obeying the court order as well: The code says to “contribute to society and to human well-being,” and from the FBI’s perspective, the encryption-bypassing software was a potential opportunity to discover new information about terrorist plots that could help them save lives. Thus it could be argued alternatively that breaking the law by refusing to build the software would not have a “compelling ethical justification.” This highlights how conflicts sometimes exist between the different directives in a code of ethics. Codes are, as the ACM code itself states, not designed to be “an algorithm for solving ethical problems” but rather to suggest important values that can be used for decision-making when combined with a professional’s own judgment.
The Apple scenario also raises questions of who is beholden to a code of ethics. The ACM code is intended as a guide for all computing professionals. Within the ACM itself, the code is enforceable; the organization reviews reports of members violating the code and may take punitive action against violators. However, both membership in the ACM and adherence to the code for nonmembers are completely voluntary. Furthermore, many professionals answer to employers outside of the profession; since those employers are not beholden to the code, the professionals bear the full responsibility for compliance. Because of these factors, the success of the code depends on personal commitments or consensus within a practicing community, whether that community is the profession as a whole or just a group of practitioners working for the relevant stakeholders. For example, Apple’s “rebellious” culture was cited as contributing to the vocal dissent among the engineers (Markoff et al. 2016).
It wasn’t money that kept Karin at her control station. As the nightmare of the war played on before her eyes, it was knowing that the advice and the warnings that she spoke could save her soldiers’ lives.
Karin works as a military handler, passing along crucial battlefield data to her soldiers in real time. Although she sits safely behind a desk thousands of miles away, Karin’s workday is as frantic and high-stakes as her clients’. She does have a supervisor, but the speed of the battlefield, and the fact that she’s juggling three clients at once, means that Karin is essentially on her own in issuing warnings, guidance, and sometimes even kill orders. Karin’s job is made even harder by the fact that her aims don’t always match those of her clients: she wants to bring them back alive, but the clients themselves often want to complete their missions even when it involves serious risks. Karin is keenly aware that her life is easier and safer than her soldiers’ lives, but she has nonetheless developed some habits and mentalities that more closely resemble a soldier than an average help desk worker; she also suffers a lot of the same things as they do. “Codename: Delphi” offers a harrowing look at the real-time experience of navigating difficult and high-stakes jobs and provides a vivid illustration of how people’s prior commitments inform their choices most of all in the moments when there is no time to reflect, but only to act.
For a practitioner, ethics is best thought of as a process to be actively engaged in rather than a passive background concern (Gotterbarn and Wolf 2020). We often discuss moral decision making in language that suggests an individualistic process, but like the process of engineering a technological system, it is often a collaborative effort. Consider the setting of a technology company. Some ethical dilemmas might be uncovered by single workers’ vigilance and resolved by single workers’ insights. But some issues may require a combination of perspectives (e.g., from both business and engineering professionals) or a resolution of differences (e.g., in beliefs about technology developers’ moral responsibilities).
Moral issues come in many shapes, so there is no universal formula for identifying and resolving them. But this does not mean that moral decision making must be ad hoc or unstructured. And in a collective decision-making setting, adding additional decision makers does not inherently result in a wide perspective; similarities between members can even strengthen a group’s collective biases.
For these reasons, Vallor et al. (2018) emphasize integrating ethics as an ordinary part of the technology development process rather than treating it as something external, and operationalizing it so that developers across a business have a common understanding of the expectations for ethical practice. Their proposals include the following:
Within our professional practice, Harris et al’s. Engineering Ethics: Concepts and Cases (2013) discusses the differences between our personal morality and the practice of our professional ethics. Our professional ethics are typically stated in various forms including codes of ethics, and these injunctions typically take precedence over personal morality in acting in a professional capacity. It may be the case that your professional ethics prevent you from engaging in behavior, like accepting gifts, when acting in a professional capacity that would be allowable under your personal morals that govern your daily life.
Within the domain of your professional practice there will still be disagreements that arise concerning a moral issue. One of our main themes in this book is that there is no one-size-fits-all technique to handle these situations. Many of the ethical frameworks that we have discussed and cases that we have considered demonstrate this fact. One way to do this is concretely outlined by Harris et al. Chapters 3 and 4 provide a more concrete version of many of the practices and techniques that we have discussed.
A key principle that Harris et al. highlight is that in many disputes over technology, there may be a wide backdrop of moral agreement. That is, although there may be agreement among many of the parties that respect for human life is valuable or that one has a duty to inform the public of risks, that we agree on many of our moral values. However, even against this wide backdrop of moral agreement, there will still often be disagreements over facts: both what the facts are and which facts are relevant. The example case discussed by Harris is of a manufacturing plant, in which the people involved (i.e., workers and management), and in the absence of outside regulation, try to agree on the allowable parts per million of a certain known carcinogen in the atmosphere within the plant. In this case one participant in the disagreement may not be up to date on the science, or the science may not even be known, but a decision must be made about which course of action to take.
As pointed out by Harris et al., resolving disputes about facts is (1) not always an easy task and (2) does not necessarily lead to agreement about values. However, putting in the work, especially in a professional context, to establish and agree upon the facts serves the dual purpose of clarifying the particular concern and focusing the disagreement on a more clearly defined level.
Once all the facts have been determined, or at least as many as possible, and the relevant facts agreed upon, there is still the question of how, and with what perspective, to resolve the disagreement; what are the values at stake and how do we judge these values? The techniques outlined by Harris et al. are practical steps of applying views that we have covered in this book. Specifically, they advocate for using various forms of utilitarian thinking and deontological thinking.
Thinking in this way raises the important distinction between definitions and application. We not only need to agree on the definitions of what we mean when we say “safe” but also whether or not a certain situation should count as “safe” given this definition. In the plant example, if we define “safe” as being “absolutely no risk to human well-being” then the plant does not count as being “safe.” However, if we define “safe” in this context to be “no more than a 1/1,000,000 risk of developing cancer over 30 years of exposure,” then the plant would count as “safe.” Hence, more than just a disagreement about semantics, clarifying our definitions and our facts can help us on our journey to resolving moral disagreements.
Within the framework of utilitarianism, Harris et al. (2013) outline three possible approaches:
Within these utilitarian approaches, as we have seen in this book, there are still many issues to be resolved: who and what counts in our analysis; who bears the costs; and how do we determine downstream utility and externalities of which we may not be aware? Indeed, one of the key shortcomings in utilitarian approaches is the fact that in choosing problem frames and applications, we may ignore or frame out critical aspects of the problem.
In contrast to the utilitarian approaches above, one may start by analyzing situations from the perspective of respect for persons. This method leads to a set of approaches that bear a close resemblance to the deontological and virtue ethics approaches discussed in this book, operationalized to making decisions in an engineering context. Within this set of approaches, we again have three potential avenues:
As with the utilitarian approaches, analyzing situations from only this perspective may be fraught, as it may discount important external impacts or costs.
Although these utilitarian and deontological approaches will not solve every moral disagreement that you encounter in your professional practice, they are important perspectives to take. Much of chapter 4 of Harris et al. focuses on concrete exercises to analyze engineering and technology development cases using these tools. Other concrete examples of using professional ethical codes can be found in the ACM articles on using the ACM Code of Ethics in practice (Anderson et al. 1993; Gotterbarn and Wolf 2020). In this book we have exercised these tools through analyzing science fiction stories. You should also try your hand at analyzing real-world case studies. Remember that there is no one-size-fits-all solution to resolving moral disagreements and that you may have to try many different approaches.
Throughout this book, we have explored several frameworks you can use to approach ethical problems that you will encounter in your personal and professional life, including different ethical theories as well as codes of professional ethics.
As we have seen, codes of ethics can be helpful. They make explicit some of the things that are expected of you as a practicing professional. They identify the people whose well-being is at stake and the ideas that the community values, when you are thinking about an ethically complex situation. They can sometimes resolve an ethical quandary, and even when they can’t, they can help you begin to think about it. But they don’t accomplish everything. Figuring out how to apply them can be hard, and sometimes different directives can be in direct conflict.
In addition to being hard to apply, codes are sometimes limited. For example, they may fail to take account of the most recent developments in technological capability, and so underestimate the kind of impact a particular piece of technology or even a single technology developer like you could have! A given code may also fail to take account of some of the people who will be impacted by your decision. For example, a code may require that you consider the law and your relationship to your employer, and your employer’s clients, but de-emphasize the well-being of the wider public. This lack of emphasis could lead to situations where a particular group that is not a part of the decision-making process is significantly impacted by the use of the technology, such as recidivism (parole) software (Angwin et al. 2016), foster care (Hurley 2018), and access to homelessness services (Eubanks 2018).
Another way in which codes are helpful, but insufficient, is in assessing the priority of value in a particular situation. In other words, when different principles or the needs of different stakeholders are in conflict with each other, which ones should receive heavier consideration? An abstract or generalized list of priorities will not, by definition, take into account the details of every particular situation. Even if you are working with a code that stipulates the relative value of different people or ideas, you might still be faced with a situation in which it seems that the potential benefit to a more-valued entity, such as your own company, is dwarfed by the level of harm that will be done to a less-valued entity, such as a former client or a competitor.
For these reasons we also learned about a number of ethical theories that allow you to frame ethical problems. All of the frameworks that we have discussed differ both in scope and in fundamental assumptions. For example, a code of ethics generally provides actionable guidance for a specific professional community to frame and interrogate a problem. On the other hand, ethical theories are a more general account of human morals and the fundamental assumptions of those morals. We saw that the motivating principles behind an action are critical in Kantianism, whereas utilitarianism is more concerned with the action’s consequences. In fact, these reasoning frameworks can lead you to different conclusions for exactly the same situation!
Given the differences in scope and assumptions, we do not mean to say that all these tools and models of thought should be treated as mutually exclusive. When two people who are each committed to fundamentally different ethical ideas disagree about a moral dilemma, their arguments can seem like an alien language to each other. But by studying a variety of ways of thinking, you can build a versatile ethical toolkit that will help you both to understand others’ positions and to articulate your own. This ability to understand and communicate with people with whom you disagree is the best first step towards productively resolving differences.
Another valuable piece of a versatile ethical toolkit is moral imagination. While there is a stereotype that proper ethical decision making requires us to be in a purely “rational” mind-set, this stereotype neglects “nonrational” features like narrative and metaphor that modern cognitive science says are critical to human thought (Johnson 1994). When it comes to moral decision-making, theories and codes give us principled ways to discuss the implications of our options for the stakeholders involved, but this goes only so far if we consider only the obvious when identifying what the options, stakeholders, and implications are. We have included science fiction stories in this book not only as relevant “case studies” for the themes at hand but also as examples of authors using moral imagination to consider possible or metaphorical technologies and anticipate the sometimes-surprising changes that they could bring about in the world. Working through these stories and thinking critically about the motivations of the characters and settings has, we hope, developed your moral imagination! Be sure to keep practicing!
The truth is that I have never written popular stories. I am not a popular story writer. I am earnest. I am slow. I do not move at the speed these Americans seem to love. Find a story that people want to read. I can write some follow-up to Mackley, to Double DP, perhaps assist with sidebars to his main piece, but somehow, I suspect that the readers will know that I am faking it.
Ong is a deep believer in the value of the press. While still a child in Laos, Ong watched his much-revered father trade away his freedom because he was unwilling to keep silent about the Laotian government’s wrongdoing. Now on a work visa in the United States and working for a major media company, Ong tries to follow in his father’s footsteps by reporting on government corruption and climate change. But American consumers are more interested in infotainment than deeply researched exposés, and Ong’s boss threatens to fire him if he cannot improve his numbers. Ong’s professional community tries to support him in their own way; his much-more-successful colleague Marty sets him up with an interview that could save his job. But Ong seems to understand his obligation to his readers differently from his American colleagues, seeing them not as customers who should be told only what they want to hear but as clients who need to hear the truth, even when they might not want to.
1. Define the characteristics that typically constitute a profession as well as the special responsibilities that come along with being a professional in technology development. Explain how these responsibilities differ from another profession, such as medicine or law, and what aspects are the same.
2. Consider our deep dive into the ACM and the IEEE codes of ethics in section 6.3.1. Many of the qualities developed in these codes may overlap with your own personal ethics (e.g., honest and accurate assessment), but what happens if they do not? Do any of these stated goals differ from your personal ethics? When acting in a professional capacity how would you deal with this tension?
3. Find a recent news article or other account about a controversial technology-related issue (e.g., issues around the deployment of a new system), fault in a piece of software or deployed technology that caused harm, or less than upstanding behavior by an individual or company in technology development space. Use a code of ethics, such as the ACM’s Code of Ethics, to argue both in favor and against the issue.
a. Using the same example, take one of the ethical frameworks from chapter 2 and use it to justify a different decision from the one you came to using the ACM Code of Ethics.
b. Again using the same example, give an example of institutional process (e.g., development practices, laws, or regulations) that would mitigate this issue in the future. Do you think such a policy should be implemented? At what level? Why or why not?
4. Go to the National Society of Professional Engineers Board of Ethical Review (https://
5. Imagine that you are working in a professional setting and you become aware that an individual is doing something not in accordance with your personal code of ethics. What steps would you take? How do those steps change if the person is your boss, or someone on your project team, or someone on another team? How would these steps change if they were violating either a professional code of ethics, a company policy, or a law?
6. Imagine instead that you become aware of a company policy that goes against your own personal code of ethics; how would the steps you take change? How would this change if instead the policy went against a professional code of ethics?
7. Instead of an organization in which you are involved, imagine that some technology you use is violating a code of professional ethics, such as an app collecting data that it should not or a product that makes claims that are untrue. What steps would you take? How would this change if what the technology were doing was illegal?
For practical applications of professional ethics reasoning, Harris et al. (2013) is a great resource that includes many examples of standard techniques for analysis of various contexts. It would serve as a great applied professional ethics companion to this book.
A good video about the need for thinking about impact at the research and development level for artificial intelligence technology is addressed by Isbell in the 2020 NeurIPS: https://
An additional reading of what values many organizations see for AI development is a compare and contrast by the Berkman Klein Center: https://
The National Society of Professional Engineers Board of Ethical Review (https://
See also the ACM Statement on Algorithmic Transparency and Accountability, https://
Additional readings on the background of the ethics of computing and ethics in AI include the Stanford Encyclopedia of Ethics entry for “computer ethics” (https://
An additional reading on the rapidly developing discussion around data science and data ethics can be found in Luke Stark and Anna Lauren Hoffmann, “Data Is the New What? Popular Metaphors & Professional Ethics in Emerging Data Culture,” Journal of Cultural Analytics 4, no. 1 (2019), https://