The Salvation of Zachary Baumkletterer

This is the name of a short story by George Mavrodes. The story begins:

Maybe Zack should have said more about what he had decided to do, right at the beginning, and especially to the people at the office. Sometimes he thought so himself. But he was a really shy sort of person, not much at ease in talking about himself. So he said nothing about it (except when he prayed, of course) until people started asking him.

I guess the first thing they noticed was that he stopped bringing his lunch, buying soup and coffee in the cafeteria and eating with the bunch at the corner table. But no one thought much of it because some of the people often went out for lunch. And when they realized that he wasn’t eating lunch at all, some of them thought that he was just trying to lose a little weight. But it was odd because he didn’t seem to be what you could call fat at all. And it soon became clear that he was getting really thin and his face looked a little pinched.

Soon the people in the office notice that he seems to be wearing the same clothes every day. They don’t really want to mention it but someone finally decides to ask him about his weight:

It’s a little awkward to ask someone why he wears the same clothes all the time. Kids might do it, but grownups are maybe more polite. I guess it’s easier to remark casually that you look a little thin, maybe you’ve been losing a little weight, have you? Anyway, that’s how Tom Houston finally broached the subject to Zack in the sixth floor men’s room. And Zack said Yes, he had lost some weight.

As he said it he tightened up a little because he really didn’t like to talk about himself. But there wasn’t anything in the whole affair that he was ashamed of either, and he thought he’d probably have to explain it sooner or later anyway. So, since he got along pretty well with Tom, he added, “It’s because of the famine.”

That obviously made it as clear to Tom as if Zack had said it was because of the theory of relativity. So he went on to explain that there was a shortage of food in many parts of the world, a real famine, and that people were starving, actually starving to death in Bangladesh, in the Sahel of Africa and in some other places.

And Tom broke in to say that he knew all that, he could read the newspapers and the magazines, but there wasn’t a famine here, for Pete’s sake, was there? (He really did say “for Pete’s sake.” He knew that Zack was a real religious nut, so he sort of toned down his language when he was around Zack.)

And Zack said No, there wasn’t a famine here (though he had heard that some old people and some black people were pretty hard up). But there was a famine in other places, and the people in those places were people just as much as anyone around here, and so he was sending money for the relief of the famine abroad instead of spending that money on himself.

Soon they find out that Zack isn’t even eating enough to survive:

The next solid piece of information was dug out by Hilary Whittaker, who was a real health nut and blunt mannered as well. When he knew that Tom Houston had broken the ice, he watched for a good chance to ask Zack right out what he actually was eating. Zack told him it was mostly beans and rice and potatoes (but he didn’t know how to make anything out of them that you could really call a lunch, to put in a bag). When Hilary asked him how much, Zack told him what he generally had in the morning and the evening. Hilary had his little book of calorie counts and protein content and things like that, and he added it quickly. Then something happened to his face, and he added it again. He got the same answer, and he knew how thin Zack was getting, and he didn’t add it a third time.

Instead he said, “Do you know what you’re doing, you idiot? That’s below the starvation level! If you go on like that you’ll actually starve to death. Actually starve, do you hear?”

Zack said Yes, he knew. He’d gotten some books from the public library and added up the figures just as Hilary had. “But,” he went on, “do you know that there are hundreds of thousands of people in the world, maybe millions, who don’t eat any more than this day in and day out? I read somewhere that there are ten thousand dying of starvation every week. I’m probably the only person you’ve ever seen who was starving, but I’ve read that in Calcutta they pick up the bodies every morning on the streets. Starving to death isn’t all that queer, you know. It happens every day.”

Finally they call in his pastor to try to talk him out of starving himself. The pastor presents various arguments that fail to persuade Zack to change his behavior. Finally, the pastor argues that even by the standard of doing good to others, he is not doing what is best:

“Well then, frankly,” the Pastor continued, “doesn’t it seem to you that you could do the poor of the world more good by seeing to it that you stay in shape to live out your normal life and to work in the normal way, giving a part of your income over many years to the relief agencies, rather than giving so much now that soon you won’t be able to work at all and may even die prematurely?”

Zack looked at him and said, “I don’t know. Do you think I could?”

“I’ve got no doubt of it at all.” As he said it he thought to himself that maybe this simple observation was all that Zack needed. But as soon as he had that thought, he had a second one, more doubtful.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Zack began. “I thought of it myself, of course, before I really cut down. And people at the office have suggested it and Mr. Pencewaite and now you. But I still don’t know. You see, if I died, somebody would move into my job, and he’d leave a vacancy and someone would move into that, and so on. Maybe at the bottom of the line somewhere someone would get a job which would make the difference in his surviving. And if I die, I’ll be leaving a part of the world’s resources – the part I’d consume if I lived – for someone else. On the other hand, maybe the poor would be better off if I stayed around. I really don’t know.

“One thing, though. I think it would be suspicious if the people who decided who should live and who should not were deciding about their own case too – especially if they generally decided that it would be better for the world if they themselves were to live. A Christian, anyway, has to remember how deceitful and wicked the human heart is.”

The conversation continues for a while, but the pastor is unable to convince him. We can’t really tell what would do the most good, Zack says, but “it doesn’t seem odd to me that a Christian might lean a little bit to the short side for himself. When it’s a matter of a massive famine that will mean, of course, going below the line.” After this conversation, “It was only a few days later that Zachary Baumkletterer collapsed over his desk at work.”

Zack is almost certainly mistaken on the question of how to do the most good for others. If you have a job and you die, you will not be merely giving the resources you would have used to others. You will be failing to produce the resources that you would have produced, and if you were earning enough to live on, you were already producing more than enough for a single person. So there will be a net loss to the world if you die.

As Katja Grace says in a recent blog post:

Suppose you are a perfect utilitarian of some kind. You also live in a world where the utilities associated with your actions are well worked out. You can always spend $1 to save a life, which is worth one million utilons. You can also spend $1 on a cup of tea, which is worth three utilons, and will also make you a little better at working all day, producing $30 of extra value. So tea is a slam dunk.

If it is not immediately clear why “tea is a slam dunk,” the point of course is that if you produce an extra $30 by having the tea, you will be able to use it to save 30 lives instead of the single life that you would saved if you had forgone the tea.

Katja’s post basically attempts to argue, in essence, that even if you place equal value on all human beings, you should act as though you care more about people closer to you. As I said in a comment there, I am somewhat skeptical. I agree with her that in practice you can do the most good by caring about yourself, your friends and family, and so on, and that if you were literally to treat everyone equally, you would do less good. But this is accidental: people’s behavior is determined by what they care about, and not by any utilitarian measure. I argued in a previous post that we do not treat anything as having an infinite value, even if it is infinite in itself. In a similar way, distance of any kind causes us to value things less, whether the distance is spatial, temporal, or conceptual. And arguing against this is pointless: it is simply to argue against human nature, which is not the kind of thing that can change in response to argument.

 

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4 thoughts on “The Salvation of Zachary Baumkletterer

  1. You say that it is useless to argue against human nature — is this because human doesn’t (generally) change, or that moral actions themselves take their basis in human nature?

    The most plausible accounts of morality that I have been able to find are that to act morally is to act well as a human being, as the particular kind of thing that we are — that there is no a priori morality “out there” that exists independently of the actor’s nature. My best interpretation of your blog’s stance on moral action is in accord with this, though I may be wrong.

    However, I wonder about the moral status of the act of changing one’s nature. I have met people who believe that human beings are fundamentally flawed, and are “evolving” to be more spiritually and morally developed. There are also those who believe this evolution should be forced, through such things as eugenics. And then more recently, there is the popularity of the theoretical “transhumanist” movement, in which individual humans will be able to change their essential natures to overcome the limits of humanity.

    What does it mean, morally, to change one’s nature? A transhuman would presumably have at least slightly different moral imperatives. But does the act of change itself have any sense to it? And by what standard would such an action be judged?

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    • I agree that morality depends on human nature. A creature with a different nature, to some extent, would have a different morality.

      Nature is not completely fixed, but normally it only changes very slowly, over extremely long periods of time. And on account of what matters to people, and how it matters, right now extremely long term consequences do not (generally) make much of a difference to morality. So it may be that some actions are tending towards a change in human nature, but it does not really matter one way or another.

      You are right that there may be a time when people can change their nature in a relatively sudden way, or on the other hand, people might gradually come to a condition where extreme long term consequences matter a lot. Either way we would have to consider the morality of actions which directly change your nature. But basically these situations are hard to judge because they are so remote from our current situation. The answer would depend on the details, and perhaps we will only know those details when we are in the situation.

      None of this is really relevant to the particular argument here, though. We are not in that situation now. There is no button anyone can press to become Zachary Baumkletterer. Some Effective Altruists might hold him up as an ideal, perhaps, but even their own lives are extremely remote from his behavior. Even if you donate 80% of your income to charity, that is quite different from Zachary, if you still living relatively comfortably, rather than literally starving to death.

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  2. Out of curiosity, can this question be formulated to address a particular, currently possible method of essence-changing — namely, the changing of one’s nature from a human being to an inert collection of decomposing proteins? Can suicide be addressed from the perspective of the morality of deliberately changing one’s essential nature?

    Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions on these old posts, they are very enlightening.

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    • I think you should think about that in terms of moral object (https://entirelyuseless.wordpress.com/2016/05/18/moral-object/ ).

      In other words, you ask what we are discussing doing, answer by saying what is most important about it, and then ask whether doing that is good or bad.

      In this way, if the moral object is “killing myself,” it’s pretty sure that’s bad for much the same reasons that killing other people is bad.

      But this is what makes your question interesting. Because I could look at killing myself and say that the moral object is not “killing myself” but “changing myself into dead matter.” Now normally no one would think about this, and if they did, that would probably be a case of being mistaken about the moral object: it is like someone who kills with a gun and says “I was just moving the finger that happened to be touching the trigger. It had nothing to do with killing.” So it would still be bad.

      But consider the finger moving case: there could be a real case where it really was more important to move your finger than to avoid setting off the gun. And in such a case “I was moving my finger” would be a morally correct description, and “I was killing people” would be a morally incorrect description. And in such a case the person’s behavior could be justified. And in a similar way, there might be cases of suicide (talking about the external action) where the correct moral description is “changing my nature in some particular way.” In particular, for the usual motives, someone might say, “I am changing my nature to make it impossible for me to suffer anymore.” There is no reason in principle why this could not be a morally correct description, and no reason why the context could not justify it as well.

      If this is true, it might have some bearing on the transhumanist question too, because many transhumanists would like to change human nature in general so that suffering is not possible. This is not obviously a good thing, since currently suffering is useful and necessary: if suddenly you could not suffer anymore, in most cases, that would be bad for you. But if the circumstances (yours or those of humanity in general) were to change enough, it might become a good thing, for you or for humanity.

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