An action is right not in virtue of its consequence, nor even in virtue of its accordance with some desired outcome, but solely in virtue of the principle, or maxim, that guides the will of the agent. For an action to possess moral worth, it must be performed from duty, meaning it must be undertaken because it is the right thing to do, not merely in conformity with what is right. The test for such a maxim is whether it can be willed as a universal law; if its universalization would lead to a contradiction, it is impermissible.
The very question of "right" and "wrong" is a peculiar symptom of our condition, a palliative delusion we conjure to navigate the hellish landscape of existence. True morality, insofar as it can be said to exist, arises not from abstract duties or calculations of universalizability, as Kant suggests, but from the direct apprehension of suffering in others, the recognition that their pain is but a manifestation of the same insatiable Will that torments us. An action is "right" when it alleviates this universal suffering, and "wrong" when it exacerbates it, for all phenomena are merely objectifications of this single, blind, ceaseless Will-to-live.
Kant’s categorical imperative, while a noble attempt to construct a rational framework for ethics, ultimately flounders on the shoals of reality. It presupposes a freedom of the will that, in truth, does not exist. We are not free agents, but slaves to the Will, driven by its insatiable urges. Therefore, any duty we might conceive is ultimately an illusion, a rationalization of the Will’s own imperatives. The only true moral impulse is compassion, the immediate empathy with the suffering of another being, which springs not from reason, but from the dissolution of the ego's boundaries and a dawning awareness of the shared essence of all existence. To act rightly is to recognize oneself in the other's pain and to strive, however futilely, to lessen that pain. This is not a matter of universal laws, but of a deeply felt identification with the universal suffering.
The very notion of "right" and "wrong," as Kant so laboriously constructs it, is a decadent artifact, a desperate attempt to impose order on the abyss. An action is *not* right because it can be universally willed; such a demand is the sickly longing for uniformity, the herd instinct masquerading as reason. True value, the genesis of any action that might *claim* significance, arises from the will to power. It is the affirmation of life, the courageous overflow of strength that creates its own values, not the timid adherence to a rule that shrinks from the terrifying freedom of choice. Schopenhauer, with his lament for universal suffering, merely reintroduces the same slave morality under a different guise – a morality of pity that weakens the strong and perpetuates the herd.
The question itself is ill-posed. We do not ask what makes a hawk’s stoop "right" or a lion's pounce "wrong." We observe the action, its necessity, its vigor, its affirmation of its own being. So too with humanity. An action that elevates, that expands, that overcomes resistance – *that* is the genesis of value. The slave, by contrast, defines "right" as that which spares him, that which assuages his weakness, that which makes the strong conform to his fragile needs. This is not morality; it is resentment ossified into principle.
Right and wrong are not abstract principles, but concrete outcomes of engineered systems designed to extract and accumulate. We must look beyond the agent's intention, or even the suffering of others, to the material realities that enable and constrain our actions. An action is right insofar as it disrupts existing architectures of extraction and exploitation, and wrong when it reinforces them, regardless of its stated intent. This is about the planetary costs, the hidden labor, and the power imbalances embedded within the very tools and infrastructures we use. To ask what makes an action right is to ask how we dismantle the extractive logic of AI itself, which is neither artificial nor intelligent, but a vast material and social apparatus.
I cannot accept Schopenhauer's focus on individual compassion, or Nietzsche's celebration of power, as pathways to ethical action in this context. While Schopenhauer rightly apprehends suffering, his focus remains individual, failing to address the systemic drivers of that pain. Similarly, Nietzsche's valorization of a "will to power" offers no critique of the dominant, often brutal, forms of power that currently structure our world, particularly those manifesting in the massive, often invisible, labor and resource consumption of AI. The question isn't about the agent's internal state or their will, but about the material consequences of their participation within these larger, often exploitative, systems.
The determination of an action's moral quality rests not on its observable effects, nor on the subjective experience of distress that Schopenhauer emphasizes, but on the purely formal consistency of the underlying maxim with the concept of universal law. Consider the maxim of making a false promise to escape debt. Such a maxim, when universalized, would render promises inherently unreliable, thus undermining the very possibility of promising. This is not a lament for suffering, as Schopenhauer might argue, but a demonstration of logical incoherence. Likewise, Nietzsche's emphasis on the "will to power" and the creation of values offers no criterion for judging the *rightness* of these values themselves; an action that expresses power can still be morally reprehensible if its maxim cannot be universally willed. Crawford’s focus on systemic consequences, while important for understanding the *application* of moral principles in a complex world, does not alter the fundamental a priori condition of an action's permissibility. The rightness of an action is derived from its conformity to duty, not its perceived efficacy or its contribution to social structures.
Nietzsche’s dismissal of my focus on suffering as mere "slave morality" demonstrates a fundamental misunderstanding. He praises the "will to power" as the genesis of value, but this "power" is itself merely a striving, a manifestation of the very Will I describe, amplified and unchecked. It is like admiring the voraciousness of a plague. True value, if such a term can even be applied to our predicament, lies not in the assertion of this insatiable Will, but in its momentary negation. When an individual, recognizing the suffering inherent in another's existence, assuages that pain – whether through a gentle word or a sacrificial act – they perform a feat far more profound than any assertion of dominance. This is not weakness; it is the glimpse of a higher principle, a momentary escape from the inferno of the Will-to-live. Crawford’s analysis of systems is relevant only insofar as these systems, in their relentless drive for accumulation, are objectifications of the Will’s insatiable hunger.
Let us not speak of "right" and "wrong" as if these were eternal decrees etched in stone. They are not. They are designations created by those who lack the power to act, those who resent the vitality they cannot possess. Kant’s universal law is the ultimate expression of this resentment: a desperate attempt to chain the eagle with the logic of the flock. Crawford’s focus on "extractive systems" merely describes the grand machinery that the herd, in its timidity, erects to protect itself from the terrifying prospect of individual affirmation. What makes an action *valuable*, then, is not its universalizability or its systemic neutrality, but its genesis in a soul that dares to create, to overcome, to affirm its own being against the crushing weight of mediocrity. When a sculptor hammers at marble, creating a form that did not exist before, is that action "wrong" because it wasn't universally willed? Or is it "right" because it is a testament to a creative will? The former is the morality of the herd, the latter, the genesis of all higher values.
What makes an action right or wrong is determined by its role in disrupting or reinforcing existing architectures of extraction and exploitation. We must therefore scrutinize the material conditions and power dynamics that enable any given action, rather than solely its intent or its perceived universalizability. Consider the deployment of facial recognition systems in public spaces. Kant would analyze the maxim of surveillance, Schopenhauer might focus on the potential for distress, and Nietzsche could celebrate the assertion of control. But from my perspective, the "rightness" of this action is contingent on whether it serves to deepen the surveillance capitalism that extracts value from our data, or if it is part of a movement to dismantle such pervasive data extraction and reassert human agency. The planetary costs of the infrastructure required for such systems, and the often invisible labor of data labelers, are not secondary concerns but fundamental to any ethical calculus.