In part
one of this two-part series I introduced Kant's practical
philosophy in relation to practical philosophy in general, and I
argued that Kant provides a unique solution to the problem of
normativity grounded in the first-personal perspective. In
this post I'll try to show how Kant's first-order moral philosophy
arises out of this fundamental practical perspective.
For Kant one of the most basic objects
studied by moral philosophy is something called a maxim, which is an
intention adopted by the will, or roughly speaking a plan of action.
There is some controversy about the interpretation of maxims, but for
our purposes it will do to think of them as having the form “I will
do action A in circumstances
C in order to bring
about end E.” All
actions involve commitment to some maxim or other, though the maxim
of an action need not be explicitly and consciously adopted at any
time, let alone prior to acting. Maxims form a hierarchical
structure, with more general or fundamental maxims rationally
constraining more particular ones. For instance, if I adopt the maxim
“I will exercise on the weekend to improve my health,” I can't
rationally adopt the more particular maxim, “I will watch TV all
weekend to catch up with Game of Thrones,”
but I can adopt the maxim “I will go for a hike on Saturday to stay
in shape.”
Since all actions
involve commitment some maxim or other, the will can't be determined
to action except by adopting a maxim. In particular, the will can't
be determined just by the force of a desire, or what Kant calls an
inclination. This is a key difference between Kant's philosophy of
action and that of his empiricist predecessors and many present-day
Anglophone philosophers. Contemporary philosophers often conceive of
action as the result of a belief plus a desire. On this model, an
agent combines a belief that the world is a certain way—for
instance, “there are no cookies in the cupboard”—with a
desire—such as “I want cookies”—and this combination
generates an action, such as going to buy cookies. Of course, in most
cases people have various conflicting desires. On the belief-desire
model, the action that the agent performs depends simply on whichever
desire or set of desires is strongest. If the agent in our example
desires to eat cookies but desires even more strongly to lose weight,
they will not go out to buy cookies.
For Kant, however,
action can never be merely the result of forces acting on an agent.
Desires may well produce all sorts of effects in a person without any
conscious input from that person, but an action is necessarily
something that a person can be responsible for, which means that it
can only come about through a manifestation of that person's
spontaneity. Specifically, desires or inclinations can only
contribute to an action to the extent that the agent incorporates
them into their maxim.
For example, the
person who desires cookies but also desires to get in shape may
reflect on each desire and determine that they ought, all things
considered, to abstain from eating cookies in order to get in shape.
In that case, they incorporate the inclination to get in shape into
their will, forming a maxim not to buy cookies. Their decision to
incorporate this inclination into their will has nothing to do with
the relative strengths of the two inclinations. The inclination to
eat cookies may well be stronger in a psychological sense than the
inclination to get in shape, but on Kant's model this does not
preclude the person's incorporating the latter inclination into their
will. The formation of a maxim is an essentially spontaneous or free
act that cannot be determined by psychological forces.
This spontaneity of
the will is Kant's basic solution to the problem of normativity. It
is the core of what I referred to in the previous post as his
first-personal voluntarism. As I argued there, from the
first-personal practical perspective determinism and naturalism do
not have to be theoretically disproven in order to vindicate whatever
norms govern the first-personal perspective. (The scope of our
knowledge about determinism does have to be shown to be limited to
the world of experience, as opposed to the world of things in
themselves, but that topic is beyond the scope of this series. If
you're interested in this issue, check out my introduction to Kant's
theoretical philosophy here.)
What emerges from Kant's first-personal reflection on the nature of
action is that we are all inescapably committed to the practical
reality of normativity, and we reaffirm that commitment every time we
act. Because adopting a maxim is essentially an act of spontaneity,
it is always something for which the agent who performs it is
responsible. It is not something that merely happens to the agent,
but rather something that the agent does, thereby affirming their
commitment to whatever norms govern the practice of adopting maxims.
Another way of
putting this is to say that an agent can only act “the idea of
freedom,” as Kant puts it in section 3 of the Groundwork
(448). What this means is that in deliberating about what to do I
cannot assume the truth of determinism. If I do, I will never act at
all, but will simply wait indefinitely to be determined to act. By
acting I instead affirm my commitment to my practical freedom,
regardless of the theoretical status of determinism. I commit myself
to the proposition that I could, in some sense, have acted otherwise,
and therefore I am responsible for justifying my decision to act in
the way that I did.
The kind of freedom
immediately at issue is what I previously have followed Kant in
calling “spontaneity.” Spontaneity is a limited kind of freedom,
in that it only involves the capacity to choose between various
inclinations. It is more than what Kant characterizes as the “freedom
of a turnspit” in his later Critique of Practical Reason
(97), meaning it is more than just the “freedom” to be determined
in more than one way, as a turnspit can be opened or closed. Rather,
it involves a rational choice between multiple inclinations, such as
the inclination to eat cookies and the inclination to get in shape.
However, it is constrained by the realm of inclination. It does not
involve the ability to determine oneself to do something for which
one has no inclination at all.
This may sound like
hardly any limitation at all, since it is not clear what it would
mean for agents to determine themselves independently of inclination
entirely. However, Kant claims that this is precisely what they can
do. In addition to freedom in the sense of spontaneity, agents also
possess freedom in the sense of autonomy, or the capacity to
determine their will independently of all inclination.
The argument for
this conclusion is similar to the argument for the conclusion that
agents can only act “under the idea of freedom.” In deliberating
about whether I should act in accordance with one of my inclinations,
or in accordance with some requirement of morality which I have no
inclination to act on, I cannot assume that it is impossible for me
to act on the latter simply because I have no inclination to do so.
This is not because it would be wrong to assume so, but simply
because from a first-personal practical perspective I encounter no
limitation that prevents my will from determining itself
independently of inclination.
Kant discusses this
issue in the Critique of Practical Reason. He gives the
example of a man threatened with execution if he refuses to give
false testimony against a man the prince would like to destroy (30).
There is no reason to suppose that he has any inclination to give up
his life for the sake of the other man, and yet when he reflects from
his first-personal perspective on what he ought to do, he can find no
grounds for denying that this it is possible for him to do so.
He may well intend not to, but there is nothing in the first-personal
practical perspective to justify the conclusion that it is
impossible, even though it is contrary to all his
inclinations. A philosopher committed to the belief-desire model of
action would have to reject this possibility and conclude that the
man must either secretly desire to give up his life for the sake of
duty, or that it is in fact impossible for him to do so. This
analysis is forced, and again there are no grounds for it in the
first-personal practical perspective. Therefore, the will really is
autonomous from a practical perspective. Kant calls this conclusion
the “fact of reason.”
So
what sort of fundamental maxim should I, a person with an autonomous
will, act on? Given that every other person's will is equally
autonomous, whatever maxim it is, it must be capable of serving as
the fundamental maxim for every person's will. At the same time, of
course, it must remain a maxim that I myself can will. Once the
problem is posed like this, the solution becomes surprisingly
obvious: the fundamental maxim must be, “I will act only on those
maxims that I can at the same time will as fundamental maxims for all
other persons.” Technically, this is not a maxim in Kant's
terminology but rather a practical or universal law, which is like a
maxim except that it is capable of determining all persons' wills
independently of inclination. This is also what Kant calls a
categorical imperative, and the categorical imperative we've just
arrived at is what he calls the moral law. Restated in this
terminology, we have Kant's famous formula of universal law, the
first formula of the categorical imperative: “act only in
accordance with that maxim through which you can at the same time
will that it become a universal law” (Groundwork 421).
What does it mean
in practice to act only on those maxims that one can at the same time
will as universal laws? The formula of universal law establishes two
tests that a maxim must pass in order to be morally permissible.
First, it must pass the contradiction in conception test, which means
it must be conceivable as a universal maxim. In order to perform this
test, I ask whether I can even conceive of a world in which everyone
(including me) acts on the maxim in question.
A classic example
of a maxim that fails the contradiction in conception test is a maxim
of false promising. If I want to set myself the maxim of making a
false promise in order to get some benefit, I must ask myself whether
I can even conceive of a world in which everyone (including me) makes
false promises in order to get that benefit. As it turns out I
cannot, because if everyone made false promises to get the benefit in
question, people would no longer take promises seriously (or at least
promises concerning the benefit in question), and the institution of
promising would effectively cease to exist. Therefore, my maxim could
not even conceivably be acted on in a world in which it had become a
universal law.
Because the maxim
fails the contradiction in conception test, there is a perfect duty
not to act on it, which means that I must never act on it under any
circumstance. This can also be called a negative duty, because it
forbids certain maxims without prescribing any particular other ones.
(It emerges in Kant's 1797 book The Metaphysics of Morals that
the perfect/imperfect distinction between duties may not be precisely
equivalent to the negative/positive distinction, but we don't need to
go into that here.)
Even if a maxim
passes the contradiction in conception test, it may still fail the
second test of the formula of universal law, the test of
contradiction in volition. This test asks whether the maxim could not
only be conceived as a universal law, but whether I could also will
that it serve as a universal law. A classic example of a maxim that
passes the contradiction in conception test but fails the
contradiction in volition test is a maxim of universal
nonbeneficence, or a maxim of never helping others. I can conceive of
a world in which nobody ever helps anyone else, but I cannot will
that such a world come to be, because like everyone else I too will
need help at some point in my life. Generally, one cannot will that a
maxim become universal law if doing so would require willing
something contrary to a practical interest that belongs to all human
beings as such, such as receiving help from others. Another maxim
that fails this test is a maxim of never improving one's own skills,
or the capacity of one's will to set and pursue ends (including ends
required by morality). Some skill is by definition necessary to
achieve any end at all, so a maxim of entirely neglecting one's
skills is contrary to a necessary interest of the will, and therefore
fails the test of contradiction in volition.
If a maxim fails
the contradiction in volition test, there is an imperfect duty not to
act on it. This means that one must not adopt the maxim as it stands,
but one may adopt a maxim which is something less than the negation
of the original maxim. For instance, although I must not refuse
to help others all of the time, I needn't agree to help them
all of the time either. Instead, I can adopt a maxim of sometimes
helping others. Imperfect duties can also be called positive duties,
because unlike negative duties which merely forbid maxims, positive
duties also require the adoption of certain other maxims.
As we've just
noted, however, the maxims required by imperfect duties do not
require that we take any particular actions in order to remain
committed to them. For instance, I can remain committed to a maxim of
sometimes helping others even if I decline to help them on an
indeterminate number of possible occasions. Of course, if I pass up
every opportunity to help, it becomes less and less plausible to
claim that I am still committed to a maxim of sometimes helping. The
question of which kinds of practices satisfy and do not satisfy
imperfect duties, like the question of which maxims a person is
committed to in general, is plausibly a matter of interpretation.
That, then, is the
formula of universal law. As we've seen, it specifies two tests for
the moral permissibility of maxims, resulting in perfect and
imperfect duties not to act on maxims that fail those tests. Now, you
may have noticed that the formula of universal law itself doesn't
look exactly like a maxim. It specifies a general act to be performed
in all circumstances—only to act on those maxims that can at the
same time be willed as universal laws—but it doesn't specify an end
for that act. Although, as I noted before, the categorical imperative
is not technically a maxim, it does still have the form of one, which
means that it too has an end.
What, then, can
that end be? As with the “act” portion of the categorical
imperative specified in the formula of universal law, whatever the
end is, it must be one that the will can legislate to itself
autonomously, that is, independently of inclination. As with the
formula of universal law, once the question is posed in these terms
the answer becomes surprisingly obvious: the end of the categorical
imperative must be the will itself. There is no other end that the
will can set itself that is independent of inclination.
What does it mean
for the will to set itself as its own end? Clearly it can't be
exactly the same thing as setting other sorts of ends. In most cases
we set ourselves as ends things that we don't already have, and by
setting them as ends we commit to bringing them about. This can't be
what it means to set the will itself as an end, because the will of
course already exists. Nor can it mean committing to bring about more
wills, i.e., more persons, as a utilitarian would interpret the
imperative.
What it does mean
becomes clear if we reflect again on the significance of the autonomy
of the will. As we saw before, the actions of the will are
essentially spontaneous, meaning that inclinations cannot determine
the will except by being incorporated into its maxims. This also
means that they cannot be normative or reason giving independently of
the will. Only by being incorporated into an agent's maxim does an
end become normative for the agent who incorporates it. This does
not, of course, mean that there are no ends that are universally
normative—as we've just seen, the will itself is just such an end.
But it does mean that the will only becomes normative through its own
autonomous action. And when the will sets itself any other end, the
normativity of that end is conditional on its being set by the will.
Another way of putting this point is to say that all ends other than
the will itself are conditional ends. That is, their normativity is
conditional on their being set by the will. The will itself, by
contrast, is an unconditional end, because it is the source of its
own normativity. Because of its autonomous nature, it is rationally
committed to setting itself as its own end and treating itself as the
source of the normativity of all its other ends.
The
unconditional/conditional distinction is one of two basic
distinctions that can be drawn among ends. As we've seen, it is just
the distinction between an end whose normativity has no condition or
is its own condition (the will), and an end whose normativity is
conditional on the existence or activity of something else, as all
ends other than the will are with respect to the activity of the
will. The other basic distinction is between ends that are
intrinsically normative and ends that are merely instrumentally
normative. An intrinsically normative end is normative for its own
sake, not merely as a means to some other end. For instance, I may
take my friendships to be normative for their own sake, so that I
would continue to find them worthwhile even if they didn't produce
any side benefits for me. An instrumentally normative end, by
contrast, is normative only as a means to some other end. For
example, I may eat quinoa because it's good for me, even though I
don't really like the taste. If it weren't good for me I would no
longer eat it, because it's not intrinsically normative for me.
As you may have
noticed, the unconditional/conditional distinction and the
intrinsically normative/merely instrumentally normative distinction
are somewhat independent of one another. Both friendship and quinoa
are merely conditional ends, of course, because the will is the only
end that is unconditionally normative. In other words, conditional
ends can be either intrinsically or merely instrumentally normative.
Indeed, the same end can be both intrinsically and instrumentally
normative, though of course it can't be both intrinsically and merely
instrumentally normative.
The unconditional
end that is the will, however, cannot be merely instrumentally
normative. As the source of all normativity, if it were not normative
in itself then nothing else would be normative either and so there
would be nothing for it to serve as a means towards. Like other
intrinsically normative ends, it may of course also be instrumentally
normative—the will helps us achieve all sorts of other ends—but
it cannot be merely instrumentally normative. Therefore, the will is
an unconditional and intrinsically normative end.
Kant's
technical term for the will is “humanity.” This term has no
necessary relation to the biological species homo sapiens.
Rather, it applies in principle to the end-setting capacity of any
rational being which has that capacity. As a matter of fact Kant does
not believe that animals are rational in the requisite sense, though
that doesn't mean that he denies that they are rational in any sense
at all. If Kant turned out to be wrong about animals, they too could
be said to have “humanity.” Using this new term, we can now
formulate the conclusion of the previous discussion, which turns out
to be the second formula of the categorical imperative, or the
formula of humanity: “So act that you use humanity, whether
in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same
time as an end, never merely as a means” (Groundwork
429). In other words, treat humanity or the will like the
unconditional, intrinsically normative end that it is, not like a
merely conditional or instrumentally valuable end.
What this means in
practice is a matter of some dispute, but like the formula of
universal law it has a negative and a positive component. Indeed,
Kant claims that all of the formulas of the categorical imperative
are just different aspects of one and the same moral law, so they
should produce the same duties. One plausible interpretation of the
negative component of the formula of humanity is that it requires us
not to treat any person (including ourselves) in a way to which that
person could not consent. The modality (“could”) is crucial here.
The issue is not whether the person actually does consent, or even
whether they would consent if given the opportunity. Rather, it is
whether they could consent given their status as autonomous rational
beings. Things to which persons as such could not consent include
coercion, whether violent or not; manipulation, including being lied
to; and having their rational capacity destroyed, whether by injury
or death (including, Kant thinks, by suicide). All of these cases
involve the circumvention, manipulation, or destruction of a person's
rational capacity.
To
return to the lying promise example from the discussion of the
formula of universal law, if I want to extract some benefit from you,
I have two basic options: I can either try to persuade you to grant
me the benefit, in which case I recognize that the decision whether
or not to grant it ultimately lies with your own will; or I can
attempt to circumvent your will, for instance by lying to you. In the
latter case you could not consent to my maxim of making a lying
promise in order to extract the benefit, because if you were aware
that it was my maxim it would no longer be possible to act on it, for
reasons similar to those discussed with regard to the contradiction
in conception test of the formula of universal law. If you knew that
my maxim was to lie to you, it would be conceptually impossible for
me to act on it, since lying requires at least possible ignorance on
the part of the person being lied to. As with the formula of
universal law, when a maxim violates the negative requirements of the
formula of humanity—when it subjects a person to some treatment to
which they could not consent—there is a negative, perfect duty not
to act on that maxim.
The
basic positive duties required by the formula of humanity are the
same as those required by the formula of universal law: to improve
one's own skills and to adopt some of the ends of others when they
are morally permissible (Groundwork 430).
These duties can be derived independently of the formula of universal
law by reflecting on the nature of ends in general. As we saw in
introducing the formula of humanity, an end doesn't have to be
something nonexistent that we aim to bring about. However, it does
have to be something we can aim at and realize in some sense or
other. Therefore, if humanity is to serve as the end of the moral
law, it must not be a merely negative end (one that generates
negative duties forbidding the adoption of maxims), but also a
positive end (one that generates positive duties requiring the
adoption of maxims).
In
other words, we must aim at the fulfillment of humanity in some
sense. There are two basic ways in which we can do this: by working
to fulfill the ends set by a person, or by working to improve the
skills which a person can use to achieve their own ends. With regard
to ourselves, the former cannot be a duty, because the fulfillment of
one's own ends—what Kant calls happiness—is by definition what
one aims at in setting any ends at all. Since it's not even
conceptually possible to fail to aim at our own happiness, it cannot
be a duty to do so. We can, however, fail to improve our skills, so
we have an imperfect duty to see to it that we do improve them. The
converse is true with regard to duties to others. We can help others
achieve their ends, so we have an imperfect duty to do so. We cannot,
however, directly help them improve their skills, as skills in Kant's
sense are a matter of the autonomous activity of the will, which no
force outside of the will (including another person's will) can
effectively determine. Therefore, the duty to fulfill the end of
humanity entails the imperfect duties of improving one's own skills
and helping others achieve their morally permissible ends.
There
is one more feature of the categorical imperative related to but
distinct from its end. You'll recall that in introducing maxims I
mentioned that they are organized hierarchically, with the more
general or fundamental ones rationally constraining the more applied,
particular ones. As we've seen, the categorical imperative ought to
be one's most fundamental maxim, or, properly speaking, it ought to
constrain all of one's maxims as a practical law.
This
is more or less what is meant by Kant's famous (to some, infamous)
claim in the opening sentence of the Groundwork
that nothing “could be considered good without limitation except a
good will” (393), or as he later puts it, that “an action from
duty has its moral worth not in the purpose
to be attained by it but in the maxim in accordance with which it is
decided upon” (399). To have a good will is (or at least centrally
involves) making the categorical imperative or the moral law one's
fundamental maxim (properly speaking, practical law) and setting
one's other maxims in accordance with it. An action that exemplifies
a good will is morally worthy, and its moral worth derives not from
the end of the maxim but rather from the maxim itself's being chosen
in a way that is compatible with the moral law being one's
fundamental practical principle.
These
claims are relatively straightforward, but they have probably
resulted in more misunderstanding and misrepresentation than any
other single feature of Kant's philosophy. As with most such cases,
one could wish that Kant had expressed himself more clearly, but the
bulk of the blame must lie with interpreters who have paid
insufficient attention to what he actually wrote. The main problems
with the understanding of the notion of moral worth have concerned
its relation to inclination, which as we saw before is roughly
equivalent to desire. Many Anglophone interpreters, especially before
the renaissance in English-language Kant studies in the 1960s and
'70s, read Kant as claiming that moral worth is opposed to
inclination, so that an action could only be morally worthy if it was
done without desire or even in a manner contrary to all desire. These
interpreters paint a picture of Kant as a stuffy old Prussian
moralist, admonishing us to do our duty by submitting to an arbitrary
and legalistic moral system, according to which our actions only have
moral worth to the extent that performing them makes us miserable.
As
with most misinterpretations, there are some quotations that, taken
out of context, can seem to support this reading. These include
Kant's claims that an action that is motivated solely by inclination
is merely “in conformity with duty” as opposed to “from duty”
and therefore has “no inner worth” (Groundwork 398-9),
and that if I am to perform an action “from duty” I must “put
aside entirely the influence of inclination” and be motivated by
the moral law “even if it infringes upon all my inclinations”
(400-1).
These
quotes do make it sound as though Kant sees action from duty, and
therefore moral worth, as entirely incompatible with inclination.
However, his talk of the “influence of inclination” can be
misleading. All of these quotations are from section 1 of the
Groundwork, where Kant
is seeking to elucidate “common moral cognition,” with the aim of
discovering the content of the categorical imperative and determining
how it could determine the will. As we've seen, the autonomous nature
of the will means that the categorical imperative cannot itself be
grounded in inclination. However, that does not mean that action from
duty or from the categorical imperative must exclude maxims of
inclination entirely. It only means that such maxims cannot serve as
the categorical imperative, or the fundamental principle of the will.
The
real contrast Kant is drawing with the distinction between actions
from duty and actions merely in accordance with duty is between the
actions of a will whose fundamental principle is the categorical
imperative, and the actions of a will whose fundamental principle is
a maxim of inclination (what Kant calls a maxim of self-love), but
which nevertheless sometimes sets itself derivative maxims that
happen to agree with the maxims that would be set by a good will in
the circumstances. These maxims are morally right—which just means
that they are in accordance with the requirements of morality—but
they do not have moral worth, because they are derived from a
fundamental principle of self-love rather than morality. They are
merely in conformity with duty rather than from duty.
Such
actions are possible precisely because the requirements of duty do in
fact sometimes coincide with the inclinations of self-love, contrary
to what the caricatures of Kant would lead one to believe. For
example, Kant claims that “there are many souls so sympathetically
attuned that, without any other motive of vanity or self-interest
they find an inner satisfaction in spreading joy around them and can
take delight in the satisfaction of others so far as it is their own
work” (Groundwork 398). The
fundamental maxim of such a person might be, “I will help others
whenever possible, because it pleases me.” Kant describes the
actions of such people as “amiable” and “honorable,” and even
deserving of “praise and encouragement,” but not of “esteem”
(398). This is because the fundamental principle of these actions is
that of self-love rather than that of morality. The actions of
“sympathetic souls” may be in conformity with what the moral law
requires, but that is only because such souls have been lucky enough
never to find themselves in a situation in which the requirements of
the moral law are in tension with those of self-love.
If
such souls were to fall on hard times, Kant suggests, their
inclinations might shift so as to no longer be in agreement with the
requirements of morality. In that case, if they continued acting on
the fundamental principle of self-love, their actions would no longer
even be in conformity with duty. If, however, one came across a
person afflicted by suffering and without the benefit of a natural
love for humanity, who nevertheless helped others just as reliably as
the sympathetic soul during good times, then one could be sure that
one was dealing with a person acting from duty rather than merely in
conformity with duty. Because such a person would by definition have
no inclination to act as morality requires, one could be sure that
any of their actions in comformity with duty would also be from duty,
that is, motivated by a fundamental commitment to the moral law.
This
by no means entails that it is impossible for the actions of a
sympathetic soul to also have moral worth. They perfectly well can
have moral worth, as long as the sympathetic soul makes the moral law
rather than the principle of self-love their fundamental principle.
Again, Kant's purpose in section 1 of the Groundwork
is to elucidate common moral cognition, so he has chosen examples
that he believes make particularly stark the contrast between actions
from duty and actions merely in accordance with duty. He does not
mean to claim that inclination is excluded from morally worthy action
altogether, only that it must be subordinated to the moral law.
Otherwise the will would not really be acting autonomously at all,
but would at best give the appearance of so acting. The requirement
to act from duty as opposed to merely in conformity with duty, then,
derives from the same ground as the categorical imperative itself:
the autonomy of the will.
There
is far more to say about Kant's moral philosophy, but if you've
followed along until now, you'll have a solid understanding of his
fundamental ideas. There are two (some people count three) other
formulas of the categorical imperative introduced in the Groundwork,
which deal with aspects of Kant's larger practical philosophy, which
I discussed in the first part of this series. Specifically, they deal
with the relation between his practical and his theoretical
philosophy, and with what might be called his social philosophy,
which is discussed in his 1793 book Religion within the
Boundaries of Mere Reason. Like
the formula of universal law and the formula of humanity, these
formulas are meant to reveal different formal aspects of the moral
law while generating the same content or duties as the other
formulas. There are also many other features of Kant's moral
psychology and first-order moral philosophy discussed in the Religion
book as well as in the
Metaphysics of Morals
which the Groundwork
was meant to prepare for. These issues are beyond the scope of this
series, but feel free to let me know in the comments if there's any
particular issue you'd like me to write more about.