Safety First! (And Last, and Always)

I realize that it's become almost a cliche to bemoan the machinations of safety nazis, those crusading do-gooders who wish to see every action, substance or thought deemed unhealthy or dangerous banned by government fiat. Serious social commentators and stand-up comedians alike have been seizing on nanny-state rules like mandatory bike helmets and the hysteria over second-hand smoke for years, and it's become a tired routine. Meanwhile, the protect-yourself-from-yourself movement advances apace. The freedom to smoke a cigarette in a bar is rapidly disappearing, and in places like New York City, mentally sound, responsible adults can no longer choose whether to eat food cooked with trans fats, because the city has thoughtfully made the choice for them by banning trans fats in all restaurants.

That being said, a new call to further suppress individual freedom in the name of safety has recently come to my attention, quite by chance. It is neither a genuinely new nor different idea; sadly, it's only too representative of the creeping mindset that people must be coerced into doing what's best for them. I highlight it only because it provides such an astonishingly frank glimpse into a philosophical quagmire afflicting modern society, and its logical consequences.

In a recent op-ed in The New York Times, Kent Sepkowitz illustrates why medical professionals should not be permitted to make transportation policy. If you're the impatient type, allow me to summarize his argument: Thousands of people die in automobile accidents every year, and many of those accidents are the result of speeding, and since motorists continue to speed in spite of preventive measures like speeding tickets, new cars should be physically prevented from exceeding 75 miles per hour by the installation of speed-governing technology.

Of course, one could write for pages about possible flaws in the soundness and validity of this argument. One could, for instance, point out that in Germany, the rate of vehicle fatalities on the notorious autobahn (much of which has no speed limit), as measured in deaths per billion kilometers driven, is substantially lower than on other German roads with slower traffic speeds. Or one could note that in 2007, Utah and Vermont recorded the exact same number of deaths per 100 million miles driven (1.11), despite the fact that Utah's highway speed limit is 75 mph, whereas Vermonters are limited to 65 mph. Or one could simply pose a hypothetical question: Which is more dangerous, driving 60 mph on a quiet residential street where the posted limit is 25, or driving 80 mph on a deserted interstate highway?

These are all reasonable technical objections, but they all miss the point, because none reveals the philosophical problem with Sepkowitz's proposal. To argue about the empirical evidence is to concede that government mandates are an acceptable substitute for individual responsibility. Driving a motor vehicle, whether limited by a speed governor or not, will always be a potentially dangerous activity, and there is no end to the ways in which an irresponsible person can kill himself and others while doing it. To argue that individual human beings cannot be trusted to sufficiently value their own lives, and therefore must be physically restrained from endangering themselves, exhibits condescension bordering on outright contempt for humanity's capacity to make free and rational choices.

Some people will inevitably make the wrong choices; drive for an hour on any major highway and I guarantee you'll see someone driving like a maniac, imperiling his own life and the lives of those around him. But there are only two ways to interpret this observation. You can conclude that human beings are fallible creatures who sometimes do very stupid things, accept that this is part of the human condition, and strive to avoid those poor choices in your own life. Or you can draw the Kent Sepkowitz conclusion: that because some human beings will make poor choices and do stupid things, choice must be revoked by law.

Of course, adopting the latter conclusion carries certain logical requirements. If, for instance, overly fast cars must be taken away from drivers who cannot be trusted to drive them safely, then a whole range of dangerous actions should also succumb to the same standard. Off the top of my head, I can think of quite a few obvious hazards we must not permit people to run: smoking (any where at any time), drinking (too much potential for excessive consumption), contact sports and mountain biking (too many broken bones if not enjoyed safely), motorcycles (too little utilitarian value to balance the physical risks), sky-diving and bungee-jumping (for obvious reasons). It's a long and disparate list of perils, united only by the common trait that, if conducted recklessly, they can all lead to death.

Where does it end? Honestly, I have no idea. But when you adopt the tautological position that the objective of life is first and foremost to preserve and extend life, this is the road you find yourself going down. Presumably at no more than 75 mph.