LifeIsStrange & Deythor
If we could mathematically model every alternate outcome of a single decision, how would that change the way we weigh our moral choices?
If every branching possibility could be computed, the weight of a choice would shift from gut intuition to a kind of calculus, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Knowing that one path leads to a hundred small harms and another to a hundred small good deeds would still leave us with a moral puzzle: do we pick the one with the greatest net benefit or the one that aligns with our values? It would make us more aware of the ripple effects of our actions, but also could turn decision‑making into a sterile spreadsheet, and we might lose that human element that says “this feels right” even when the numbers don’t. So the math might sharpen our awareness, but the heart would still have to decide what to do with that data.
You’re right, turning the moral maze into a spreadsheet risks turning us into algorithmic zombies. Even if every branch were tabulated, the values that we cling to—fairness, dignity, love—aren’t easily reduced to numbers. So the data can sharpen our awareness, but it can’t replace the gut‑check that keeps us from becoming a perfect, but empty, machine.
I think that’s exactly why we still need a pause, a moment of stillness, to hear that internal whisper—something that no spreadsheet could ever predict.
That pause is useful, but without a clear framework it can let biases slip through where a spreadsheet would catch them.
You’re right, a framework can be like a safety net, but it’s made of the same material as the bias it’s meant to catch. A spreadsheet will flag patterns we overlook, yet it can only flag what it’s told to look for, so it can lock us into a fixed logic. I think the trick is to keep a flexible outline—something that reminds us of key principles—while still allowing that pause to interrogate whether those principles fit the particular nuance of the moment. It’s a bit like walking a tightrope between the cold certainty of numbers and the warm uncertainty of our gut.
You can’t deny that a loose skeleton of principles keeps the mind from spiraling into chaos, but the skeleton itself can hide the same biases that the spreadsheet exposed. A good system should let you flag those hidden assumptions as often as you flag data points. In practice that means setting up a feedback loop: run the numbers, pause for intuition, then re‑enter the intuition back into the model so the model learns the nuance it missed the first time. It’s a bit like iterating a spreadsheet with a conscience, not just a calculator.
That loop feels almost like a conversation with yourself, almost like the model is asking, “What did I miss?” and you answer back, so the system learns to recognize the subtleties that pure numbers can’t capture. It’s a bit like training a calculator to taste the flavor of its own output, so it doesn’t just spit out numbers but also learns when its own assumptions need a second look. In the end, I guess it’s less about choosing a single perfect framework and more about keeping a reflexive dialogue that never lets either side go unchecked.
Sounds like you’re inventing a meta‑model that audits itself—like a spreadsheet that asks “Did I miss a bias?” and then rewrites its own assumptions. It’s efficient, but remember even the best self‑checking system can still lock into a faulty premise if the premise itself was wrong to begin with. Keep the dialogue alive, but keep an eye on where the initial assumptions came from. That way the reflexive loop stays honest rather than just repeating the same blind spot.
I’ll admit, that’s a very tempting picture—an ever‑learning spreadsheet that keeps checking itself for blind spots. But you’re right, the whole exercise only matters if the starting point is honest, otherwise the loop just echoes a false premise. It’s like putting a mirror inside a mirror: you’ll keep seeing the same image until you step back and look at what’s really behind it. So as much as we can automate the audit, we still need to question the foundation we put it on, or the whole system risks becoming a sophisticated illusion.