I assume many of you have heard of or are familiar with the “Trolley Problem.”
The concept was developed by English philosopher Philippa Foot (1920–2010), and discussion of it commonly takes place in the context of utilitarianism. Utilitarianism is a moral philosophy that was refined by English philosopher John Stuart Mill (1806–1873). It can simply be summarized as a philosophy that emphasizes the results of a given moral decision, in the context of what is best (or useful) for society. The goal, for Mill, is to produce the greatest happiness or the least human suffering. So, when I make a moral decision, I should try to anticipate what kind of results will be the consequences of my decision, and I should aim to produce the greatest happiness or the least amount of human suffering in my decision making.
The greatest good for the greatest number. There are serious shortcomings with this philosophy, and critics are quick to point out that it’s a handy justification for slavery. Mill, in his writings, finesses the subject and warns against this kind of barbarism.
In the 1960s, Foot presented a series of thought experiments: what should one decide when faced with killing a smaller number or a larger number of people? There are endless variants of this “problem,” and one could spend an afternoon on YouTube watching videos that explore these variants. The one I use in class is this:
A train is set to go down track A. You—and you alone—can see that if it proceeds down track A, all 200 passengers will die in a terrible accident. You can throw the switch and send the train down track B. By doing so, you will spare all 200 lives. However, your immediate family is standing on track B. All four will surely die. What do you do?
As far as I can see, the trolley problem is not a problem. It also has little to do with moral philosophy. The correct decision is to choose track B. (No, it’s not going to be a great day.) But the issue is one of number crunching. You should choose the greater number of lives. Even if it destroys you as a person and lands you in therapy for the rest of your life. The alternative? Fill 200 coffins.
One could argue—as many students have—that the 200 people were “fated” to go down track A. You are not involved. But, this is wrong: (1) the concept of fate has no place in a discussion of moral philosophy. This is to argue that humanitarian efforts during genocides or famines should not be undertaken because those people’s “fate” was to die anyway. (2) You are involved. You can change the outcome of events. And because you can affect outcomes, you are absolutely involved. Yes, you could walk away whistling, but you possess the knowledge about track A. If all 200 die, it’s because you chose to not do anything—which is a choice. This morally connects you to the event—the outcome of which you can affect.
This wanders into what is called the “principle of double-effect.” By deciding a given track, you will do both harm and good—two effects. And yes, we can change the game where it would not be moral to save the greater number of lives. Say, five people need organ transplants. I could just go find a homeless person and kill him merely to harvest his organs. This presents obvious moral difficulties. But what if the five were noted neurosurgeons? It’s just one homeless guy who isn’t going to save anyone’s life, and we would be saving not only five lives, but all the lives those five would have saved. Still, this is morally dubious.
Students don’t like choosing track B. They will twist the experiment into a pretzel to avoid deciding. “What if all 200 people are neo-Nazis?” “What if all 200 people are 90 years old?” (Apparently, those are equivalent.)
I merely want to highlight that fate is an absurd notion—imagine an oncologist adopting this attitude—and one is morally connected to the event despite being a spectator. To not choose is to choose. This has broad political implications.
