In a recent article written for the New York Times, The Moral Instinct, cognitive scientist Steven Pinker takes us on a tour of the most recent research on the psychology and evolution of morality. He discusses the primacy of our moral intuitions over reasoning, ways in which our moral instincts can be fooled by difficult situations--and what brain imaging shows us is happening when we are caught in these moral dilemmas. Of particular interest are theories that identify the primary areas of moral judgment. Psychologist Jonathan Haidt notes five: harm, fairness, group loyalty, respect for authority, and purity.
Haidt, in a September piece for Edge, entitled Moral Psychology and the Misunderstanding of Religion, talks about his five moral "foundations" and the ways that they are applied in religion. The foundations influence more than just religion as Haidt applies them to politics as well. In his findings, Haidt notes that people who identify themselves as politically liberal tend to be primarily concerned with issues of harm and fairness while paying little attention to group loyalty, respect for authority, or purity. Meanwhile, those who identified themselves as politically conservative tended to be concerned with all five of the moral spheres. This may serve to illuminate the ways in which religion is often misunderstood by scientists and academics, and how those of differing political stripes organize their respective priorities.
The only rational objection to stopping the trolley by means of the fat man is the degree of uncertainty involved in each of the options available to the motivated bystander (self). Throwing the fat man into the path of the trolley would create a 100% chance of ending one life, but what % chance of saving the other 5? If I am a trolley guru and an experienced fat man tosser who knows the toss will succeed, I don't have any moral objections to making the toss. It is certainly a significant step to take, killing through action rather than inaction, but a purely psychological boundary. Much could be improved in this world if this psychological boundary could be broken down.
If there's less than a 100% probability of success, one cannot make this call. Perhaps this is the subconcious qualm present in the study- that the action may not succeed. If the five men get nailed despite the improvised roadblock, then the tosser is on the hook (morally and legally) for an additional death. He can say he did the moral thing by doing everything in his power to prevent the disaster, but in the eyes of society he will be a murderer, regardless of his intent. So, the purely moral thing would be to make the toss, but the community morality will likely strongly oppose such an action, regardless of the actual outcome. In such a lose/ lose situation, I propose a third option: throw yourself in front of the trolley.
I haven't thought about the 'fat man/trolley' dilemma in a long time. I think I've decided that deliberately sacrificing another human for the greater good is not in my personal power or desire to do. I have to think that there are many accidents that happen without my witness, so this impossible situation, though in my sight, may be out of my control just like the others. That's not to say I wouldn't try as best I could to avert the situation in some other way; in other words I wouldn't just stand there with my mouth open and watch it happen. (I know the thought experiment doesn't actually allow for alternatives, but we don't actually live in thought experiments either.)
I always feel than whenever we consciously make great sacrifices toward a perceived "greater good", we begin to tread in dangerous territory; a place where we could be next, for one thing. Ursula LeGuin had a good analogous story pertaining to this called, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas. For the unfamiliar, the basic premise is that there is a land where all things are perfect, no disease, hunger, crime, etc. The only stipulations are that one child must be kept in suffering, darkness, loneliness and any other awful situation imaginable, and secondly, everyone who "comes of age" must be shown the child and know of the whole situation. The question is asked, I guess; "Is it right to allow this child to suffer so much just so the rest of us can live a care-free life?"
I agree. Although I hate to do it, I'm going to have to quote Star Trek: Sometimes the needs of the few do outweigh the needs of the many--or at least equal them.
I think it has to do with two things: first, our sensitivity to context--in other words, utilitarian ethics might make sense on paper, but when we're actually in a situation we are much more affected by our emotions and intuitions than we will readily admit. The second thing is that suffering is a qualitative and immeasurable--so the suffering of one person might be comparable to the suffering of five, if we have to make comparisons.
I was thinking later that the trolley/fat man situation doesn't exactly compare apples to apples when faced with a choice of ethics. One choice is based on actually deliberately killing someone by the results of our own actions, whereas the other 'choice' is doing nothing about something that isn't our fault to begin with.
This thought experiment can have a twist thrown into it: What if one of the five endangered people on the track were a loved one; a daughter or son? Then would we throw the fat man down?
These cases make us wish we were super-human like in the first Spiderman movie where he has to choose between allowing the tram full of people to fall to their death; or allowing Mary Jane Watson to fall to her death. With Spiderman being a superhero of course, everybody is saved.
Although I hate to do it, I'm going to have to quote Star Trek:
As you can see from the above, that's probably not much to be sorry about around here.. :-)
I think you are right--our sense of responsibility seems to play a big part--which I think goes along with the earlier suggestion of throwing oneself on the tracks instead of the fat man. And it definitely complicates things if a loved one is about to be killed. I'm still not sure I could easily make that choice though--trade one life (other than my own) for someone I happen to care about. I would always be thinking: "the fat man has a family, too"
I guess we have to hope Spiderman shows up. I think it would be interesting to see a hero that cannot save everyone the way it normally happens in Hollywood--and see how he/she comes to terms with that fact.
Maybe the essence of these moral questions is that there usually isn't a right answer. No matter what you did, there would be a good reason for doing it. Even if someone did nothing, people would understand--it's easy to be paralyzed with fear or indecision in such a situation. The exception would be if that person actually caused the trolley malfunction.
LOL--True--I'm sure nobody minds me quoting Trek on OmniNerd. I am only hesitant because it's not always a reliable source of wisdom. Ursula K. LeGuin, on the other hand--she always amazes me with her insight.



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Update by NomadSoul :: NR5 :: on 31 January 2008
A letter in response to Pinker's article on the New York Times website suggests the following:
Among the five “moral spheres” of harm, fairness, community, authority and purity, Jonathan Haidt “found that liberals put a lopsided moral weight on harm and fairness while playing down group loyalty, authority and purity.” In fact, liberals do put weight on these spheres: Haidt may simply have been asking the questions from an inappropriate point of view and disregarding Peter Singer’s “Theory of the Expanding Circle.” Liberals put great weight on loyalty to the entire human race (or even all animals), as opposed to one’s own race, nation or clan. They put weight on the authority of empirical evidence (over dogma), the international community (over one’s own country) or the Constitution (over the flag). And they put weight on purity in terms of the environment and sustainability. What appears to be moral “lopsidedness” is the result of applying the spheres to larger groups and more universal, all-encompassing entities.
STEPHEN W. SMITH
Minneapolis