I think possibly some people are talking past each other right now (one might say you’re on different tracks).
Yes, in the real world, not everything is decided, plus also freezing / hesitating is a kind of safety behaviour too: “When in doubt, don’t do anything”. I would wager that this is what the vast majority of people would do, even those very familiar with the lever.
However, this hypothetical is not really asking what you’d do in the real world. It’s asking, based on your own moral principles, what would be the most moral action?
And if it’s redirecting the trolley, is throwing the fat man off the bridge also the most moral?
Most people come to different conclusions about those two situations which says something interesting (and debatable) about most people’s moral intuitions / principles.
In the end it’s about how one decides what a specific human or group of humans is worth (usually in the context of justifying why some people are less worthy of life than others).
Some people are loud and proud to claim they can assign that worth.
This seems like you think it’s a flaw, but c’mon, English has a single word that makes it obvious: yet.
If I’ve just woken up and I’m deciding to stay in bed a few more minutes, that’s a decision to not have waffles OR eggs yet. I may at some point choose to take a set of actions that are predictably followed by my eating waffles, or predictably followed by my eating eggs, or I might make other decisions.
The decisions are moment by moment. You might have a plan, but a plan is not a decision: it’s the foreseeable outcome of your decision, or of a set of decisions.
I don’t know where you got this idea, but I suspect it’s from something someone said in the context of discussing the trolley problem rather than from anything in the problem itself, which doesn’t distinguish between any of the humans involved except for which track they’re on.
“Not made any decision either way, yet”
“Made a decision to have neither, for now”
Your sentence is the latter, and the fact that you use “yet” in your phrasing is irrelevant.
I would say that if you haven’t thought about something (and that’s the meaning I got from ASL’s post), then no decision has been made about that thing. You haven’t made a decision to have neither, you’ve simply not thought about it.
Otherwise, we’d be in the absurd position of needing to say that at every instant of time we all make an infinite number of decisions.
You know, that’s fair. I said in an earlier iteration of the idea that I was referring to being “aware”:
and maybe that should be tweaked to “and have thought about.” I don’t want to suggest “thought” means “pondered”: I’m not saying that you’re only responsible when you’ve written a dissertation on a subject. But if you’re genuinely unaware of a situation, or genuinely haven’t given a single thought to a situation, that’s not a situation for which you share responsibility.
Well, no: you make precise decisions, which means you’re not making an infinite number of alternative decisions. If I decide to roll over in bed, that might not be a conscious decision not to dance the macarena in my underwear, but the non-dancing decision is implicit in the decision that I did make. If I order “just the dragon roll please,” that means I implicitly didn’t order everything else on the menu.
Right, you’re not making an infinite number of decisions, which is a different thing from making a decision not to do each of those things.
No I think we’re on dodgy ground with this.
I mean, we can say a decision X entails implication Y, sure. But we can’t say a person decided Y unless that was part of their thought process.
We’ve all been in the situation of not realising an implication of a choice until someone points it out to us.
If this feels like pedantry, I think this is important here because this is a foundation that further arguments are going to be built on, and it feels to me like an - unintentional - sleight of hand.
It may well be the case that you order that, and I ask you “oh you didn’t want the spare ribs?” and you decide to add them to your order, because you didn’t notice or think about that option and it seems a good choice to you.
That’s analogous to the infinite things you didn’t think about prior to getting out of bed. You didn’t decide against them, implicitly or explicitly. You simply didn’t think about them.
I see the distinction you’re making, but I’m not sure how it’s relevant. Consider two moral cases:
I read an article about how the avocado industry in Mexico is controlled by cartels and are responsible for human rights violations. I order avocado in my Dragon roll.
I have no idea about the avocado murders. I order avocado in my Dragon roll.
I make the same decision, but because I don’t know about the ties between avocados and human rights violations in the second case, I don’t bear any responsibility.
Consider a third possibility:
3) Trying to game the system, I deliberately avoid reading articles.
A foreseeable outcomes of this decision is that I’ll contribute to human rights violations without knowing it. Paradoxically, I DO know what I’m doing here, so I share responsibility for those outcomes.
And that brings us back to not making decisions. If I order a sushi roll without avocado in the “I read an article” scenario, because it occurs to me that ordering it could contribute to human rights violations, that’s a decision that has moral implications. In situations 2 and 3, my not ordering the avocado doesn’t really have the same implications.
So, sometimes a decision not to do something is actually a decision not to do it. Other times, the “don’t do it” is implied, but lacks the same implications.
And sometimes you didn’t decide not to do it at all. It simply didn’t enter your thought process, and it’s misleading to imply you chose not to do it – implicitly or otherwise.
In this moment, are you choosing not to play “Thunderscrimble”, the most popular sport of Eta Volantis II-B?
Call it semantics if you like, it’s still an important distinction because ISTM you’re laying a very poor foundation here on which you, or others, could build arguments.
Not doing X does not entail you chose not to do X, you may simply have not thought of X.
Did I choose not to go to the Granadan school of Master Wizards? No, I’d never even heard of it.
And in terms of Thunderscrimble, you don’t even know the rules of the game yet. For all you know, sitting calmly reading a discussion forum would constitute “playing”. Therefore by your logic, you “chose” to play…it’s an absurd way to define “choice”.
I disagree, given the clarifications I already laid out; I think I addressed your disagreement.
Except that’s not my logic. By choosing to respond to this (increasingly frustrating) thread, I’m choosing not to do other things. If you’re defining the game in such a way that I’m actually playing it, I’m playing it without choosing to do so, and am not responsible for the implications.
The absurdity, I’m afraid, is on your hypothetical.
I mean none of those things. Although I suppose I’m pretty close to the latter.
I mean that the trolley problem, particularly in its most basic form, is so far removed from the human experience as to be essentially useless in teaching or understanding human morals.
You tell me you’d throw the switch? I don’t believe you.
You tell me you wouldn’t throw the switch? I still don’t believe you.
You tell me you have no idea what you’d do… I think I might just agree with you. I certainly don’t have any idea how I’d respond in such a contrived and ridiculous scenario.
Because, again, the trolley problem is so far removed from the human experience that I simply cannot conceive of how I would–or even should–respond.
Perhaps some context would be helpful, to illustrate one of the many shortcomings I see with the trolley problem–again, particularly in its most basic form…
My understanding of the basic scenario is that one or both options (throw the switch or don’t) involves people tied to the tracks. Or if not tied, just sort of “there.” As in, they were either placed there by a mustache-twirling villain, or else it is just taken for granted that they are there, with no inkling that they might have ended up there more or less through their own agency (and recall, I am a huge fan of considering agency in moral decision-making).
By contrast, one of the most outrageous formations of the problem I have ever encountered was an excerpt from an article I read in Torts (a law school class). The article used some pretty gratuitous fat-shaming language which I will not repeat, but the formation was essentially this:
You are standing on a bridge that crosses a high-walled canyon with some trolley tracks going along the canyon below. Right next to you is a heavyset gentleman. Approaching the bridge, to pass beneath it, is a trolley. On the other side of the bridge, working on the tracks and in the path of the trolley, you see five construction workers about to begin some sort of maintenance. The construction works are effectively trapped in the path of the trolley. They cannot out run it, and the canyon walls are too high and too narrow to escape up them.
Then, in a stroke of inspiration, you realize that the heavyset gentleman is just large enough–much larger than any of the construction workers, perhaps even larger than any two or three combined–to derail the trolley if you throw him onto the tracks before the trolley passes under the bridge.
The author of the above scenario then went on to insist that this formation of the trolley problem is morally indistinguishable for the classic formulation, of throwing a switch to send the trolley go one way or another: kill five by not acting, or kill one by acting.
But that’s such obvious nonsense. Of course it’s not the same. And to the extent it’s not, it’s because–for as terrible and fat-shaming as the language in the [author’s undiluted formulation of the] problem is–it’s actually as much better scenario. Because it gives us some helpful information as to how the possible victims ended up there.
The construction workers, we might reasonably infer, understood that they would be working on trolley tracks that day. Presumably, they or their employer had the option to take precautions that would have ensured no trolley ended up on that part of the tracks during their work. And yet, whether they failed or their employer failed, adequate precautions have not been taken. But at the very least, all the workers on the track had it in their comprehension that they would be working on trolley tracks, where trolleys may be expected to transit, and that a failure to take adequate precautions could lead to their deaths.
By contrast, the heavyset gentleman (as I have labeled him–again, avoiding as best I can the fat-shaming language of the original problem), is just some bystander on a bridge. He surely had no comprehension that merely by standing on a bridge he might be thrown down to derail a trolley. Who would ever imagine such an absurdity?
To let the construction workers die would be to allow them to bear the foreseeable–albeit terrible–consequences of their (or, at the very least, their employer’s) actions, and perhaps encourage future construction workers or (aided by public outcry) employers of construction workers to take better precautions. By contrast, to sacrifice the heavyset gentleman to save them, would be chaos. Humanity is not well-served by chaos.
So for once, I was faced with a trolley problem where I was more than prepared to answer: no, I do not throw the heavyset gentleman off the bridge. I allow the trolley to pass under me and run over the construction workers.
Because the thing is, what the Joker in The Dark Knight said about how people react when things go according to plan, even when the plan is terrible, is kind of true. The difference is, I see that as a feature, not a bug. Yes, it is true that we react differently to a truck load of soldiers in Iraq being blown up versus a bus load of hospital patients. Why wouldn’t we? Even if the plan is terrible–the war unjust–we can at least appreciate that soldiers in Iraq at the time would have understood that being blown up was a possibility. It was in their comprehension. A known risk for their chosen profession. Realization of that risk, though terrible, is at least in line with their agency: it is a danger they chose to accept. Not so with the bus load of hospital patients.
Who but a sociopath (and frankly, even some well-adjusted sociopaths) wouldn’t see the difference between a bunch of soldiers getting blown up in Iraq versus a bunch of hospital patients on a bus in not-New York? Doesn’t mean we have to be happy about soldiers getting blown up in Iraq, but it’s a foreseeable enough outcome that, for those of us who don’t like it, we can take steps to avoid it. Either by not joining the military or, perhaps better still, by pushing for systemic change, such that we are no longer trucking loads of soldiers into other countries where they might get blown up.
But I digress.
And if breakfast is the morning meal, and I’m still thinking about it when noon rolls around… I have successfully not made a decision, and with respect to what I will have for breakfast on that day, there is nothing I can do to ever make a decision.
This isn’t me just being pedantic, either: part of human morality is that we are often compelled to evaluate situations in a time sensitive matter. We don’t have all day to weigh the pros and cons. We don’t even have all morning. Sometimes, we don’t have time to think at all. We either react… or we don’t. But if we don’t react (and, heck, sometimes even if we do react) that doesn’t necessarily mean we arrived at that outcome by decision.
Likewise, human moral decisions must be made with varying degrees of uncertainty as to starting conditions and outcome. And yet the trolley problem would have us trust to metaphysical certainty.
Finally, there is this problem of life before and after the problem. I discussed this at the top of my reply. How did the people actually end up on the tracks? How do you know? What if you’re wrong? How will people–how will society–react to your decision? How upset will people be? What affect will the knowledge that something like the outcome you’ve selected–that is, if you have selected one, assuming you’ve had time to arrive at a decision–is even possible have on people going forward? I mean, if we’re going to pretend we have all the time in the world to arrive at a decision, it seems like those are some of the question’s we’d want to consider.
So, again, you tell me you’d throw the switch? I don’t believe you.
You say you wouldn’t throw the switch? I don’t believe you.
You say you have no conception of how you’d respond because it’s such a contrived and ridiculous scenario that has only a farcical relation to human moral decision-making? Finally, we’re getting close to being on the same page.