Trolley Quandary—Part 2

Interestingly, a modern (as well as more realistic) version of the trolley quandary has recently come up. It features the issue of how to program the software of autonomous cars. The quandary: you are riding in such a car and an unavoidable accident is about to occur. Should the car's software be written in a utilitarian manner—that is, to choose a course of action that harms or kills the fewest people? What if those harmed might include you, the owner of the vehicle? Would you buy the car with that program, or would you want the car's autonomous program altered to protect you at all costs, regardless of who else might be harmed or killed?

This is a problem that is currently causing a real ethical dilemma in the autonomous car world. Recently, in late June, a Tesla Model S car, on autopilot, failed to see a truck enter an intersection in Florida. The car kept going and killed the rider/driver of the car. Now this is a real trolley problem. What should be done about the car's software program, to avoid future such accidents? [Update: another Tesla car crashed, in somewhat similar circumstances.]

The issue for Tesla seems to be that they are releasing the car's software for beta-testing by the public. Beta-testing is a common practice used by high tech companies, which has customers flush out software bugs—such as in smart phones. It's a way of allowing those companies to rush new technology into people's hands, and then improve and debug the product, using customer feedback. These companies admit that failure of their product is part of the game; you don't progress at a fast pace without failure, they say. There is a good argument that, while this practice may be acceptable for smartphones, it can be dangerous for cars—where safety is a prime issue. Major car companies traditionally thoroughly test safety items before releasing them. Is Tesla playing with customers' lives?

Once again, I find the autonomous car software problem not to be all that likely. Sure, a death happened, but was it a different problem than the trolley car, that could be solved a different way? You may posit a simple scenario for the autonomous car (such as which way to direct the car in an impending crash), as in the case of the trolley car problem, but in the end it's just a thought experiment. It's an abstract situation that may never really occur. Furthermore, the unfolding of the actual accident may not present just those two contrasting alternatives. In a real accident, there may well be many other options that cannot be foreseen, or tiny events that could completely alter the situation. I find it impossible to imagine that anyone could program the car's software to adequately cover all possibilities.

However realistic or unrealistic the trolley car quandary or the autonomous car situations are, I see a more general issue that needs to be addressed. We have had countless technical innovations introduced into society—most of them sold to us through the advantages they offer us. They save time or money; they solve society's problems or offer wondrous advantages. We have often rushed to make these technical “solutions” reality; sometimes to later experience a greater harm.

For example, DDT was once offered as a miracle solution to mosquito diseases. It then nearly wiped out several bird species. Oil and coal offered humanity wondrous kinds of energy sources; now they threaten to warm the climate to dangerous levels. The atom bomb was developed to end World War Two; now we have nuclear proliferation that threatens to make many species extinct—maybe including us. And how about the innocent intent of Dr. Frankenstein? He created a creature who subsequently wreaked havoc.

In our rush to introduce new technology, we usually don't pause to ponder the potential downsides. We throw caution to the winds, in the name of the advancement of science and an easier lifestyle. Science and technology are often billed as amoral disciplines—unconcerned either with ethics or the questions of right and wrong, and thus we can go forward with no concern to the downside of their applications. Their use, however, often leads to moral quandaries. We could benefit from more caution, from pausing and considering the potential moral ramifications of unbridled technology.

Trolley Quandary—Part 1

There is a classical thought experiment that has been wrestled with by practitioners in the fields of ethics, psychology, and cognitive science; often termed the “trolley problem.” It was conceived of the the mid 20^th century as a way to explore how people would respond to a hypothetical ethical situation, in which they were faced with the imminent death of either one person or five people—positing that the observer had the ability to choose between one or five deaths, but must choose one or the other. In the hypothetical scenario you can't choose neither... it's either one death or five.

The scenario is often described thusly: a trolley car is barreling down train tracks. You are standing next to a lever that can divert the trolley off to a sidetrack. If the trolley keeps on its present course, you can see that five people (who are either disabled or tied to the tracks) will be run over. If you flip the lever, however, the trolley will be diverted to the sidetrack, where only one person is tied down and will be killed. What do you do? Do you passively watch five people get run over, or take action to save them (flipping the switch), which kills only one person?

The trolley quandary has been described in several alternative scenarios—maybe some of them more likely than others. It has been a common thought experiment that illustrates the essence of the concept of utilitarianism—an ethical philosophy that seeks to maximize the well-being (or minimize the harm) of all creatures involved in a situation. It is sort of a numerical approach that tallies up suffering and happiness and chooses the path of least suffering... or maximum happiness. In the trolley car dilemma it is clear that a utilitarian wouldn't hesitate to pull the lever—thus sacrificing one person to save five. The mathematics is simple and straightforward—the choice is clear. One or five.

I find myself objecting to this thought experiment, however, because it seems to me to be a rather far-fetched scenario. It's unlikely I'd ever find myself in such a situation, and if I were, I doubt that the details of the dilemma would be as clean as described. I rebel at the narrow and even unrealistic choices presented. So much for my hangup with the scenario.

Psychologists and philosophers have a ready answer to my objection, by positing any number of more likely scenarios—each of which just presents the same dilemma: I must choose to sacrifice either one or five lives. Which would it be? What would I do? Quit prevaricating and choose!

For argument's sake, here's another scenario that may be a little more realistic: I'm a transplant surgeon who has five patients who will soon die, if they don't get an organ transplant. Along comes a bum, an itinerant hobo who happens to be a perfect match for all five patients. Would it be ethical for me to sacrifice that neer-do-well guy, in order to save the five patients?

More trolley quandary next time...

Ethics from Awe?

Awe is an emotion I have experienced much more often, after having moved from the big city three decades ago to a rural setting in the woods. As I slowed down and opened myself up to the many wonders of my world, the experiences of awe and reverence occurred much more often. Where I once seemed to require a trip to some distant land to invoke a feeling of awe, it now seemed as if very simple things, like the sight of a bird taking flight or the swaying of a tall tree, could bring about that sense of amazement.

I have often used the word “awe” to describe my feeling of wonder, without always pausing to be sure I am using it properly or really delving deeper into the meaning of the word. My wonderings about the deeper meaning of awe was recently piqued when I read about the results of a study of awe conducted at the University of California at Irvine. The results helped me to realize how powerful and influential awe really can be.

First, consider the definition of awe, as given by the Oxford English Dictionary: “a feeling of reverential respect mixed with fear or wonder.” Yes, that seems to capture the emotion, but I was intrigued by the use of the word “fear” in the definition. As I pondered it, I realized that when we feel awe, it's often because the thing we're viewing not only is magnificent, but can also cause us to feel very small and timid in its presence. Standing atop a mountain and gazing out at some vast scene can put us in our place—not just to feel diminished, but also to feel that we are a tiny part of a vast universe; a universe both fantastic and intimidating. Watching a thunderstorm brings about both wonder and alarm.

In fact, the researchers at UC Irvine found that people who experienced awe were more inclined to be generous and kind afterward. That is a fascinating finding! Their study discovered that awe can literally cause us to reduce the focus on ourselves; that we begin to forgo self-interest and become more inclined to want to improve the welfare of our world and other people. In other words, awe can not only invoke a reverential feeling, but induce us to become more ethical in our behavior. That's a causal connection I'd never realized before, but it seems logical that after being moved by the wonder of some experience, one would be more likely to act more altruistically. In contrast, I'm certainly not going to want to feel kindly toward others after I have had a shocking and revolting experience!

So I wonder: has a more frequent experience of awe made me a more ethical person? That's a judgment I don't feel inclined to make, but I do appreciate reading about research to this effect. It helps me feel gratitude that awe comes more often to me these days. It also is a good reminder that it can be counterproductive to try to bring the world down to my size; to render it something within my dominion or under my control. If I can let go of that feeling of mastery and allow myself to feel amazed—even a little fearful—it just might become beneficial to my behavior.

Sincere Science

Although I find myself curious about and deriving benefit from many areas of human endeavor, science has always appealed to me more than fields such as philosophy, law, medicine, or the arts. We each have our inherent skills and talents that steer us to focus on one field more than another, but we also choose on the basis of the attributes that appeal to us. For example, one may have an analytic bent that leads them to become a lawyer, but one may also just like the way that law establishes an ordered society.

Besides having a mind that is comfortable in the scientific realm, I like science for its sincerity. That is not to suggest that scientists are any more sincere or honest than philosophers or artists, but that they practice a discipline that tends to enforce honesty and sincerity. In other fields of knowledge, one can more easily get away with shading the truth. The practice of law comes readily to mind. Lawyers and politicians (most of them being lawyers) have a rightfully earned reputation for questionable morals and often unscrupulous behavior.

This is not to say that scientists are always ethical or trustworthy. History is replete with occasional examples of scientists who cheated. The difference—and it’s pretty much all the difference in the world—is that their subterfuges are more likely to be exposed. Statements made or published by scientists are more easily verified than in other fields.

A theory or publication in science must be presented in a way that the argument is both replicable and falsifiable—otherwise it’s regarded as unworthy. Other scientists must be able to replicate the experiment and get the same result. If not, the theory is rejected. It must also be falsifiable—meaning that it is stated in a way that it can be shown to be false, if it indeed is. Otherwise it’s useless as a theory. If I pose, for example, the theory that life exists on Mars under a rock, it’s virtually impossible to demonstrate that I’m wrong; for every rock you turn over, I’ll simply maintain that you’ve not yet found the right rock.

Some scientists like to enjoy the limelight and love to have the media sensationalize their work. (Speaking of the media, there’s another area where dishonesty often gets infused in disreputable reports.) But the field that scientists have chosen imposes a certain degree of humility on them—whether they want it or not. Whenever they publish a scientific finding, it will soon be verified or shown to be rubbish by another researcher. It’s a self-correcting process. (And that points out another example of dishonesty in the media: they will rush to publish a sensational statement by a scientist, but not bother to report later when that statement is shown to be wrong.)

The scientific process—when followed appropriately—reveals the truth, step-by-step. Deceivers are exposed, sooner or later, simply by the nature of the discipline. That potential disclosure helps keep most scientists honest and sincere. (I said most.)