The following is a list of some moral dilemmas, mostly adapted from Moral Reasoning, by Victor Grassian (Prentice Hall, 1981, 1992), with some additions. Dilemmas from Grassian are given in his own words, with comments or alterations in brackets. A number of Grassian's examples were themselves from older sources, which he does not cite. As I discover their provenance, I will be noting it appropriately.
For many years, I regarded the discussion of moral dilemmas like this as pointless, mainly because they were farfetched and had little to do with the ordinary conditions of life. However, it then struck me that they are valuable precisely by revealing fault lines in the nature of value. Actual seismic faults are of little interest in ordinary life; but then there are earthquakes, which reveal significant truths about the earth. The dilemmas, however silly -- or perhaps the sillier the better (it may not be an accident that fat men, objects of ridicule, turn up more than once here) -- turn on significant points about right and wrong, good and evil.
Thus, the question to consider with all of the dilemmas is why they are dilemmas. Some, however, may not seem to be dilemmas at all. Also, while it is common in modern ethics to address dilemmas merely in order to propose theories to resolve them, it must be considered that dilemmas may betray a structure to ethics that means they cannot be resolved. Dilemmas are dilemmas because they are, well, dilemmas. We're stuck with them. Most moralists or philosophers skip over the question of why they are dilemmas, from the conviction that we all want the dilemmas resolved and that this is the only significant issue. Such an attitude, however, is hopeless if it turns out that the nature of dilemmas is to remain dilemmas.
If that is so, however, dilemmas provide important data and clues for understanding the nature of moral, ethical, and even aesthetic value. Here, I take it especially to motivate the Polynomic Theory of Value. Analysis of the dilemmas can be found at The Generalized Structure of Ethical Dilemmas. The discussion provided here in some cases provides background, comparison, and may get into some of the relevant moral issues. Otherwise, analysis is provided at the linked page.
Although I had a lot of objections to Grassian's book, I did like its structure, which featured dilemmas, historical theories in ethics, and then selected moral problems. One would expect that the theories would first be used to resolve, in their own way, the dilemmas and would then be applied to the following problems. However, the treatment seemed peculiar in that the dilemmas, once introduced, were never analyzed or discussed at all. The issue that seemed the most important to me, why they were dilemmas, was never even addressed. While Grassian may have thought it appropriate to leave that sort of thing to the reader, or the teacher, it is actually a matter of such significance and consequence that nothing else in ethics is properly treated without it. Even the current popularity of "trolleyology" does not seem to have much improved the approach of academic ethics in this respect.
In 1842, a ship struck an iceberg and more than 30 survivors were crowded into a lifeboat intended to hold 7. As a storm threatened, it became obvious that the lifeboat would have to be lightened if anyone were to survive. The captain reasoned that the right thing to do in this situation was to force some individuals to go over the side and drown. Such an action, he reasoned, was not unjust to those thrown overboard, for they would have drowned anyway. If he did nothing, however, he would be responsible for the deaths of those whom he could have saved. Some people opposed the captain's decision. They claimed that if nothing were done and everyone died as a result, no one would be responsible for these deaths. On the other hand, if the captain attempted to save some, he could do so only by killing others and their deaths would be his responsibility; this would be worse than doing nothing and letting all die. The captain rejected this reasoning. Since the only possibility for rescue required great efforts of rowing, the captain decided that the weakest would have to be sacrificed. In this situation it would be absurd, he thought, to decide by drawing lots who should be thrown overboard. As it turned out, after days of hard rowing, the survivors were rescued and the captain was tried for his action. If you had been on the jury, how would you have decided?
Robert Heinlein (1907-1988), The Libertarian in the Lifeboat
You are an inmate in a concentration camp. A sadistic guard is about to hang your son who tried to escape and wants you to pull the chair from underneath him. He says that if you don't he will not only kill your son but some other innocent inmate as well. You don't have any doubt that he means what he says. What should you do?
In the novel Sophie's Choice, by William Styron (Vintage Books, 1976 -- the 1982 movie starred Meryl Streep & Kevin Kline), a Polish woman, Sophie Zawistowska, is arrested by the Nazis and sent to the Auschwitz death camp. On arrival, she is "honored" for not being a Jew by being allowed a choice: One of her children will be spared the gas chamber if she chooses which one. In an agony of indecision, as both children are being taken away, she suddenly does choose. They can take her daughter, who is younger and smaller. Sophie hopes that her older and stronger son will be better able to survive, but she loses track of him and never does learn of his fate. Did she do the right thing? Years later, haunted by the guilt of having chosen between her children, Sophie commits suicide. Should she have felt guilty?
On 7 January 2015 Corrine Rey, a cartoonist at the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, and known by the name "Coco," returned from picking up her daughter from kindergarten. She was confronted by two French Jihadist gunmen, who treatened to shoot her daughter unless she keyed in the entry code at the door for the magazine. She did; and the gunmen entered to murder twelve people, including two policemen, as well as shooting eleven others. During the attack, the shooters said that they would not kill women, but that they needed to convert to Islam and wear a veil.
Should Corrine Rey have been willing to sacrifice her daughter and herself rather than allow obvious murderers to enter the magazine and possibly kill everyone? Can a mother be blamed for only thinking of protecting her child?
Most of the murdered members of Charlie Hebdo probably would have been willing to die rather than have Corrine's daughter killed. However, the mother should have not been put in that position. A publication under such threats as Charlie Hebdo was needed to have a door that could only be opened from the inside, ideally leading into a hallway with another locked door, and an armed and shielded guard, at the other end. The police protection that the magazine was receiving not only was ineffective, but it did not even prevent the murder of the policemen on the job.
Suggested by Philippa Foot (1920-2010), daughter of Esther, the daughter of President Grover Cleveland, but of British birth because of her father, William Sidney Bence Bosanquet.
A trolley is running out of control down a track. In its path are five people who have been tied to the track by a mad philosopher. Fortunately, you could flip a switch, which will lead the trolley down a different track to safety. Unfortunately, there is a single person tied to that track. Should you flip the switch or do nothing?
This is a classic "right vs. good" dilemma. By acting, one person dies instead of five. So the Utilitarian has no problem. However, by acting, that one person who is killed would not have died otherwise. That person is as innocent as the others, so by acting one is choosing to kill an innocent person. Their family is not going to be happy about your actions. In fact, any deaths will be morally due to the actions of the "mad philosopher." Yet choosing to kill the one person, in isolation from the mitigating circumstances, clearly would be a wrongful homicide.
The Economist magazine, in its September 24th-30th 2011 issue, has an article discussing the investigations of psychologists into peoples' reactions to dilemmas like the Trolley Problem.
One of the classic techniques used to measure a person's willingness to behave in a utilitarian way is known as trolleyology. The subject of the study is challenged with thought experiments involving a runaway railway trolley or train carriage. All involve choices, each of which leads to people's deaths. For example; there are five railway workmen in the path of a runaway carriage. The men will surely be killed unless the subject of the experiment, a bystander in the story, does something. The subject is told he is on a bridge over the tracks. Next to him is a big, heavy stranger. The subject is informed that his own body would be too light to stop the train, but that if he pushes the stranger onto the tracks, the stranger's large body will stop the train and save the five lives. That, unfortunately, would kill the stranger. [p.102]
The Economist reports that only 10% of experimental subjects are willing to throw the stranger under the train. I suspect it would be less, if the subjects found themselves in a real situation, instead of a pretend experimental test. The further result of the experiment is that these 10% of people tend to have personalities that are, "pscyhopathic, Machiavellian, or tended to view life as meaningless." Charming. The Economist does then admit that the focus of Bentham and Mill was on legislation, which "inevitably involves riding roughshod over someone's interest. Utilitarianism provides a plausible framework for deciding who should be trampled." Since politicians constitute far less than 10% of the population, perhaps this means that now we know why, psychologically, they are the way they are.
There are, however, peculiarities to this version of "trolleyology." Without the "mad philosopher" who has tied the victims to the tracks, how is the subject supposed to know that "the men will surely be killed"? In most railroad accidents with victims in the way of trains, there is a good chance that people will be killed or badly injured, but no certainty about it -- especially if one of the workers notices the trolley approaching. The slightest uncertainty vastly reduces the value of throwing a stranger off a bridge. Also, in a real world situation, how is the subject going to be "informed" that the stranger's body would stop the carriage but not his own? And again, having selflessly decided to sacrifice someone else to stop the carriage, how is the Woody Allen subject going to be able to throw the "big, heavy stranger" off the bridge?
The reluctance of test subjects to sacrifice the stranger may in great measure involve resistance to credulously accepting the unrealistic premises of the dilemma. It is far more likely that someone walking across the bridge, who happens to see people on the tracks in front of the rolling carriage, will simply shout a warning at them rather than suddenly become convinced that the homicide of a stranger will save them.
Psychologists or neutrologists who enjoy running "trolleyology" experiments seem to like the idea that subjects willing to throw a swtich but not willing to push the stranger off the bridge do so because of the difference between rational evaluation and emotional response. The rational side of a person, presumably, does the Utilitarian calculation, while the emotional side of a person recoils from the intimacy of the shove. What they tend to ignore is that some will refuse to throw the swtich because of a moral scruple about actively effecting an innocent death, while others will refuse to shove the fat man because of the uncertainties and unrealistic nature of the described situation. We see something of the uncertainty in the recent (as it happens) Woody Allen movie Irrational Man (2015), where a morally debased Existentialist college professor (Joaquin Phoenix) tries to shove a woman, his now inconvenient student and lover (Emma Stone), down an elevator shaft. He does this is in a clumsy way and falls down the shaft himself. Also, psychologists may leave out the characterization of the fat man as a "fat man," considering that this is demeaning or politically incorrect, and may prejudice the subject against the fat man, since his weight may be seen as a moral failing, which makes him unsympathic and thus perhaps deserving of being pushed. However, if we have a "large man," or the "big, heavy stranger" of the Economist example, instead, the Woody Allen movie reminds us of the problem of whether he can successfully be shoved.
The more ridiculous the situation, however, the more it reveals about the structure of dilemmas. Like the following "Fat Man and the Impending Doom," we see an intellectual exercise, with "mad philosophers" and other improbabilties, whose sole purpose is to structure a "right vs. good" choice. Once we understand that structure, we no longer need ridiculous and even silly circumstances and can instead simply address the meaning of the moral independence of action and consequences. This doesn't solve the dilemmas of real life, but it does mean that we don't need to characterize Utilitarians as those who are "pscyhopathic, Machiavellian, or tended to view life as meaningless," or even that they are simply more "rational" than those who only react emotionally (so which is it? "psychopathic" or "rational"?). In life, people tend to go for the best outcome, other things being equal. This is called "prudence."
Would You Kill the Fat Man?, by David Edmonds
A fat man leading a group of people out of a cave on a coast is stuck in the mouth of that cave. In a short time high tide will be upon them, and unless he is unstuck, they will all be drowned except the fat man, whose head is out of the cave. [But, fortunately, or unfortunately, someone has with him a stick of dynamite.] There seems no way to get the fat man loose without using [that] dynamite which will inevitably kill him; but if they do not use it everyone will drown. What should they do?
Since the fat man is said to be "leading" the group, he is responsible for their predicament and reasonably should volunteer to be blown up. The dilemma becomes more acute if we substitute a pregnant woman for the fat man. She would have been urged by the others to go first out of the cave. We can also make the dilemma more acute by substituting a knife for the dynamite. Hikers are not likely to just happen to be carrying around a stick of dynamite (federal authorites may be interested in this), and setting it off in the cave could just as easily kill everyone, or cause a cave-in (killing everyone), than just remove the fat man. Instead, one of our explorers or hikers is a hunter who always carries a knife, and who is experienced with dismembering game animals. The other hikers may not want to watch.
Dostoyevsky, who has in these pages come in for comment in relation to Existentialism and atheism, imagines a classic right vs. good dilemma:
"Tell me yourself -- I challenge you: let's assume that you were called upon to build the edifice of human destiny so that men would finally be happy and would find peace and tranquility. If you knew that, in order to attain this, you would have to torture just one single creature, let's say the little girl who beat her chest so desperately in the outhouse, and that on her unavenged tears you could build that edifice, would you agree to do it? Tell me and don't lie!"
"No I would not," Alyosha said softly. [Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, 1880, translated by Andrew H. MacAndrew, Bantam Books, 1970, p.296]
This could stand as a reductio ad absurdum of Utilitarianism; but Dostoyevsky himself cites one innocent person who is indeed sacrificed to build an "edifice" of "peace and tranquility," namely Jesus Christ. Jesus went to his fate willingly, unlike the little girl of the example here; but those who sent him there had something else in mind. Dostoyevsky's thought experiment was developed into a science fiction short story, "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" , by Ursula K. Le Guin. Le Guin, however, originally credited the device to William James, having read it in James and forgotten that it was in Dostoyevsky.
Compare: 112 men were killed during the construction of Hoover Dam on the Nevada-Arizona border (the "official" number was 98, but others had died from causes more difficult to identify -- or easier to ignore -- like by carbon monoxide poisoning): The first to die was a surveyor, J.G. Tierney, who drowned on December 20, 1922, and the last was his son, Patrick Tierney, who drowned on December 20, 1935 -- 13 years to the day after his father. The working conditions in the summer down in the canyon involved temperatures hitting highs of 119o, with lows of no less than 95o (familiar numbers to those who have visited the cities of Needles, Blythe, or Yuma in the summer).
In 1931, about the time that Hoover Dam, a federal project (with private contractors -- the whole project was "stimulus" spending conceived by Hoover to alleviate the Depression), was begun, the Empire State Building, a private project, was completed. Although the rule of thumb had been that one man would die for every story built in a skyscraper above fifteen, which would have meant 105 dead for the Empire State Building, in fact only 5 men died in the whole project. By comparison, in the earlier (1908-1913) building of the Los Angeles Aqueduct by William Mulholland (d.1935), it was also the case that only 5 men died (though when Mulholland's St. Francis Dam, in Francisquito Canyon, collapsed in 1928, it killed over 500 people). The Golden Gate Bridge cost 14 lives (or 11 -- the rule of thumb there was one life for each $1,000,000 of the project, with the bridge costing $35,000.000 -- workers who fell and were caught by nets joined the "Half-Way to Hell Club"). The Alaska oil pipeline, built in the 1970's, cost 31 lives. The Tunnel under the English Channel, built in the early 1990's, cost 11 lives. When the Gateway Arch in St. Louis was being planned, the prediction was that 15 workers would die, but none did. Similarly, though much earlier (1927-1941), no one died during the carving of Mt. Rushmore (though workers may have died later from the effects of breathing dust from the carved rock -- this used to be a serious problem for miners, before they began flushing drill points with water, and in fact Gutzon Borglum provided breathing masks for the Mt. Rushmore workers, some of whom didn't like wearing them). Even earlier, the Chrysler Building, finished in 1930 at 77 stories, and briefly the tallest building in the world (before the Empire State Building topped out), was completed without any loss of life.
Even with such progress over time, the John Hancock Building in Chicago (1970) cost 109 lives, or, indeed, about one per floor, as predicted for the Empire State Building -- perhaps the infamous wind of Chicago made for more hazardous conditions. While it is usually ordinary workers who suffer in construction accidents, it isn't always, as was the case with the Brooklyn Bridge, whose designer, John Augustus Roebling, died from the effects of a ferry accident in 1869 while surveying the site. His son, Washington Roebling, suffered such a severe case of the bends, working in a pressurized caisson in 1872, that he supervised the rest of the construction crippled in bed, first from Trenton and then from Brooklyn, sending instructions through his wife, until the bridge was completed in 1883. Overall, 27 died on the Brooklyn Bridge, 3 from the bends (though, as with Hoover Dam, this may not count them all). Workers on the caissons were paid wages of $2 a day, a lot of money in the 1870's, but there was a turnover of 100 workers a week, out of work gangs that were less than 300 men to start with. There was also the problem that the caissons were dark, wet, claustrophobic, and nasty. It was many years before it was known what to do about the bends. Workers were still suffering from the bends when the Holland Tunnel was built in the 1920's. The chief engineer of the tunnel, Clifford Milburn Holland, died suddenly in 1924, aged 41, suspiciously of "exhaustion." The tunnel, opened in 1927, was then named after him.
The first tunnel under the Hudson was begun in 1874. Construction was abandoned in 1891 because of deaths (one blowout alone in 1880 killed 20 workers), restarted in 1903 by Alexander J. Cassatt of the Pennsylvania Railroad, and not completed until 1908. All such bridges and tunnels eliminate the need for ferry boats. Even in recent years, ferry sinkings and accidents are common, and they still sometimes result in the deaths of hundreds of people at a time. Even New York's famous Staten Island Ferry (started by Cornelius Vanderbilt) is not immune. On October 15, 2003, the pilot on one of the Ferry's ships passed out (he was diabetic), and it crashed into a pier at Staten Island. Eleven people were killed and 71 were injured, some with severed limbs. I had just ridden the Ferry that summer, and I noticed that many people stand right on the edge of the vessel as it approaches the dock. That was not a place to be in the accident. The captain of the ferry, who was not at his required station, in the pilot house, at the time of the accident, subsequently committed suicide. Now in 2010, there has been another accident with this ferry, in fact with the very same ship. On May 8, the ferry crashed into the dock on Staten Island, as in 2003. This time, however, the problem (so far) looks like a mechanical rather than a human failure. 40 people were taken to the hospital, fortunately with mostly minor injuries.
In 1954 a typhoon sank 5 ferries in the Tsugaru Strait between the Japanese islands of Honshu and Hokkaido, killing 1430 people. A tunnel was begun in 1964 to eliminate the ferries, although it took 25 years to complete. The idea for the tunnel under the Hudson may have been inspired by the St. Gotthard Tunnel in Switzerland, which was begun in 1872. It was only a mile under the Hudson, while the St. Gotthard would be 9.25 miles long. Nevertheless, the St. Gotthard tunnel was finished in ten years, though at a cost of 310 lives.
In New York, subsequent to the first railroad tunnel were the tunnels to bring water into the City. From the Hillview Reservoir, just outside the Bronx, the New York City Water Tunnel No. 1 was completed in 1917 and the New York City Water Tunnel No. 2 in 1935. The rule that developed for these projects was a dead man for every mile. Water Tunnel No. 3, begun in 1970 and due to be completed soon, has not involved anything like this kind of mortality. The older tunnels have never been closed or serviced. After some time had passed, the authorities began to fear that the aging and rusted valves, if closed, could not be easily reopened, costing the City half its water supply. This will finally be done when Tunnel No. 3 is completed.
1890-1917: 230,000; during World War I, the railroads were run by the Federal Government
|deaths increase during World War II with the temporary return of obsolete equipment|
In the table we see the rate of fatalities on American railroads over time. The 230,000 deaths between 1890 and 1917 averages out to about 8500 per year -- for instance in 1897 there were 6500 deaths, 1700 of them railroad workers, but most of the rest from people being hit on the tracks (something that still happens, with four killed when a train it hit a truck, for some reason delayed at a railroad crossing, carrying wounded veterans in a Veterans Day Parade in Midland, Texas, on 15 November 2012). This toll seems excessive and appalling, and obviously much of it a function of the railroad tracks not being separated from other traffic and public access, but we might compare it with recent traffic fatalities for automobiles, which have been above 40,000 per year for every year since since 1962, except for 1992. Between 1966 and 1974, deaths were actually above 50,000 a year. This constant absolute rate of fatalities nevertheless reflects improvement, since the population of the country has grown greatly during the period, and the vehicle miles travelled have increased from 805,000 in 1963 to 2,880,000 in 2003. So the rate of fatalities has fallen significantly.
The industry of mining anthracite coal in Pennsylvania cost 30,000 lives between 1869 and 1950. This averages out to about 370 deaths a year or more than one death a day. Such a rate actually seems low compared to railroad deaths or modern highway deaths; and although today there are still deaths from mining, even in Pennsylvania, most modern coal mining, which used to employ thousands of men underground, now is handled by a couple dozen men working open pit mines in the air-conditioned cabs of giant trucks and shovels. Fatalities are rare under those circumstances.
The worst loss of life in an American railroad accident was 101 killed on 9 July 1918, at a place called "Dutchman's Curve" in Nashville, Tennessee. Lest we chalk this up this horror to the corporate indifference and greed of the railroads, the accident took place during World War I, when the Federal Government had taken over the railroads and was running them. The Fed did not do a good job of it -- Dutchman's Curve may be an example of that -- which is one reason why no such takeover occurred during World War II, despite the record of hostility for business of the Roosevelt Administration (the President may himself have begun losing patience with the ideologues around him, including Eleanor). Nevertheless, the rate of fatalities did increase during World War II, when the level of traffic required that obsolete equipment be returned to service.
Meanwhile, railroad fatalities have become rare -- although the occasional wreck can be spectacular -- I was visiting Boulder, Colorado, in 1985 when two Burlington Northern trains collided head-on under a freeway overpass, which was destroyed, just outside of town. The engine crews were killed, although I don't think this amounted to more than four persons. Part of the reduction in fatalities is the circumstance that the number of railroad employees has fallen from some 2 million in 1920 to only 177,000 in 2004. A train that used to require a large crew (including multiple brakemen) now may only be driven by two (with one recent fatal wreck, in the San Fernando Valley, caused by the lonely engineer ignoring red lights because he was texting -- although in that case the loss of life of passengers was significant).
Lest we think that in its time the railroads were unusually dangerous, of linemen working on the new electrical systems in the 1890's, no less than half of them were killed on the job, generally from electrical shock. This is still a very dangerous business, although fatalities now do not seem to be common.
An underwater tunnel is being constructed despite an almost certain loss of several lives [actually, all but certain]. Presumably the expected loss is a calculated cost that society is prepared to pay for having the tunnel ["society" doesn't make any such calculation]. At a critical moment when a fitting must be lowered into place, a workman is trapped in a section of the partly laid tunnel. If it is lowered, it will surely crush the trapped workman to death. Yet, if it is not and a time consuming rescue of the workman is attempted, the tunnel will have to be abandoned and the whole project begun anew. Two workmen have already died in the project as a result of anticipated and unavoidable conditions in the building of the tunnel. What should be done? Was it a mistake to begin the tunnel in the first place? But don't we take such risks all the time?
We can get some clarity about this example by asking what the police would do if they are informed that the work foreman has authorized the deliberate crushing of a worker. I suspect that he would immediately be arrested for murder.
With these tunnels and bridges, the moral principle involved with the deaths is a simple one: because of the projects, fewer people die later. Thus, while workers know that the projects are dangerous, and they are willing to take the risk for better wages or pride in the projects, there is an absolute calculus of saved lives once the tunnels or the bridges replace the ferries, or when a fresh water supply prevents diseases like cholera and typhoid fever, which claimed many lives in the 19th century, including Prince Albert of England. Contrariwise, deaths on something like a movie set do not seem balanced by any saved lives, which means that any deaths, such as those of Vic Morrow and others on the set of Twilight Zone, the Movie in 1982, seem intolerable and wrongful. Thus, when Brandon Lee, the son of Bruce Lee, was killed in a freak accident filming The Crow in 1993, permanent changes were made in the filming of action movies. Lee was killed by a metal fragment of a shattered bullet casing, which proved deadly even though the bullet was a blank. Now, it is prohibited for guns to be fired, even with blanks, in the direction of actors. The camera angle, of course, can make it look like the gun is directed at its target. Or, as is becoming more common, the firing of the gun can be inserted digitally.
Other professions pose more of a moral challenge. One of the deadliest professions of all is simply commercial fishing. Dealing with heavy equipment, including chains, ropes, hooks, nets, booms, etc., on a wet heaving deck, in the dark, cold, ice, etc., is an obvious formula for injury, maiming, or death. Is this worth it just so people can eat fish? Well, the provison of food obviously saves lives by sustaining life in the first place, and many people think that fish is a healthier source of protein than something like red meat. The calculus in those terms is not obvious, since fishing is much, much more dangerous than raising cows. In those terms, whether it is worth it may need to be left to the fishermen themselves. As it happens, small fishermen, who run the most risk, now tend to be replaced with factory ships, which are safer for the crews. But the small fishermen don't like being put out of business, since they prefer their traditional way of life for personal and aesthetic reasons -- and they would probably need to leave their local towns to find work elsewhere. They may not appreciate the argument that the danger of their way of life discounts their enjoyment of its beauty, dignity, and challenge and makes the factory ships preferable.
A similar problem occurs with logging. Lumberjacks also take pride in the beauty, majesty, and danger of their profession. But the on-the-job death rate is over 110 per 100,000 loggers per year -- thirty times the national average. If the wood is used for housing, and housing saves lives by sustaining health from the elements, then we can calculate that the cost is worth it. But other materials are available for housing, and not all the wood from logging is used for that purpose. So if logging is very dangerous, which it is, this makes the proposition even more dubious than with fishing. It may come down to the other uses of wood, which are many, and which may be more essential to modern life, which as such preserve and extend lives beyond what was the case when wood was more essential for housing and energy than it is now. The need, as with fishing, should be reflected in prices, and so also in the wages for the skilled labor involved -- with the complication that the use, misuse, overuse, or underuse of National Forests becomes a political issue, and a football for rent seekers and ideological Environmentalists, that obscures what the real costs of the resource are. The loggers, like the fishermen, may need to make their own call about the value of what they do -- and they also may make (glamorized) money off the "reality" shows about their work.
Part of traditional logging was floating the cut logs down rivers to sawmills. There might be so many logs in a river that they could jam, creating a log dam and the potential for all kinds of trouble and damage. To keep the logs from jamming, or to break up jams, was the job of the log rollers. It is said that for every lumberjack who died in the forest, ten log rollers died on the rivers. It is not hard to imagine the peril of their jobs, walking around on logs that roll under their feet, where falling between the logs could quickly mean being crushed by them. Fortunately, most logs are now trucked out of forests rather than floated down rivers. Log rolling is reduced to a fun and humorous event at fairs or woodcraft competitions. This is progress. Of course, now the Federal Government wants every logging road treated with all the same permit requirements and regulations as Interstate highways. The rivers may come back into use.
There seems to be one other profession that, like fishing and logging, is more dangerous than being a policeman. That is roofing. Roofers fall off of roofs. It is not hard to imagine the danger of this. It is also not hard to see the benefit in social welfare from roofs. Even if fishing was stopped, and homes and furniture were no longer made of wood, houses would still need roofs. A "roof over your head" is pretty essential to human well being. Safety harnesses exist for roofing, as for work in high-rise construction; but, since roofers are often independent contractors, the only people at some pains to see that harnesses get used would be their insurance companies, who will not always be on site. Otherwise, roofers might not want to bother and may indeed exult, like fishermen and loggers, in the danger of their job.
In Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, the hero, Jean Valjean, is an ex-convict, living illegally under an assumed name and wanted for a robbery he committed many years ago. [Actually, no -- he is only wanted for breaking parole.] Although he will be returned to the galleys -- probably [in fact, actually] for life -- if he is caught, he is a good man who does not deserve to be punished. He has established himself in a town, becoming mayor and a public benefactor. One day, Jean learns that another man, a vagabond, has been arrested for a minor crime and identified as Jean Valjean. Jean is first tempted to remain quiet, reasoning to himself that since he had nothing to do with the false identification of this hapless vagabond, he has no obligation to save him. Perhaps this man's false identification, Jean reflects, is "an act of Providence meant to save me." Upon reflection, however, Jean judges such reasoning "monstrous and hypocritical." He now feels certain that it is his duty to reveal his identity, regardless of the disastrous personal consequences. His resolve is disturbed, however, as he reflects on the irreparable harm his return to the galleys will mean to so many people who depend upon him for their livelihood -- especially troubling in the case of a helpless woman and her small child to whom he feels a special obligation. He now reproaches himself for being too selfish, for thinking only of his own conscience and not of others. The right thing to do, he now claims to himself, is to remain quiet, to continue making money and using it to help others. The vagabond, he comforts himself, is not a worthy person, anyway. Still unconvinced and tormented by the need to decide, Jean goes to the trial and confesses. Did he do the right thing?
Roger Smith, a quite competent swimmer, is out for a leisurely stroll. During the course of his walk he passes by a deserted pier from which a teenage boy who apparently cannot swim has fallen into the water. The boy is screaming for help. Smith recognizes that there is absolutely no danger to himself if he jumps in to save the boy; he could easily succeed if he tried. Nevertheless, he chooses to ignore the boy's cries. The water is cold and he is afraid of catching a cold -- he doesn't want to get his good clothes wet either. "Why should I inconvenience myself for this kid," Smith says to himself, and passes on. Does Smith have a moral obligation to save the boy? If so, should he have a legal obligation ["Good Samaritan" laws] as well?
The cast of Seinfeld, Jerry, Elaine, George, and Kramer, have a layover in a small New England town. They witness a robbery in broad daylight. The robber has his hand in his pocket, and the victim shouts that the man has a gun. As soon as the robber runs away, a policeman appears on the scene; but instead of pursuing the robber, he arrests Jerry, Elaine, George, and Kramer for having violated the new "Good Samaritan" law of the town. Since the four of them spent the time of the robbery making fun of the victim, who was fat, their role in the matter doesn't look good, and at their trial everyone who has ever felt wronged by them in the course of the television series testifies against them. They are convicted. Is this just? What were they supposed to do during the robbery? Should they have rushed the robber, just in case he didn't really have a gun?
Note that this would be an improper "Good Samaritan" law, which generally are laws written to protect those (from liability) who attempt to render aid, not require people in what may be questionable circumstances to render aid. Laws requiring aid exist in some places and may be thought vulnerable to the abuse evident in this case.
Tom, hating his wife and wanting her dead, puts poison in her coffee, thereby killing her. Joe also hates his wife and would like her dead. One day, Joe's wife accidentally puts poison in her coffee, thinking it's cream. Joe has the antidote, but he does not give it to her. Knowing that he is the only one who can save her, he lets her die. Is Joe's failure to act as bad as Tom's action?
Jane, hating her husband and wanting him dead, puts poison in his coffee, thereby killing him. Debbie also hates her husband and would like him dead. One day, Debbie's husband accidentally puts poison in his coffee, thinking it's cream. Debbie has the antidote, but she does not give it to him. Knowing that she is the only one who can save him, she lets him die. Is Debbie's failure to act as bad as Jane's action?
Note that poison is a "gendered" instrument since the gender stereotype is that it is a "woman's" weapon since it requires no strength to use and can be employed secretly. This may be why Judith Jarvis Thomson used "Alfred" and "Burt" in the first place, as contrary to the stereotype.
Compare: the use of torture in Clint Eastwood's movie, Dirty Harry (1971), somewhat comically in Sin City (2005), and then in extended, serious, and graffic fashion, conducted by Denzel Washington, in Man on Fire (2004). In 2009, there is also Liam Neeson, Qui-gon Jinn of Star Wars, who uses torture to rescue his kidnapped daughter in Taken -- he even shoots the "innocent wife" of his former French spy friend to get information from him. Definitely a different kind of Jedi. After 9/11/01, we have the case of terrorist suspects who may know of planned operations that could cost the lives of thousands. The otherwise four-square civil libertarian and Harvard Law Professor Alan Dershowitz actually suggested legalized torture to deal with such people. This early complacency about torture seems to have been followed mostly by objections that some kind of torture was used by U.S. forces in Iraq and by U.S. allies (Egypt, Pakistan, etc.). Indeed, there is a saying, that if you want information from someone, send them to Jordan, if you want them hurt, send them to Syria, and if you want them killed, send them to Egypt.
A madman who has threatened to explode several bombs in crowded areas has been apprehended. Unfortunately, he has already planted the bombs and they are scheduled to go off in a short time. It is possible that hundreds of people may die. The authorities cannot make him divulge the location of the bombs by conventional methods. He refuses to say anything and requests a lawyer to protect his fifth amendment right against self-incrimination. In exasperation, some high level official suggests torture. This would be illegal, of course, but the official thinks that it is nevertheless the right thing to do in this desperate situation. Do you agree? If you do, would it also be morally justifiable to torture the mad bomber's innocent wife if that is the only way to make him talk? Why?
In the judicial system of Imperial China, torture was technically illegal but tolerated because no one could be convicted without a confession. Torture could then be used with these provisions: (1) Questioning could only be done in open court. Since torture would then be administered in public, the public should agree, from the evidence, that the suspect is probably guilty. If it appeared that an innocent person was being tortured, a riot might result. The Judge, who was also the Magistrate of his administrative District, would be held responsible for the civil disturbance. (2) Punishment would be mitigated in proportion to any suffering inflicted by torture. And, most importantly, (3) if it turned out that an innocent person was convicted, the punishment he suffered could be imposed on the Judge. This was called , "reversed judgment." I think that this is a fine legal principle -- where with us misbehavior by judges, prosecutors, or police is generally not liable to criminal sanction. A person not even under oath lying to a federal agent is guilty of a crime, but prosecutors can lie in court and the police can lie to suspects (in the United States but not in Britain) with impunity. The Chinese legal system is discussed and illustrated by the Dutch diplomat and scholar Robert van Gulik in his Judge Dee books.
War, Terror, and Torture
The Curious Case of Zero Dark Thirty
You are a psychiatrist and your patient has just confided to you that he intends to kill a woman. You're inclined to dismiss the threat as idle, but you aren't sure. Should you report the threat to the police and the woman or should you remain silent as the principle of confidentiality between psychiatrist and patient demands? Should there be a law that compels you to report such threats?
See the discussion of such issues under under the "Generalized Structure of Moral or Ethical Dilemmas." Note how the ethical codes of such professionals complicate what otherwise might be simple moral questions.
Jim has the responsibility of filling a position in his firm. His friend Paul has applied and is qualified, but someone else seems even more qualified. Jim wants to give the job to Paul, but he feels guilty, believing that he ought to be impartial. That's the essence of morality, he initially tells himself. This belief is, however, rejected, as Jim resolves that friendship has a moral importance that permits, and perhaps even requires, partiality in some circumstances. So he gives the job to Paul. Was he right?
Features of this question are discussed at the Generalized Structure. Otherwise, we should consider the moral dilemmas that arise when loyalty to friends, or to family, conflicts with other obligations. Thus, in the great Indian epic the Mahâbhârata, the figure Karna realizes that he is on the wrong side of the conflict and that he will be fighting the people who represent the right and the good. Krishna even offers Karna the leadership of the good side and the throne of the Kingdom in dispute. Karna, however, determines to remain loyal to the villain, Duryodhana, because Duryodhana was kind to him when everyone else was insulting and dismissive (because he did not appear to be a Kshatriya, although in fact he was). The offer of someone like Krishna looks motivated less by concern for Karna and than for the people he will be fighting. Karna's loyalty, although he knows it will lead to his own defeat and death, ends up seeming noble and admirable in its own right, but it also seems tragic, perverse, and pointless than so much carnage should result when Karna knows that his cause is wrong.
A similar, and perhaps stronger, issue arises when loyalty to family is involved. Thus, in the Analects, at XIII:18, Confucius says that in his country, "A father will screen his son, and a son his father," after being told about a son who informed on his father for theft. We also find a similar standard assumed by Socrates in the Euthyphro, where Euthyphro thinks that it is pious to prosecute his father for murder. Socrates expresses astonishment, since this is a major breach of Greek piety, for a son to act against his father. The issue also turns up in the review of "The Impiety of Socrates," where M.F. Burnyeat misses the nature of Euthryphro's impiety in this. With both Confucius and Euthyphro, there is a conflict and a dilemma between filial piety, , the duty to protect parents, and righteousness, , the duty to see that justice is done.
Compare with the role of David Cash in the 1997 murder of Sherrice Iverson by Jeremy Strohmeyer. Under Nevada law, Cash was not charged simply for concealing knowledge of Strohmeyer's crime. To be an accessory after the fact, he would have needed to have done something (a wrong of commission) to otherwise help Strohmeyer. Later, when he was admitted to the University of California, there was protest over his moral suitability.
A friend confides to you that he has committed a particular crime and you promise never to tell. Discovering that an innocent person has been accused of the crime, you plead with your friend to give himself up. He refuses and reminds you of your promise. What should you do? In general, under what conditions should promises be broken?
In October 1990, Jeffrey Cain was killed in a road rage shooting in Anchorage, Alaska. When George Kerr informed on the friends who had done the shooting, he said, "I usually wouldn't rat out my friends, but this is just so severe I got to do it." "Just so severe" is the issue. After their conviction, the "friends" arranged from prison, in a conspiracy including the pregnant sister of one defendant, to have a bomb sent to Kerr's house. Kerr wasn't home, and the bomb killed his father. All the conspirators, including the sister, were convicted of the murder. This does not encourage one to believe in the goodness of human nature.
Note that the issue here, although the politics is somewhat dated, is over the use of sexual harrassment laws. The support of the Paula Jones lawsuit by Catherine MacKinnon -- "When Paul Jones sued Bill Clinton, male dominance quaked" -- seemed merely to result in the marginalization of MacKinnon from elite opinion -- her earlier Stalinism and anhedonic political moralism had not been sufficient. Clinton continues to be treated as a serious political influence, appearing extensively in television promotions for California Proposition 87 in the 2006 election. That the proposition failed should cause some enthusiasts to reevaluate Clinton's influence. Nevertheless, he continues to act and be regarded as a venerated elder statesman.
A long time Governor of a Southern State is elected President of the United States on a platform that includes strong support for laws against sexual harassment. After he is in office, it comes out that he may have used State Troopers, on duty to protect him as Governor, to pick up women for him. One of the women named in the national press stories as having been brought to the Governor for sex felt defamed because she had actually rebuffed his crude advances, even though he had said that he knew her boss -- she was a State employee. She decides to clear her name by suing the now President for sexual harassment. The Supreme Court allows the suit to proceed against the sitting President. Because the sexual harassment laws have been recently expanded, over the President's own signature, to allow testimony about the history of sexual conduct of the accused harasser, the President is questioned under oath about rumors of an affair with a young White House intern. He strongly denies that any sexual relationship had ever taken place, and professes not to remember if he was even ever alone with the intern. Later, incontrovertible evidence is introduced -- the President's own semen on the intern's dress -- that establishes the existence of the rumored sexual relationship. The President then finally admits only to an ambiguous "improper relationship." So the dilemma is: Is it hypocritical of the President and his supporters to continued to support the sexual harassment and perjury laws if they do not want him to be subject to the ordinary penalties for breaking them? Or, are the political purposes of the President's supporters in keeping him in office more important than this?
Silence is a 2016 move based on the 1966 historical novel of the same name by Shûsaku Endô, himself a Japanese Christian. The story is loosely based on the life of Giuseppe Chiara (1602-1685), who was a Jesuit missionary in Japan in 17th century, after the Japanese, under the Tokugawa Shoguns, had prohibited Christianity and begun actively persecuting Japanese Christians and European missionaries. The movie was a personal project of director Martin Scorsese, long in the works.
In Portuguese Macao, the Jesuit Superior, Alessandro Valignano (Ciarán Hinds) receives news that Father Cristóvão Ferreira (Liam Neeson), in Japan, has renounced his faith. Sebastião Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Francisco Garupe (Adam Driver), students of Ferreira, cannot believe this; and they journey to Japan to find him.
After meeting hidden Japanese Christians, Rodrigues and Garupe are captured and discover that, after a period of executing Christians, the Japanese decided that it was better to demoralize them by forcing the Jesuit missionaries themselves to renounce their faith and become apostates. Ferreira himself was tortured to the point where he was broken. Garupe himself drowns while trying to help Japanese Christians who are being drowned. Rodrigues, as the new strategy is politely explained to him, is forced to watch as the Christians he has known personally are horribly tortured, even though they themselves have obeyed the requirement to step on images of Christ or the Virgin Mary.
Rodrigues is required to step on an image of Christ to save his parishioners. As it happens, Christ in the image speaks to him, tells him to step on the image, and explains that this is the kind of sacrifice that Christ himself would do. Although told that this symbolic renunication is of no real significance, after Rodrigues does it, he is not allowed to practice Christianity ever again, even in private, is closely monitored, and is compelled to help expose Japanese Christians for the rest of his life.
In the movie, but not in the book, we are shown that at his burial, the Japanese wife of Rodrigues, whose sympathies we do not know, surreptitiously buries a cross with him.
The dilemma of Rodrigues is of a "right vs. good" form. Unlike the "A Father's Agonizing Choice," Rodrigues is not being asked to kill anyone. Instead, with his impious act, he saves the lives and ends the suffering of his Japanese Christians. It is not right, of course, that he is being coerced into renouncing his faith; and the Japanese authorities, like the Nazi guards, cannot honestly claim that they are being forced to torture or murder innocent people. It is all their choice. Nevertheless, Rodrigues must weigh the suffering of the Christians against his outward adherence to his faith.
At first, he seems to be asked less than the Christians persecuted under Diocletian. They were not told to renounce their faith but simply to pour a libation, an act of pagan worship. They regarded this as the equivalent of apostasy. Under threat of torture and execution, many did, but afterward, when the persecution was over, they then returned to Christianity. There was intense controversy over whether such people should hold positions of honor or authority in the later Church. In North Africa, the "Donatists" never accepted that the temporary apostates could return to authority, and in general they decided that the value of the Sacraments depended on the righteousness of the priests administering them. They were declared heretics for this, beginning in the reign of Constantine, who called a council at Arles to deal with it; but they continued holding to their doctrine until the Islamic Conquest.
The Japanese persecution did not end; and, as noted, Rodrigues was required to renounce any overt practice of his religion. We should be sensible of the legal principle that no contract executed under duress is valid. For Christians, martyrdom under such circumstances may be admirable, but it cannot be morally required of anyone. And, of course, Rodrigues does not face conventional marytrdom, but it is the innocent Japanese Christians who suffer in these circumstances. The sacrifice of Rodrigues is of a spiritual nature; but, as expressed, as we see, by Christ himself, this is not so different from the foundational sacrifice on the Cross. Rodrigues may endanger his soul, but this will save the others from suffering.
The "silence" of the title of book and movie seems to have two meanings. One is the silence of God, which is truly broken for few believers, even as it nevertheless actually is for Rodrigues. But the other silence is that to which Rodrigues himself is condemned, as he is prohibited, despite the apparently assurances of the authorities, from ever expressing his faith again. The dilemma of Rodrigues is acute enough, but we cannot forget that is decisively resolved, and properly so, by God himself (unless Rodrigues is hallucinating), albeit at the cost of remaining silent for then on.
When the Meiji Government, at European insistence, legalized Christianity, communities of Japanese Christians, silent for three centuries, revealed their existence. From the movie, it is hard to believe that they survived, but they did. Although required to step on Christian images every year, they believed that they could be absolved for these acts. The Catholic Church disagreed, but it should not have. Repenting an act done under duress is morally not the same thing as repenting an act done freely. I repeat, no Christian can be required to be a martyr.
Passengers is a 2016 science fiction movie directed by Morten Tyldum.
The colony ship Avalon is on its way to a distant star and the planet "Homestead II," with a crew of a couple hundred and 5000 passenger colonists. The passage will take 120 years, all on board are in hibernation, and the ship is under the automatic control of its computers.
Thirty years into the voyage, the ship passes through an unrealistically dense field of asteroids and its defenses are overwhelmed. The ship is holed by a meteorite, which inflicts serious damage on its operating system. However, the computers are programmed with the assumption that the ship is invulerable to such impacts. The diagnostics are unable to recognize the damage, which sets off a slow cascade of malfunctions, which soon take down the diagnostic system itself. Meanwhile, the first sign of trouble is that one of the hibernation pods wakes up its sleeper, just as though the end of the voyage were approaching. This sleeper is (helpfully) a mechanical engineer, Jim Preston (played by Chris Pratt). The computers have also been programmed with the assumption that the hiberation pods cannot malfunction, which leaves Preston ignorant of what has really happened or what can be done about it. Wandering the ship alone, his only companion turns out to be a robot bartender, "Arthur" (Michael Sheen), who also initially denies that a pod can malfunction or that anything can be wrong. Thus, we see serious design flaws in the construction of this ship; and it is hard to believe that future engineers have really forgotten Murphy's Law, which is that anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Preston descovers that he cannot awaken any of the crew and cannot access the command decks or operating system of the ship. For a year, he wanders about, slowly losing his sanity, falling into the habits of a naked hermit, aware that no one else will be awakened for 90 years. However, he has noticed one of the other sleepers, Aurora Lane (Jennifer Lawrence of the Hunger Games movies). Looking at her and able to review her application videos, he is soon infatuated. He is tempted to awaken her. This is our first dilemma. Preston is clearly aware of the wrongfulness of waking her, and thus condemning her, with himself, to a long, miserable life and ultimate death on the Avalon. On the other hand, he also feels that the only alternative is suicide. This is a case where wrongful action leads, not to a greater good, but to something that is really only good for him -- which is generally the motive already for less outlandish kinds of wrongful action.
Nevertheless, he is driven to wake her up, leading her to think that she has been revived by the same kind of malfunction that awakened him. Thus, her initial distress is no different than what was his at the comprable moment. After getting over that, she and Preston actually begin to enjoy each other, taking advantage of the enterainment features of the spaceship. They fall in love, and things become fairly hot and heavy. However, "Arthur" then inadvertently divulges that she was not awakened by accident, but deliberately. Naturally, she is furious, comes close to killing Preston, and then shuns his presence.
Meanwhile, more things begin to go wrong with the ship, a process that seems improbably protracted given the nature of the damage, about which they of course do not yet know. However, a crew member is finally then awakened, played by Laurence Fishburne, of The Matrix fame. He has access to the ship's computers, discovers how bad things are, and gets some notion of what has happened. Unfortunately, his hibernation pod has harmed him the course of his awakening, and he soon falls into a fatal decline. At least he is able to pass on his command authorizations, so Preston and Lane have a chance to discover and repair the damage.
The two of them are thus thrown together by necessity, and Fishburne, who knows what Preston has done, recommends some sympathetic understanding to Lane. After desperate, melodramatic, and perhaps improbable adventures, Preston and Lane are able to discover and repair the damage to the ship, which neither of them would have been able to do alone.
Thus we arrive at the final dilemma of the story. Preston discovers that he can put Lane back into hibernation using the diagnostic pod in the medical bay. There is only one of these, so only one them can take advantage of it. Lane must then decide whether to use this and continue with her former plans, which were to witness the colonization effort and then return to Earth, after 240 years, to report on it, or to stay with Preston and live out a life on the Avalon. She chooses to stay. At the end of the movie, all the crew and passengers awaken normally, to find that the couple, long gone, made a life for themselves on the ship.
Critics apparently didn't like the idea that the previews of the movie made it look like both Pratt and Lawrence had been awakened accidentially. Of course, divulging that they weren't would have given away a major plot point. Previews often do that, but it is usually the sign of a bad movie. Feeling deceived in this respect, reviewers then dismissed the end of the movie as an example of the "Stockholm Syndrome," whereby kidnap victims or hostages are deluded into identifying with their kidnappers.
However, Aurora Lane is not a kidnap victim, and she falls in love with Jim Preston with the understanding that the two of them are in the same circumstances for the same reasons. When she learns better, her choices are limited by their very presence on the ship. As Samuel Johnson said, being on a ship is like being in prison, with the chance of drowning. In this case, with the certainty of a future death, it turns out that an earlier death looms, thanks to the meteorite damage to the ship. Thus, if Preston had not awakened Lane, both of them would have died anyway, as the ship would soon explode. So quite by accident, the wrongful action of Preston waking Lane becomes fortunate, saving, regardless of their own fate, the entire rest of the crew and passengers of the ship.
Now, a fortunate consequence that results, unintentionally, from a wrongful action, does not excuse the wrongfulness of the action, but, in our understanding of dilemmas, it does mitigate the evil of the action. At the same time, the wrongful action of Preston is, at least, understandable, given the alternatives of suicide or solitary insanity. This is the sympathetic construction that Lawrence Fishburne recommends to Lane.
The final dilemma for Lane is also understandable without recourse to the Stockholm Syndrome. The alternatives there are a brief experience of "Homestead II," with a return to a completely unfamiliar Earth, against what seems to be genuine love for Preston, with a life in what actually are rather comfortable circumstances in the spaceship. Since her real ambition is to write, the Avalon is as good a place to do that as anywhere. And now she does have a dramatic story to tell, one that saves the life of every person on board.
This kind of dilemma, of course, is not really a moral dilemma at all. It involves weighing the value of two kinds of life, qualified only by the original wrongfulness of Preston awakening Lane. But then, as we see, that turned out to be fortunate for all.
The story of a large colony ship, headed for the stars, where something goes wrong, has a long history in science fiction. I first encountered it through a short-lived television series in 1973, called The Starlost, written by Harlan Ellison. This was produced in Canada and syndicated on American television. The Earthship Ark contains colonists who are not in hibernation but are expected to live their lives and leave subsequent generations to arrive at their stellar destination. However, the crew is dead from an accident, and the passengers, in their own dedicated habitats, now have forgotten that they are in a spaceship. The story is of some colonists who begin to explore the ship and learn the facts of its nature and purpose.
I enjoyed the shows, but Ellison dissociated himself from it after some disagreements, and it was cancelled after its initial run. The ship had a computer system that responded to inquiries by asking, "May I be of assistance?" It was never much assistance (like the computer system in Passengers), but I still like using the line.
Later I discovered that Robert Heinlein had written stories about a very similar ship. In 1941 he produced two novellas, "Universe" and "Common Sense," which eventually were published together in 1963 as Orphans of the Sky. Here the colony ship is the Vanguard, and again, after most of the crew was killed in a mutiny, subsequent generations of passengers have forgotten they are on a ship that is travelling through space to a colonial destination. In this case, Heinlein has our protagonists escaping from the ship rather than restoring it to its proper function and purpose.
Neither The Starlost nor Orphans of the Sky are built around the kinds of dilemmas or choices that are central to Passengers. But the context is a venerable science ficiton motif. In Passengers, we particularly wonder about the naivety or incompetence of the designers and engineers of the spacecraft -- they certainly have not read their science fiction -- and we might also wonder about how enterprises function when round trips to colonies take more than a couple of centuries. Previously, in the history of the Earth, even much less than a century produces changes that can render the place all but irrecognizeable.
Return to Valley College Index
The Generalized Structure of Ethical Dilemmas
Would You Kill the Fat Man? The Trolley Problem and What Your Answer Tells Us about Right and Wrong, by David Edmonds [Princeton, 2014]
Machiavelli and the Moral Dilemma of Statecraft
Robert Heinlein (1907-1988), The Libertarian in the Lifeboat; or, Heinlein's Freehold