The Impossible Trolley Problem

 

Most are aware of The Trolley Problem. It's one of those so-called "thought experiments" academics have contrived, presumably to make us, or at least their poor students, think. It was apparently created by an English philosopher named Philippa Foot.

A railroad or trolly track splits into two tracks going in separate directions.  By throwing a switch you may cause the trolley to take either route. Throwing it one way (A) will cause the trolley to follow the track to which five people are tied, killing them.  Throwing it the other way (B) will cause the trolley to follow the other track to which a single person is tied, killing that person.  Which way should you throw the switch?

There are variants of the problem.  What if the person tied to track B is a child? Would your choice be different?  What if a mass murder is tied to B?  What if it is Jeffrey Dahmer, munching on the leg of one of his victims?

Food for thought, no doubt (sorry).  How should you decide?

Well, like all of philosophers' problems, there is no definite answer.  Therein I think lies The Trolley Problem's problem.  It's the same problem other philosophical problems possess.

It's not an actual problem.  That is to say, it's not a problem which would arise, in life.  Why are we being asked to solve a problem which will never arise?  Why should we contemplate choices to be made in circumstances we won't encounter?

One might argue it compels us to think.  John Dewey said we only really think when we encounter problems.  But I doubt he was referring to imaginary problems.  Rather, he was referring to problems in life which could be resolved through intelligent thought and consideration.

C. S. Peirce observed that Descartes, when he purported to doubt everything in attempting to determine whether he could be certain of anything, clearly didn't really doubt. Rather, he pretended to doubt that which he clearly didn't doubt judging from his own behavior each moment of his life.  There's no real problem to resolve, no real question to answer, when we have no reason to resolve, or doubt.

Wouldn't it be more useful to address problems we face here and now?  Why doesn't philosophy, and why don't philosophers, address the actual problems of humanity?

Doomed to Repeat

The insight, or at least the statement, that those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it (with some variation in words used), has been attributed to several figures of note in our history.  George Santayana, Winston Churchill and Edmund Burke are some of those who are said to have made this claim.  The statement implies that those who know history aren't doomed to repeat it.  That may be true, but it remains the case that they may repeat history or are even likely to do so; they're just not doomed to do so.

The fact is that we repeat ourselves, in more ways than one.  Repetition is a constant in our affairs.  Repetition is even said to be useful in some respects.  It may strengthen memory or memorization, for example.  It may in ways not entirely clear to me guide us to concentrate in meditation, as in the use of a mantra, which in turn in ways not entirely clear to me may guide us to wisdom or enlightenment.  On the other hand, it may bore or annoy us.  But we do it.  As I've said (though not yet repeatedly).

But the claim, I believe, promises too much if only by implication, and is in that sense misleading.  Merely knowing history does very little for us.  History may be taught each minute of the day in schools of all sorts and we may even remember the history we're taught, but knowledge of history doesn't necessarily translate to knowledge of human nature, or provide lessons in how to conduct ourselves now and later, unless we're also taught to think.  

We're not taught to think, particularly in elementary and high schools as they're called here in our Great Republic.  Perhaps it's more accurate to claim that those who don't know how to think are doomed to repeat history. 

For example, the danger posed by demagogues, and the tricks employed by them to sway people and even to commit violence, has been known and been the subject of study since the 5th century B.C.E., and perhaps even earlier.  We know of Cleon, Alcibiades, Publius Clodius Pulcher from ancient times, religious rabble-rousers from medieval times, the fanatics of the French Revolution like Marat, and of course more recently Mussolini, Hitler, McCarthy and Huey Long, and demagogues are rife in our current politics.  Most of us know at least some of the members of this rogues gallery, and at least some of what they did, and it makes no significant difference to their--repetition.  Demagogues abide.

I think of the demagogue as an example of our propensity to repeat history because it's that time of year in our Glorious Union when politicians vie for our favor in what we're pleased to call elections.  Perhaps there are parts of the country where TV, the Internet, and all other forms of media are not crowded with political appeals, but in the place where I reside those appeals are ceaseless, and omnipresent.  And there can be no better examples of demagoguery than these appeals.  Sanctimony, fear-mongering, pandering, polarizing tactics, misrepresentations, evasiveness, lying, appeals to emotion, authority and bigotry...all of the usual characteristics of this practice are present in abundance.  The appeals are incessant.  

It's at least possible, and more likely probable, that those bombarded by this treacle, by these disingenuous if not outright dishonest commercials made by and for glorified carnival barkers, are aware of demagogues of the past and may even think them despicable.  But their ubiquity indicates that they're effective (they cost money, and money is most important), and if they're effective that indicates that our knowledge of history be damned, were doomed to repeat it.

I tend to agree with John Dewey's insight that we only think when confronted with problems.  Otherwise, we act based largely on habits accrued over a lifetime.  But we must believe a problem exists before we have recourse to thought, i.e. the use and application of intelligence.

We don't believe repeating the mistakes of the past is a problem, unfortunately.  Perhaps we believe we're doomed to repeat the past no matter how much we're aware of it.  

We know history or don't, AND are doomed to repeat it regardless.  

Islands in the Stream of Consciousness

Let me first give credit to the person who coined the phrase used as the title to this post, Jim Reich.  He was a good friend, now dead. It combines the title of Hemingway's Islands in the Stream and a literary technique well known and practiced with some frequency in the first half of the twentieth century and even now.  Knowing him as I did, I don't think he was referring to the Dolly Parton/Kenny Rodgers duet.

Stream of Consciousness is a literary device, but the phrase, or something like it, was used by the psychologist-philosopher William James in this Principles of Psychology to describe states of consciousness, or thoughts or ideas, as being a process, a flow, rather than isolated and distinct from one another.  Efforts were made by certain authors to replicate this flow in their poetry and novels.  Famous practitioners were James Joyce, William Faulkner, Jack Kerouac, Virginia Woolf and others.

I doubt that the literary technique is or can be anything like the process or flow conceived of by James, however.  The fact that it's employed for a purpose--that it is indeed a technique, a contrivance--renders this impossible.  What James and others (like John Dewey) point out is that typically our states of mind or consciousness are non-reflective.  In other words, we don't constantly think; we don't consider means and ends, we don't anticipate events or consequences.  In fact, we seldom do.  We think when we have to do so, or are induced to think by encountering a situation we find problematic or dissatisfying in some sense.  Then, we seek to resolve it.  For the most part, we merely feel, or react thoughtlessly, as a "habit" to use Dewey's terminology.

Stream of consciousness writing is deliberate, and requires thought.  Through thinking, the practitioners of Stream of Consciousness writing attempt to imitate that which isn't thought.

It doesn't work.  If you read examples of it you may find on the internet, I think you'll agree with me.  What you'll see, I believe, is an effort to express thoughts or feelings in an unconventional manner, sometimes disjointed, sometimes juxtaposition is unexpected, sometimes surprising but not as a stream or flow.  In fact, the thoughts, feelings, ideas presented using the Stream of Consciousness technique are staccato.

How could they not be?  It's a limitation imposed by language itself, I think.  Even shorn of such words as pronouns, the description of walking in the woods would be something like:  Walking, exercise, wood smell, sunny, feeling fit, warm, getting tired, etc.  The description is necessarily made up of separate items, independent of one another.

Words, books, poetry, fiction and non-fiction prose aren't part of James' stream of consciousness, because they're read.  A book or books might be when we merely see or encounter them, but reading and understanding them are not. 

It's true that they may serve to evoke a feeling, however.  But that feeling, having been evoked by the effort of reading and comprehending, isn't part of the stream.  Like reading itself, like thinking, like acting for a purpose, they can be thought of as islands in the stream of consciousness as my old friend put it.  They break up the stream, they divert it, for a time.  Then, we get back to simply existing.

Because writing supposed to reflect a Stream of Consciousness clearly does no such thing (or so I think) I wonder whether such writing was more a fad than anything else.  Perhaps Gertrude Stein was reading James on psychology on day and was struck by the idea, and passed it on to her acolytes, who passed it on in turn.  E.E. Cummings is said to be a poet who used the technique.  If so, his poems always strike me as disjointed, deliberately so--staccato, in fact--and perhaps that can be said to prove my point.  His poems have impact, but they can hardly be said to flow.  They don't flow, they jerk from point to point.  It seems odd to me that any writer would think that they were accurately portraying the way our consciousness works using this device.

Ultimately, perhaps, reading prompts us to decide what kind of island in the Stream of Consciousness writing we want to live on or explore, for a time.  The part of the writer is to make the island worth exploring.  What is worth exploring will vary from person to person and time to time, of course, but that's the way of real islands as well.

 

Fear, Lies and the Liar

"Fear is an idiot" according to Ambrose Bierce.  As I recall, his point was that fear is unintelligent, indeed stupid in the extreme.  Fear cannot think, according to Bierce; it has no brain.  Thus, when possessed by fear (the equivalent in some ways to being possessed by a demon) a person has no brain, doesn't think--cannot think, in fact.

Bierce was treating Fear as if it was a person, or being of some kind, to which human attributes may be ascribed.  In the same fashion and for the same purpose, we may say that Fear is a liar.

How could it be otherwise if Fear is an idiot, incapable of thought?  Fear can't speak the truth as it can't know the truth. Ascertaining what is true in a particular case requires inquiry into a situation.  As C.S. Peirce and John Dewey would say, inquiry is appropriate and effective when there is a problem to be solved, i.e. when we're confronted with something uncertain, unclear, confusing.  Inquiry doesn't arise, though, when interpretation of circumstances is preconceived or predetermined.  Then analysis of a situation becomes a kind of special pleading.  What seems to be uncertain isn't construed as uncertain.  Instead, the situation is deemed to be an instance of X or Y, and efforts are made to make the circumstances conform to the assumption made without taking them into account in any meaningful way.

H.L. Mencken wrote that to a government, the most dangerous person (he said "man," actually) is someone who can think things out without regard to the prevailing superstition.  That may be true.  But in these strange times, who is there who can think things out, let alone think at all?

Lies are ubiquitous now.  Social media and some traditional media are full of them.  Some lies are made with the intent to confuse or promote fear.  Some lies are merely circulated, as instantly as they're made, by those who believe them.  Some merely misstate the facts.  But it seems that lies are believed more and more as more and more lies are made and spread across the World Wide Web, and repeated again and again.

We live in a propagandist's paradise.  Joseph Goebbels would be amazed by the possibilities available, and enthralled by the opportunities presented.  It's so very easy to lie, easier still to spread the lie, now.

Which brings us back to Fear.  There are many liars and so there is much fear.  We have a president who according to available evidence lies virtually every instant.  This is unusual even in a politician.  

Fear is here, and is as ubiquitous as are lies.  Fear of the new, fear of the strange, fear of change, primarily; fear of violence, fear of division, fear of displacement, fear of others unlike ourselves.  Fear the liar takes advantage of Fear the idiot.  Fear the idiot accepts the lies of Fear the liar, without reservation. Fear the liar incites Fear the idiot to thoughtless reaction and to a thoughtless desire to be free from fear and thought, or the need for thinking.

 

The Philosophical Fallacy

Let's retire, for a moment, from the turbulence of these wretched times, and consider philosophy.

John Dewey thought that the most pervasive problem of philosophical thinking is neglect of context. He thought it so pervasive that he called it "the philosophical fallacy."

According to Dewey, the philosophical fallacy, in general, "consists in the supposition that whatever is found true under certain conditions may forthwith be asserted universally or without limits and conditions."

"The philosophical fallacy" is a part of a general critique of philosophical thinking that anticipated, I believe, the criticisms made by later philosophers. Dewey felt that philosophical thinking in large part involves abstraction, reification, and a tendency to treat as insignificant, and perhaps even as less than real (not really real)--or even unreal, that which is non-cognitive or pre-cognitive. (Here I'm paraphrasing Gregory Pappas' interpretation of Dewey on this). It's a form of intellectualism, an emphasis on knowing and what can be known, which is a limited view of our experience. Says Pappas, interpreting and later quoting Dewey: "In fact, we have a qualitative appreciation of our surroundings that precedes, underlies, and cannot be reduced to knowledge. Our intellectual activities always operate within the more general context of the world as encountered, lived, enjoyed, and suffered by humans. In primary experience ‘things are objects to be treated, used, acted upon and with, enjoyed and endured, even more than things to be known. They are things had before they are things cognized.’ (LW 1:27-28)"

I have no idea whether Dewey used the good ole pencil/stick in water chestnut as an example of this fallacy, but I think it is one. You know it, of course. The pencil/stick appears "bent" when placed in water but, in fact, it isn't bent. Therefore, our senses "deceive" us. We can't rely on them to know what is really the case. And that, of course, means....and on we go.

I tend to agree with Dewey. But apparently unlike him I wonder whether the philosophical fallacy and its variants are not merely pervasive in philosophical thought, but an inherent characteristic of it. In other words, is it inescapable? What is philosophy but abstraction, and what is abstraction but, if not the neglect of context, the disregard of it? And if that's the case--whither philosophy?

"Abstraction" is defined as dealing in ideas, not events, of being withdrawn into the mind.  Of course it can be maintained, as I think Dewey would maintain, that ideas occur, and thinking takes place, in context; that one doesn't withdraw into the mind at all as mind is a part of the world just as we and everything else is, and I would agree that's the case.  But while thinking takes place "in context" philosophy at least as traditionally conceived isn't addressed to any particular, specific context, typically.  In saying as he did that philosophy restores itself when it addresses the problems of men rather than the "problems of philosophy" Dewey may have been urging that philosophers apply the tools of philosophy to particular circumstances, to address specific problems.

Well and good.  But that would seem to make philosophy something different from what it has been for centuries.  The problems of philosophy generally aren't problems at all, in that sense that they aren't problems actually encountered in life, i.e. in context.  Who actually doubts their existence in a way that such doubt is reflected in one's conduct in the world?  Who is concerned whether what they see and touch and smell and hear is really what it is and does, to us?  Do I drive my car wondering whether it is in fact a car, and not something else?

But Dewey's criticism of traditional philosophy seems not merely regarding its choice of problems or perhaps more properly creation of problems which are not problems.  It seems to arise from the fact that Dewey believes that what we experience is in large part pre-cognitive and cannot be reduced to knowledge, and that this is ignored by philosophers.  That may mean that philosophy, or at least traditional philosophy, is so fundamentally misguided that it cannot lead to an understanding of the world.

Education is a real problem or involves real problems, and perhaps Dewey was vitally concerned with it because he thought a philosopher could address real problems and not merely philosophical problems by reflecting on education and how to educate.  What else could philosophers do, if indeed they were willing to consider problems outside those of the problems of philosophy?  What would the curriculum of a philosophy department involve, include?

Useful methods of addressing what takes place in a specific context, intelligently, perhaps.  How to think critically.  Perhaps even practical wisdom of the kind the ancient philosophers tried to address.  

Abstraction would certainly be involved, but it would be abstraction employed in addressing problems and issues of the kind which arise in real life, in particular circumstances.  Dewey's awareness of "the philosophical fallacy" may be what led him (in my opinion) to focus on the method of thinking, of inquiring, investigating and making decisions.  It may have influenced him to believe that all conduct and beliefs are subject to revision based on further inquiry.  This has made him a boogieman to those who seek the solace of unquestioned certitude, but his reliance on the scientific method and the similar application of intelligence to non-scientific problems saves him from being a relativist.

Compared to What

There are more than one versions of the jazz composition Compared to What.  My favorite is the live version performed by Les McCann, Eddie Harris and others at the 1969 Montreux Jazz Festival.  I wish I could say I was there for the performance, obviously because in that case I would have been there for the performance (I'm not sure how or why "wish I could say" came to be used in this manner).  It's a great performance of a great song.

Judging from the lyrics, the song is a social commentary of the kind popular in the late 1960s, which as far as jazz is concerned may have been unusual even then.  Jazz isn't commentary; at least not commentary in the form of comment.  The comments made expressly in the song are rather interesting though, at least to me.  "Tryin' to make it real compared to what?"  Compared to what, indeed.

Real, compared to what?  It may be a philosophical question, of the kind debated no doubt futilely over the years.  What is real?  What does it mean to be real?  The question "compared to what?" should be asked whenever such "questions" are raised, at least for the purpose of determining what is actually being asked--if anything.  It isn't clear to me anything is being asked if that question is asked in response to the question being asked.  Real compared to a dream?  Real compared to a hallucination?  To make a comparison one must be able to compare one thing with another.  We already know there is a difference, so it's foolish to act or think as if there is none.

Consider what Wild Bill James is saying in the quote appearing at the head of this post.  The use of the words "ought to be" is interesting to me.  Why does he assume we should be what he claims we have the ability to be?  Assume he's right, and we have these resources we fail to use.  Who's to say we can use them to their fullest extent?  If we can, who's to say that we should?  Perhaps we don't for a perfectly good reason.  Perhaps we wouldn't be recognizably human if we did.  

Such a quote (like the quote referring to truth's or an idea's "cash value") suggests that James may have been the American thinker some say he was (in the sense that Bertrand Russell thought the Pragmatists were typically American because they were concerned with what works, not with what is true).  James seems to be complaining that we aren't as productive as we could be.  Just think of what we could accomplish if we tried hard to do as much as we can!  Shoes for industry!  Shoes for the dead! (Does anyone remember the Firesign Theatre?)

Well, he may have meant something like that, but I would guess he refers more to the human condition than human potential.  James was more psychologist than philosopher--some would say, of course, that he was more a novelist than either a psychologist or philosopher.  He said that what we experienced in life was in the nature of a blooming, buzzing confusion, if memory serves.  Dewey made the same sort of point, though in a less felicitous way, when he wrote that we only think when we encounter problems, otherwise living almost automatically, by habit.

Perhaps Compared to What the song wonders just what it meant to say in 1969 that one was trying to make it real.  Real, compared to the president's war, to preachers preaching, to old ladies and their dogs, etc.?  Remeber when people said such things as "I'm trying to find the real me"?  As if they were not what they were.  The unfortunate fact is that all of it was real, just as all of it is real now.  Perhaps we can make it, ourselves, our lives better.  But we're real and other persons and things are real, not dreams or hallucinations, no matter that we are or they are good or bad.