The Trolley Problem

Norman Pottshouser stood at the front of a line so long that when he turned, the end could not be seen. He barely remembered waiting on the line, and he certainly didn’t remember getting on it in the first place. In fact, Norman Pottshouser was only now coming to understand Norman Pottshouser was dead. If nothing else, the incredible radiance of the surroundings convinced him – white marble everywhere, opulent but tacky. That, and even though he must have been on line for a very long time, his back wasn’t sore and he didn’t have to pee. And at that moment it all came together in his mind -- he was on the line for the Last Judgment he had heard so much about.

Norman Pottshouser looked at the various angels who were unsmilingly keeping the line moving, and the seraphim droning over the scene, their tiny wings buzzing. Norman Pottshouser then looked down and noticed he was clad in a white robe and admired the gilt piping on the sleeves. Maybe, he thought, being dead won’t be too bad after all. But then he looked straight ahead, and there was God, the Author, the Creator, right in front of him. Surprisingly, he was a white man with a beard.

God dismissed the person He was finished judging and beckoned Norman forward. An angel sitting next to Him gave Him the divine equivalent of a 3 by 5 index card, and Norman Pottshouser was called before the Lord

.

“So, you’re Norman Pottshouser?” God asked rhetorically. “Yes, yes, I created you – Lebanon, Pennsylvania, wasn’t it?” Norman Pottshouser might have taken encouragement from this friendly byplay, but God avoided eye contact and turned back to his notes.

“You were a retired air conditioning contractor, it says here. Married, three children, three grandchildren, only 66 years old.” Norman Pottshouser shrugged embarrassedly – it did seem fairly young. “Well, they told you to cut the carbs and get some exercise,” God said dismissively and scanned the card, then exclaimed, “Aha! Look at this! If I have this right – and I do – forty years ago, you were standing on a bridge overlooking a trolley track. There was a fellow next to you. At that moment, a trolley came careening down the tracks without brakes. You then noticed a switch had been set incorrectly and, if left unchanged, the trolley was heading for derailment, taking all those on board to certain deaths. So, you grabbed the person next to you and threw him onto the track, and the impact of his body on the switch stopped the trolley before a terrible cataclysm could occur.” God paused and looked up at Norman Pottshouser. “That was quick thinking on your part.”

Norman Pottshouser looked about to see if he was now expected to talk. “Well, of course,” he began hesitatingly, “it was an incident that lived with me forever. There were legal consequences. But I made the calculation the loss of one life would avert the loss of many, and by assuming agency over myself and my actions, the worse outcome was avoided.”

“By murdering a stranger?” God replied disbelievingly.

“I know, it was regrettable, and it turned out he was a minister, which was upsetting. But,” Norman Pottshouser brightened, “he did have a terminal disease.”

“Which he didn’t know about.”

Norman Pottshouser nodded. “So, I spared him the pain of finding out, as I see it. And I contributed to a better world, net net, of course. I regret his having to die and one wishes it hadn’t have happened –"

“Having to die? Having to happen? Why didn’t you just jump off the bridge yourself?”

Norman Pottshouser smirked involuntarily. “Well, I’m not crazy. Besides, if I had given myself up, I wouldn’t have survived to learn whether the expected outcome was achieved. I think a big part of the motivation for making these choices is finding out how they turn out.”

God scoffed. “Oh, I see. Well, the penalty for choosing to end the life of another, a malfeasance referred to in the Ten Commandments, usually is damnation.”

The word caused Norman Pottshouser’s soul to startle. He could see his line of argument was getting him nowhere. “But look -- there were a trolleyload of people and only one of him. Sure, he was a minister and a very fine fellow, leaving aside the terminal illness of which he was unaware, so let’s say there were twenty? -- a hundred? -- people on that trolley and only one – OK, with his ministry, call it one-and-a-half -- of him. Anyway you do the math –”

“Silence!” God commanded. “Your comparisons are odious – one life versus many! Who made you God?” It was a particularly biting remark, coming from Him.

“OK,” Norman Pottshouser replied. “Then let me just ask you this. What if the trolley was full of school children? Or nuns? Blind nuns,” he improvised, but then wondered whether He would see that as a special case or not.

“It wasn’t.”

“But what if it was? What if the fellow I threw over the edge didn’t hit a trolley but instead landed on a button that prevented World War Three?”

“There is no such button.”

“What if the fellow I threw over was Hitler’s father?”

God’s brow furrowed angrily as the angels in the area stifled their tittering. “Another Hitler’s father!” God scoffed. “Gee, I never heard that one before! Well, Hitler’s father is not in play, as they say.”

“But what if –”

“What if, what if!” God exclaimed. “Look, you decided to be the instrument of social good, which was very noble, although you were also protecting yourself as well by not volunteering to die. And you did so knowing there would be consequences, and now you’re facing them. Don’t be a wimp.” He turned to the angel holding the index cards. “Get him out of here.”

Two other angels took Norman Pottshouser by the arms and led him away. Norman Pottshouser realized what was happening and became a trembling mass of rage and fear. “It’s not fair! I did the right thing! You can’t do this!” he cried as he was dragged away, although it was patently evident that He could. In a moment, Norman Pottshouser’s soul was remanded to purgatory and God turned to the angel with the index card for the next case.

The angel dutifully handed it to Him, but then spoke.

“If I may, Lord…Just yesterday, in a manner of speaking, you had a fellow in front of you named Petrovsky who was driving his family in a van on a two-lane road and was about to hit a sinkhole and flip over a dangerous escarpment, so he swerved into an oncoming bicyclist. And yet you gave Petrovsky entry to Paradise. As I understand it, these are all variants on a classic problem in philosophy called “The Trolley Problem,” which was first put forward in 1967 by Philippa Foot, in which she considers the bad consequences of good deeds..

“Yes, I remember her – came through here about ten years ago, wasn’t it?” God scratched His hoary head, trying to recollect. So many souls…

“Yes, Lord. But may I ask, what is the difference between that case and this one?”

God shrugged. “Well, it’s just one of those fascinating questions, isn’t it? There’s really no right answer.”

“But if that’s the case –”

"Well, you know what they say," God replied. '"'Life's a bitch and then you die.' Next!"