Tragic dilemmas: Is there ever a ‘right’ action?

Tragic dilemmas: Is there ever a ‘right’ action?

Callum Tipple shows how moral dilemmas can be used as case studies in ethics essays

Callum Tipple

You are in a burning building. Standing in front of you is a scientist who has discovered but hasn’t yet published the cure for cancer, next to your own father. You can only save one. Who do you choose? This is an example of the tragic dilemma, which forms one of the cornerstones of modern ethical thinking. Here we find the true dichotomy between normative ethical theories, with utilitarianism and deontology seeing a clear right and wrong action, and the more character-based theory of virtue ethics suggesting that the agent emerges with ‘blood on their hands’ either way.

I contend that utilitarianism and deontology provide an overly simplistic view of ethical dilemmas, and are inapplicable in the context of human activity and emotion. To this end, I would have to agree with Hursthouse’s powerful judgement from a virtue-based perspective — whichever action taken will result in the agent having ‘marred’ the life of another person, and so a concept of a ‘right action’ is simply not feasible in some situations.

All boards: Ethics options

Utilitarianism

If we were to adopt a classical utilitarian ethical doctrine, then it would be possible to deny the existence of tragic dilemmas, as actions are simply measured in terms of their instrumental value. To a utilitarian such as Bentham, the action to be taken is that which will maximise utility according to the quantitative hedonic calculus. Utilitarianism has an answer to ‘What ought I to do?’ The actions should merely be based on their consequences, rather than abstract concepts of virtue, love or courage, and thus in the burning building example the only viable option would be to save the scientist and, through that, the lives of millions of people.

While it is true that utilitarianism (through its ruthless focus on consequences) could be considered to be most ‘beneficial’ for society as a whole, the chief issue with the utilitarian approach is the ignorance of abstract yet important concepts within its framework. Notions of love and family appear subservient to greater, yet potentially even more abstract and vague, notions of aggregate utility. This results in utilitarianism being so goal-orientated that it fails to take into account greater human feelings of compassion in cases of moral dilemma. As pointed out by Nussbaum, it offers a ‘very reduced picture of what is available in human life’.

Deontology

In many ways deontology provides a less definitive response to the problem of moral dilemmas than does utilitarianism, with its clear-cut consequentialist thrust. However, despite the clear dichotomy between concepts of intrinsic value in deontology and instrumental value in utilitarianism, on tragic dilemmas they are markedly similar in that they both argue that they should and can be resolved in a correct manner.

According to Kantian ideals, modern deontologists contend that when faced with a seemingly irresolvable dilemma, the moral agent should act in accordance with his or her moral duties as a human being to elect which decision should be taken, and should use this to proceed. So long as the action taken is in accordance with the commonly held duties of mankind, and has good intentions, then the moral agent carries no blame and has made the correct choice — this therefore has clear and defined links to Judeo-Christian faith. Is this correct? Isn’t the idea of universalisation morally significant here?

The central issues with the deontological approach centre on the difference between irresolvable and tragic dilemmas. As Philippa Foot points out, many irresolvable dilemmas are indeed trivial (e.g. what to buy for a birthday present). A reliance on duty-based ethics and morality to escape these situations is therefore not feasible, and thus the deontologist must admit either that the theory only works for distressing problems, or that it can always provide a right answer. This is surely way beyond our conceptual and epistemological framework.

Hursthouse and virtue ethics

Given the apparent failings of utilitarian and deontological answers to the issue of moral dilemmas, we might lean towards a more character-based approach, such as that offered by Rosalind Hursthouse in her work On Virtue Ethics (2010). The general guiding principle of virtue ethics is to pose the question ‘what would the virtuous agent do?’, and according to supporters of virtue ethics this should be the primary response to an ethical dilemma.

However, where Hursthouse truly differs from utilitarianism and deontology is in arguing that in certain moral dilemmas it is impossible for the moral agent to have acted ‘well’, as in any circumstance the ‘virtuous agent cannot emerge with her life unmarred’. In cases such as the example of the burning building, the virtuous agent may well elect to save the scientist out of charity, courage and other such virtues, though even then the agent emerges with blood on her hands and remorse, as she has had a role in sentencing her own father to death.

This may seem somewhat contradictory for virtue ethics, as it condemns the virtuous agent — though Hursthouse points out that as she was forced into a shocking act, and did not act out of choice, her virtuous nature remains intact. This forms the key element of Hursthouse’s theory: the differentiation between action guidance (‘what should the agent do?’) and action assessment (‘is X action right?’). Both choices are horrific, though what the agent should do has been forced by her situation, and so it is not as straightforward as merely condemning the virtuous agent outright.

Criticism of Hursthouse

One of the most significant critiques of Hursthouse’s argument on tragic dilemmas comes from Liezl van Zyl (2007). Van Zyl agrees with Hursthouse on the differentiation between action guidance and action assessment, yet the central issue comes with the problem of moral luck. Hursthouse herself admits that ‘in making a forced choice, the agent is blameless’, and so we are led to the question of why it is therefore such a terrible act — it cannot be considered morally bad, as the agent has had no real choice.

Indeed, it almost seems as if it is just bad moral luck that the agent has found herself in this situation, and thus it does not seem just to ascribe guilt or other feelings of remorse to her whatsoever; the action is perfectly permissible, even if this permits the death of one’s father. Van Zyl agrees that the action might be considered ‘fearful’ or ‘dreadful’, but it is actually right to offer praise to the virtuous agent in this circumstance, as she has made an incredibly tough choice in spite of her own conscience.

While it is certainly true that van Zyl’s interpretation counters the problem of moral luck, it is surely right to question whether being ‘blameless’ really equates to, and merits, ethical praise at all — in Fletcher’s example of Mrs Bergmeier, it is quite different to argue that the woman acts well in committing adultery to simply removing blame for her actions. Indeed, Hursthouse admits that the guilt or ‘remainder’ that the virtuous agent feels stems from the way in which she has been forced to abandon her values.

Conclusion

It is evident that Hursthouse provides the clearest explanation of tragic dilemmas along virtuebased lines, and in doing so avoids the oversimplification of utilitarian and deontological approaches to the issue. The problem of contradiction is clearly solved by Hursthouse, though it is certainly true that the problem of moral luck forms a more troubling problem.

Having said that, in being forced to abandon the virtues moral agents are forced into psychological warfare with their own conscience, and thus van Zyl’s criticism seems far off the mark given the real-world nature of tragic dilemmas. The approach of Hursthouse is the only one that accepts the existence of tragic dilemmas and addresses them in a way which is both practical and consistent with ordinary morality.

Callum Tipple is an A-level student at Rainham Mark Grammar School in Kent. He intends to study philosophy and modern languages at university.