The Trolley Paradigm

The trolley problem works amazingly well as an attitudinal gyroscope

I’ve come to find that the trolley problem works well as a tool for controlling my attitude. I’ve found that I can use every aspect of the trolley problem to represent some kind of attitude, which means ‘my job’ inside my head becomes remembering that I’m always at the switch, rather than being the train, or one of the people tied to the tracks.

Sometimes I feel like I am are tied to the tracks, constantly, awaiting some bad thing, or maybe hoping for some reward to come. Either way, I am passively waiting for the world to influence me in some way beyond my control. In these moments, I get off the tracks by reminding myself that no, I am the one pulling the lever.

Other times, when I am working out, pumped up, ready to GO, I see myself as the trolley, barreling forward. This feels AWESOME. It is also unsustainable. In these moments it is wise for me to remember that I am going to be the one who gets crushed when this high burns off. Moving too fast now means I’ll slip and fall on the tracks and get run over by the trolley.

In recalling that I am always at the switch, I change the narrative in my head, to slow the trolley down a bit. Breathe. I breathe, am present with myself, and slow down. A crowd tied in front of the tracks screams in anger, how can you do this to us! But I recall that they are all me, that I am them, and the loudest voice isn’t always the wisest.

Other times I feel as if I am trying push the trolley, this damn thing is so HEAVY, I am so TIRED, I just want to lay down here on these tracks - and at these moments I remember how to add a little fuel to the fire. Some music, dancing, movement, playful aggression, I pretend to be an heroic warrior, and the trolley picks up the pace a bit.

When I’m at my best, I stand at the juncture, consciously switching the narrative in my head. In these times, I am the master of my fate. I can choose to believe I am the one telling the story in my head, and this choice makes it true.

Like many of our ancestors, I try to carry around in my head a vision of what a better world could look like. My life has improved dramatically since I started doing this, For what progress I’ve made, I’ve found it’s crucial for me to always remember that the most important place to situate myself is at the switch.

On the one track, I have to hold the simultaneous appreciation for the complexity of the past, the uncertainty of the future. On other track, lies my vision of a better future. Neither one of these tracks is always the right choice. I suspect that the act of choosing between different values, both of which can be good, is the reason consciousness exists at all. A model for navigating a primate through the cosmos contains a pointer to itself; that model’s reference to itself is a point of extreme leverage.

Most of the time, I don’t need to worry about flipping the switch to change the future. Many times, the tracks I could choose are more or less parallel, with nobody on them, but they run along different slopes. It feels great to go fast, but if I get too carried away, I’ll fall down on the tracks and run myself over. I can’t out run that trolley forever. If the trolley isn’t going the way I want it to, I have to stop pushing the thing, stop waiting for it to crush me, and remember, I can choose a different track.

Sometimes, rarely, there is a real choice to be made. All choices involve giving up on some possibilities, effectively killing some possible version of the future. The easy ones are the ones that involve pitting rational analysis against the impulse to act now. Those choices are as simple as remembering, I don’t need to try and stop the train; changing the story in my head changes the track to an uphill slope. I have a sufficiently large ego that remembering and renewing the belief that ‘I am in charge inside my head’ feels better than almost any reward the external environment could offer.

On even more rare occasions, there are tracks with people I love tied to either one of them. My wife is sick, my kids are too, but my dad is lonely in the nursing home, my mom is in recovery from surgery, all these people I love could use my help, and I want to help all of them but I can’t. If I worry that I’ll make the wrong choice, that’s me being tied to the tracks. If I feel compelled to just go with my gut, stop thinking just act - sometimes that’s wise, but often that’s me being the trolley.

I don’t have to barrel through. I don’t have to pull the switch now. I can always pause, breathe, and ask God/my ancestors/the universe/my subconscious mind for wisdom and guidance. I center my thoughts on love and service, duty and strength, playfulness and purpose, and usually there’s a pretty obvious choice. I recall the possibility that everyone on those tracks is me, that nobody’s perfect, and if I were able to consistently act out of love, that would be truly remarkable and far beyond what I’m presently capable of. That means accepting inevitable mistakes. I pull the switch. I make a choice, commit to it, and don’t blame myself for not being able to give as much love to the world as I’d like.

You are a human being. You struggle, you suffer. You have ideals, you often fall short of them, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t a good person. I love you, I want the best for you, and so I hope you’ll join me at the switch.