I’ve noticed quite a bit recently that people are starting to turn to music to spread hope. There are videos of Italians (and now, Americans!) singing and dancing from their porches. There’s one circulating right now from Barcelona of a saxophonist and pianist playing “My Heart Will Go On” (which, kudos—it’s very hard to stay in tune and in time from so far away). My local news channel today played a bunch of these videos. They also invited an amateur singer over FaceTime on the show to sing Bill Wither’s “Lean On Me” (which I really enjoyed—it’s my favorite song).

The singer works as a doctor, every day helping swarms of anxious, sick individuals. He said on the air that he tries to sing as often as he can because he noticed that it made people smile—children especially benefit from his voice. It takes their minds off of the frightening world around them.

Music gains kind of a special power, I think, when a person is in an emotional crisis. I know that I have my “sad” playlist on Spotify, and I’m positive many others have their own version of that sad playlist as well. There’s something powerful and comforting about music that can almost empathize with you—it’s telling you that you’re not alone, that someone else out there feels the same way you do. It’s why Adele’s “Someone Like You” seems to hit extra hard when you’re reeling from a breakup, why a great movie is also accompanied by a great soundtrack, why presently songs like John Lennon’s “Imagine” are suddenly spiking in popularity. People are seeking out something that they can kind of stick to—they want hope in a situation where hope is difficult to find.

Music is transformative. I’ve been listening to a lot more than I usually do: classic, modern, lyrics, no lyrics, even musicals, weirdly. Calm music when I’m anxious. Sad music when I feel I need to let myself cry. Happy music when I want to keep up my good mood. I just try to let myself get lost in it.

I find there’s a similar feeling when creating music, too. I’d encourage you all to make music, if you can. Whether it’s picking up an instrument that you haven’t touched in a while, or just humming to yourself while you make spaghetti. It doesn’t have to be good. It can be flat-out terrible: that’s not the point. The point is to make yourself feel good when you play. Tap out a beat with your pencil while you do homework. Sing along with your favorite song! Music resonates with a lot of people. Who knows—you may find that it relieves just a little bit of your stress, and that’s enough.

Now More Than Ever…

This is by far one of the weirder situations I’ve experienced in my life, and I’m sure many of you can relate. So, for this post I’m just going to list a bunch of music I like—horn concerto or otherwise, in case anybody would want to take a listen and put their minds off of the current situation.

A piece that I absolutely loved playing last semester was Percy Grainger’s “Colonial Song,” written about his hometown in Australia. The first note is like a warm sigh that just wraps around you—the song is gentle but also playful, and the swell of the piece towards the end always gives me goosebumps. Whenever I hear this song, it forces me to reminisce about where I came from, too. Playing this song, it was impossible for me to ever be in a bad mood. I’d also highly recommend the piano arrangement, which I believe was actually his original piece—the band arrangement came second. It’s just absolutely beautiful music.

If you’re looking for a more contemplative song, but still equally emotive, I’d recommend Piazzolla’s “Oblivion.” It’s a sadder, slower piece that is traditionally performed by a woodwind quintet: a French horn, bassoon, flute, clarinet, and oboe. I’ve linked to an arrangement by Imani Winds, who I’m partial to because I saw them perform this live; however, any arrangement has its own unique texture and qualities. The Imani Winds group gives a little bit of a jazzy edge at times to the sound, especially on their last chord; they balance it beautifully with the darkness of the tone. If a black hole had a song, it’d be this piece.

For this piece, I’ll say if you have time to listen to the whole thing—roughly fifty minutes long—then you absolutely should. I’m talking about Gustav Holst’s “The Planets,” a piece with one movement for every planet. If you only have a few minutes to spare, then I would listen to my personal favorite of the movements, “Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity.” However, each movement has a different feel and tone, and each are so emotive in such different ways. Jupiter, for example, has a section that’s structured around the hymn “I Vow To Thee, My Country,” also written by Gustav Holst. It’s a heartfelt chant about the love one has for their home; the other sections of Jupiter are equally bombastic and joyful, with a lot of flute and other instruments that create a kind of “sparkling” feel.

One of my absolute favorite solo horn pieces is Paul Dukas’s “Villanelle,” a piece just for horn and piano. The beginning is confident and strong, but it quickly settles into a gentle melody which is always delightful to play. But after just a bit, it quickly picks up again, into complex runs—my favorite part, however, is how simple the runs sound regardless. Compositionally it’s a wonderful piece, with intricate piano harmonies as well. I’ve been trying to learn it on my own time, but it’s an intense piece for sure. It switches at one part to stopped horn, and has quite a demanding range for anyone who plays it, as well as a tricky fast-paced section.

And finally, I would recommend—though a little long!—John Mackey’s “Wine-Dark Sea.” It’s roughly thirty minutes, and it charts the Greek myth of Odysseus as he travels from place to place. My favorite movement—there are three—is the second, which tells the story of how Odysseus spent seven years marooned on an island with Calypso. Odysseus eventually remembers that he has to go back to his kingdom, and leaves Calypso, which leaves her heartbroken. It has some very emotional moments.

I’d make this list longer, but I don’t think I would ever stop. If you decided to listen, great! I hope it helped take your mind off of these weird times. When I re-listened to them today, it certainly did.

If Not Here, Then Where?

Not to get “deep” on this RCL public passion blog, but honestly, if you can’t get deep here, then where? Anyways. I know that I suffer, and that a lot of my friends suffer, from an idea of perfectionism. If you make a mistake, it’s crushing; an A- on a test looms over you for weeks on end because you have to work extra hard to get that A, to score the highest you possibly can. For a lot of Schreyer students especially, this is a difficult issue to work through. Many of us were told we’re destined for great things, that we’re the best of the best; then, to suddenly enter college, where work becomes more difficult and you may get a A- or, god forbid, a B, it can be extremely demoralizing. Grades suddenly seem to reflect the person’s worth rather than the work.

A Rough Hour

For me, that pressure manifests in my academics, but also in a musical setting. At my French horn lesson the other week, my professor suggested to me that I needed to practice more; the etudes I’d prepared that day were not great, and of course she was respectful about it. We get daily lesson grades. She told me that my grade would probably be a C+ or B-, and that next time I should be better prepared. Again—my professor (I love her to death) said this only with the intent to make me a better player. She told me very explicitly what to fix, and how to do it.

Writing this now, I’m only cringing, but in the heat of the moment, I was devastated. I’d never been given a bad grade for anything I’d played before. In high school, I never struggled; at my auditions for college, I only ever got praise, and I got into every school I auditioned at. Even the semester before, I was given good grades during lessons because I fixed my mistakes as they came. My professor doesn’t grade for making a mistake; she grades on your ability to catch and fix those mistakes.

And for sure, don’t get me wrong, I’ve received pointers before about my playing. That doesn’t bother me at all! I’m absolutely not perfect. You need people who are better than you to teach you if you ever want to improve—I’ve improved tenfold over the past 1.5 semesters and I owe that to my teacher who fixed my poor horn-playing habits. But it’s a different kind of hurt when you’re assigned a numerical value over your playing mistakes, especially ones you’ve fixed before or know that you should be doing better on. For the rest of the lesson, I was flustered. I messed up scales that I usually know by heart and I flubbed my other pieces.

You Might Relate

Failing, especially in a context where you hold yourself to a high standard, can be devastating. The thought has crossed my mind a few times that I’ll never really be good enough to keep playing horn—that’s capital g Garbage, folks. When those thoughts arise, you just have to learn how to deal with them effectively. Everyone will fail at one point or another. It’s a part of life, and it’s how you get better. Your grade on a midterm might keep you from getting an A; you might study for hours and hours on end, losing sleep just to avoid a grade lower than a 98.

When you fail (easier said than done, trust me), know that it isn’t a reflection on your self worth, especially if you fail at something you’re passionate about, or something that is essential to your major. It’s difficult, but you just have to pick yourself up and try again, but most importantly, you have to be proud in what you do accomplish. During my lesson, I made quite a few mistakes. But my tone in my low range is improving, so I can take pride in that. I’ve worked hard to achieve that. It’s all about the little victories, and knowing that even if you fail, it will be okay.

Where To Start…

For anyone who may be looking to learn horn (or any instrument in general), it can be daunting to try to find out where to start. There are so many instruments and options to pick from, as well as different bands or orchestras to join, and then of course there’s the issue of actually learning how to play the instrument! Music is first and foremost supposed to be enjoyable for both the audience and performer, so here’s a few tips and tricks to get you started with the logistics so you can launch right into playing in a group ensemble. I’ll try to keep it general, just in case anyone is thinking about trying an instrument that is not the horn.

Technique

I’ll assume that if you do intend to pick up an instrument, you at least have one that you can access semi-regularly, whether it is your own or rented. I would describe the process of buying a (moderately-priced!) instrument, but that would take an entire blog post on its own! So, I’ll jump right into technique.

A few basic techniques that have helped me when I first started playing are simple, but make all the difference. Perfect technique starts with your posture. After all, your primary tool for playing the horn is your breath. So, you want a straight line, or a path with very little resistance, for your breath to enter the horn. Slouching makes it so that less of your airstream enters the horn.

An example of good and bad posture from Band Directors Talk Shop (Posture For The Developing Horn Player).

You also want your body to be as relaxed as possible. Though most people don’t recognize it, tension can have negative effects on both your playing and your physical health! I used to have back pain because I was holding my horn wrong, and it made me tense my shoulder blades and lower back. Plus, my sound became tight and tense. Playing loosely helps you in the long run, especially when trying to hit high notes as well—a relaxed posture can be the difference between a soaring high note, and a breathy, “squeezed-out” note.

Practice Habits

It is extremely important to have a sort of routine that you can fall back on each time you warm up or cool down from playing. On the horn specifically, things like lip slurs and scale patterns are helpful in a lot of different ways. Scales in general are important to many different instrument types, especially more physical instruments such as strings or piano. But on brass or woodwind instruments especially, you want your practicing to take you throughout your range of notes, as well as help to keep you in tune.

I like to start with a descending, then ascending, lip slur, starting on F. By descending first, I give myself time to wake up the muscles in my embouchure (mouth/cheek muscles) before attempting higher notes. I also like going through the chromatic scale to wake up the muscle reflexes in my fingers, as well as—again—stretching my range. Then I’ll go through some scales and other lip slur warm ups and I’m good to go. It does depend on the instrument, however, as well as the person. The main goal is to make sure that you’re warmed up and ready to play without possible strain/injury.

An example of a possible warm up.

When practicing actual repertoire, it is important to practice “correctly.” What I mean is, if you keep making a mistake, don’t blow through it and keep going. Take the time, no matter how tedious and boring it may feel (and it can feel that way a lot, trust me), to fix the mistake before you keep going. It forces you to pay attention to how you play, as well as forces you to hold yourself to a high standard, even when it’s just you in a practice room. Music is enjoyable when it comes together; the leg work to get there may be frustrating, but it is definitely worth it.

To Finish…

That should be a crash course of basic technique/warm up for any general instrument! Playing an instrument, and becoming good at said instrument, is a lot of work. But it is also extremely rewarding; practice and play with these little tips and tricks, and the road to becoming proficient just got that much easier!

The French horn used to be a much simpler-looking instrument. It had no valves, no intricate and complex tubing to figure out. It was just a hollowed out piece of brass with two ends: the mouthpiece end and the bell.

This was alright for the time period in which these horns were useful. Horns were open instruments and could only play certain notes of the harmonic series. This meant that certain “steps” in music between notes—half-steps, for example, like the switch from F to F sharp—were impossible to play due to the natural resonant frequency of the instrument. So for example, a horn in C could play the notes C, E, G, C, and D, once the high range became high enough. As a horn gets higher, the partials become smaller, and so more notes are indeed possible, but not many.

(This picture from Horn Supremacy takes a look at the natural open-fingered harmonic series of the horn.)

This is key for understanding why the switch was eventually made from a valveless horn to the modern French horn. As French horns became more in demand for orchestras, for example, the horn player needed to be able to hit every note on the staff, not just a few predetermined ones. The valves that are built into the horn make that possible. Most horns are in F, which means that they have three valves; the size of the first valve plus the size of the second valve will always equal the size of the third valve. For horns that are in Bb, or double horns, the same concept applies, but the valves are accordingly shorter in order to accommodate a higher key. The combination of these different valves actually alter the sum length of the horn, and therefore make it possible to play different notes. By pressing down the third valve, for example, you move down three half-steps (a minor third). Pressing down other valves opens up different harmonics as well; now instead of starting on C for example, you could start on A with the first and second valves and be able to play A, C sharp, E, etc. With the combination of different keys, every note in the chromatic scale from pedal G to high C is available for horn players to utilize.

There is a caveat however. Unlike woodwind instruments, where one combination of buttons equals exactly one note output, there are a few different ways to finger each and every note. The note E, for example, can be played open, one and two, or three. Each variation, too, has slightly different tuning. It can mess up your playing if you’re not careful. Sometimes you could aim for an open C, but only hit open Bb (which is out of tune anyway, just to add insult to injury). Horn and brass players in general need to be hyper-aware of what note they’re aiming for in order to avoid mistakes like those. Similarly, having the general knowledge of what notes tune sharp or flat can help you make educated decisions about how to finger those notes. The note high A flat on horn is always a little sharp, for example. So it would be in your best interest to try a fingering that lowers the pitch a little bit (two and three instead of just two).

As you can see, the French horn became much more complex when valves were added, but also much more versatile in what it could play. Natural (valveless) horns are still used, but only in specific contexts or for natural horn concertos! But mostly they are phased out and now professional horn players have valves attached to their horn.

The semester for me has been surprising in a number of ways. First off, I realized that I was in the wrong major; it took a few months of thinking and deliberating, but I can finally say I’m making the right choice in moving away from music education, which is what I entered Penn State for. I’m currently exploring a double major, which will be difficult, especially considering that none of their classes overlap at all, but I’m willing to give it a shot. In terms of RCL and what I’ve learned over this semester, there are a few things. I’ve never been challenged by an English class before, so that was new and honestly kind of refreshing. I’ve actually had to put effort into this class, whereas in high school I could pretty much coast. I’ve also learned the importance of rhetoric and the like on our daily lives. I’ve never considered, for example, how daily items have different connotations and rhetorical value. I go through my day seeing new things and implications in mundane objects, which is interesting and gives a new spin to how I see the world around me.

Giving the speech and TED Talk was difficult, too, but as a musical performance major it helped to be put into that situation. I’m comfortable performing with an instrument, but simply speaking, there is nothing between you and the audience and that can be difficult. Putting myself in that situation where I was not in my comfort zone definitely helped my performance by making me adapt to new situations and keep my calm even when I was stressed about a grade.

As Applicable To The Real World As Your High School Math Class

This blog post is one that is, regrettably, not relevant to today’s society as much as the others have been. But that does not make this topic any less intriguing to conceptualize and think about, despite its sometimes ridiculous sci-fi qualities. Many instances of media have tackled this exact topic. Yes, that’s right: I’m going to be writing about time travel. I mean, why not?

The ethical implications of time travel have been the focus of countless films and movies; what happens if we change history? Is it our right? What if in making history “better,” we make the future comparatively worse? If we went into the future and saw our destiny, does that lock us into becoming that destiny, or can we change our actions up to that point? What’s stopping time travelers from taking future technology and introducing it to the past? It would certainly make life better, but is it breaking an assumed natural law or progression of events?

If You Could…

Wow. Obviously, there are more than enough hypotheticals to be considered. Let’s start with the most intriguing one, at least to me: the concept of changing one action in the past to affect the timeline in the future. In terms of current history, some people may consider some pivotal events to be fully in black and white, and elect to change them. Nobody, for example, would argue against going back in time and preventing the assassination of MLK Jr., or going to pre-WWII Germany and stopping the Holocaust. If given the opportunity, it would seem immoral to choose to let these play out normally. But the ethical debate comes into play when you consider the consequence of changing history. Firstly: though these events were horrible, what right would a person have to change it? Lives were shaped, for better or worse, by those experiences. Changing an event in time would possibly mean altering somebody’s sense of identity.

Perhaps even more importantly, there can be unforeseen consequences to altering the past. For example, it may cause a new problem to spring up in its place. Or, in unlucky circumstances, a worse outcome may prevail. Even in theoretical discussion, there is too much that could happen outside the expected result. There may be unintentional harm done to other people in the era. And, even then, this all depends on a linear timeline, one where time travel changes an entire reality, instead of altering one branch of a multi universe. In the multi universe theory, there are many parallel universes, each with slightly different outcomes to each timeline, so time travel would create a “branched” timeline. Many different movies have tried to conceptualize what time travel would actually look like; in the recent Avengers: Endgame movie, for example, time travel there does not affect the future, but instead just the people who time travel. So that would add on its own slew of ethical issues in, first, figuring out the implications of time travel, and second, trying to deduce whether or not to utilize the method.

See You Sometime In The Future

So obviously this situation is hypothetical, at least for a very, very long time. Modern technology is nowhere near the capacity to even entertain the idea of time travel. But I find it an interesting ethical question nonetheless; if there were ever a time where time travel became a reality, how would it look? What questions about the universe would it answer? Even if we are eventually able to time travel, should we? I mean, as I complete this passion blog an hour before it is due, I could certainly see a benefit in time travel. The only feasible time travel we have right now is the ability to look back in the past, with our newly gained 20-20 vision, and mourn the productiveness that could have been.

These Words Are My Choice, Too… I’m Pretty Sure?

Today I decided to write my passion blog early. I laid down in bed, took out my laptop and began to type. I had finished my other homework, made the choice to study for a quiz, got a burrito for dinner because I was in the mood for one, and finally, after a few hours of self-imposed rehearsal, was settled to do some work. A productive day, all in all, full of my own choices and free will.

Or was it? Perhaps I was predetermined to do these things today. After all, last week I made the mistake of procrastinating on my homework; I now feel compelled, forced, to begin my new work early to avoid excess stress. Is that my own free will at work? Or is my future simply bound to what happened in the past? Am I predestined to lay here, in my messy college dorm, writing, ironically, about free will?

Unfortunate Circumstances

What makes the concept of humanity so interesting is our apparent free will—we can think about an action before we take it, and choose what best suits us. In theory, each person has their own life to lead. They can pick their friends, a career that interests them, a romantic partner that they love. All our lives, we are told that we can make whatever we choose out of our time on earth. But is that truly the case? Are we really unbound to any other influence, allowed to do anything we pick? Consider a person born into the rural American south, on a farm. They will be raised on the farm, grow up planting crops and harvesting come the season. When they enter adulthood, they may not know any other path than farming. They may like it, dislike it, whatever the case may be: but most likely, if that is all that person knows, they will choose to farm as their own profession when they are older. Similarly, a child may grow up in a religious household, and remain religious when they are older. They did not have a choice to be born into a religious household. They may decide to keep the religion on their own—but the fact remains, the circumstances they were born into shaped who they became, and thus influenced the choices that they were willing to make.

So does circumstance limit free will? It would certainly seem so. A person who is born to excessive money, for example, will have an objectively different life than a person born with nothing to their name, no matter what choices each may make. Circumstance matters. It frames how decisions are made. Because of a person’s background, they will be predisposed to certain decisions. This would render free will null and void.

Born Unchangeable?

Similarly, and equally disheartening, genetics seem to affect many different characteristics and predispositions. Temperament in personality, for example, is controlled by many different genes; a person can also be inclined to musical talent, or be gifted with an athlete’s body. Those traits, when expressed in real life, would possibly push someone towards one career over another. Granted, a predisposition does not mean a person is forever locked into their genetic lottery. Certainly work and effort—free will!—change how a person’s life may play out. And likes and dislikes are just another part of a person’s complexity. A man may be built like a runner and hate running, so he chooses never to do it. But it does not change the fact that genetics, as cultural background, serve to place us into a sort of “range” of possibility. This is, I think, an accurate representation of just how much free will we have in our lifetime.

Framing A Lifetime

Consider. A person is born, relatively average. They have a good temperament and are predisposed to be friendly and outgoing; their “range,” per say, starts at a neutral level, but could reach a high and very social peak if the right conditions and choices are made within a person’s life. Similarly, this person is of average athletic predisposition. Their metaphorical range does not go all the way to the top, but this person has the potential to be a decent athlete if they put in the work. They were also born into a religious family; they are given the choice when they are older to shed that identity, or choose to keep it. That decision, that choice that they had to make, was ironically forced upon them due to circumstance.

This metaphorical person is given a framework of how their life may go. There are certain unavoidable restrictions placed upon their free will: genetic personality influences, cultural pressures, limiting outside influences. But within this symbolic range or framework, there is certainly room to wiggle. This person could choose to go to the gym each day, for example. That would lower their risk for heart issues, possibly granting them a longer life.

Free will does not seem absolute, at least to me. I see it as a kind of framework. There is a set beginning and end to our lives. There are certain things we are just not capable of, no matter how hard we try. But those things that we do have control over? They still matter. They can improve your quality of life or damage it—perhaps just not in the grand way that media or movies tend to represent it. So the only thing there is to do is to go out there and live your best life. Nothing’s stopping you.

Are We Featherless Bipeds?

Philosophy has many angles. Everything on this blog so far has been concerned with how a person should act, exploring some schools of thought concerning the most “moral” way a person should approach a situation. But philosophy goes deeper than that; it does not also ask the question of how we should act, but rather, how do we figure out who we are? What defines a human?

The ancient Greeks debated this topic feverishly. Plato famously attempted to define a man, using references from his mentor Socrates. He settled on a scientific definition, naming man a “featherless biped,” two characteristics that distinguished humanity from other animals. In a humorous scene, Diogenes the Cynic, hearing Plato’s definition, plucked a chicken in his home and brought it to one of Plato’s lectures. When Plato asserted that man was a featherless biped, Diogenes stood, brandished the bald chicken and shouted, “Behold—a man!” Plato, perhaps missing the point of Diogenes’ criticism, then continued to amend his definition to “featherless biped with flat, broad nails.”

A New Perspective

Plato considered mankind to be biological: humanity has certain genetics that separate them from animals. With new waves in thinking over time came new ways of seeing ourselves: take the famous “I think, therefore I am,” brought to mind by Descartes, that argues any person who is able to think about their own thinking must be alive. Others, religiously affiliated, may believe that a person is composed of a soul, and that the body is just a housing place for the spirit. Others still may argue that any form of intelligent life constitutes a person. Still more may fight for a definition of humanity that includes the ability to feel emotion. These questions may seem easy at first. Of course a human has different genetics than an animal; of course a person is intelligent and emotive. But these questions become muddy when you consider the ramifications. For example: would a clone, bred in a lab, be a human being? Be a person? Genetically, yes. Identical to one, in fact. But to those religious few, whose definition of a person includes a soul, a clone would not be human. What about intelligent synthetic life—AI? To a person who uses Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am” to argue the concept of the self, an AI would constitute consciousness. Artificial intelligence has the capability to think, and in the future, that capability is going to grow.

The Modern AI Problem

AI is perhaps the most relevant discussion our society will have to have when answering this question. In Plato’s time, the question “who are we,” while complex, did not have these additional nuances to try and work out. There are already examples of robots and AI being aware and thinking on the spot. Just a few years ago, that was not feasible. It is not out of the realm of reason to consider that in the future, AI may advance to the point of near perfection; emulation of emotion, a synthesized, near-human body—an intelligent life form, created by man’s own hand. Or, rather, not a life form, but perhaps a being either way. If technology ever reaches that point, then the already muddy question of what is a human will become much, much more difficult to answer. People today already empathize with animals who we perceive to have intelligence; dolphins, for example, or dogs, who learn tricks and sometimes seem to act with “human” emotions. Robot “life” would be more intelligent than ourselves; so for those who use the definition of “intelligence” to constitute consciousness, then AI, arguably, would be more human than humanity. It is an interesting concept to grapple with, and surely one that society may have to come to grips with eventually.

A Hypothetical To End On

If this hasn’t gotten you thinking about the nature of yourself and your thoughts, your consciousness, then I hope this scenario will. Imagine you die. Within minutes, a copy of your body—each scar, indent, blemish, and freckle the same—is created. Your memories are also exactly the same, except for one crucial thing: you do not remember dying, nor being “reborn.” Is this hypothetical you, the second you, the same as the first? What makes you, you? Your consciousness? Your physical body? Your memories, or ability to think? Or would this new you not be the same? The nature of self is confusing, and there is no right answer. I just hope you are able to think more clearly about who you are, what you are, and why you can think about it critically at all.

Happiness At A Maximum?

Now I know not all of us are on a pre-med track (I certainly am not), but stick with me here. Imagine you are a renowned doctor. Your surgeries have a 100% success rate—anything you set out to do will work. One day there is a terrible pile-up off of a local highway; five people, each hours within the edge of their lives, are rushed to the ER. They each need different organs transplanted, or they will die. One needs a heart; another many gallons of blood, one a liver, and the last two each need opposite lungs.

There aren’t available organs in stock. It’s been an hour on life support and it’s looking like none of the five are going to make it, when suddenly a healthy young man walks through the door. His blood type and anti-bodies match each person perfectly. He is their only hope—he has to die in order to save the five. Each person is able to receive the body part they need from him, and you, as a world-class surgeon, are the only person who can successfully pull off the surgery. Do you forcibly kill the man (assuming current laws are not in effect), saving five? Or do you let him live, but let those five victims perish?

Cold, Calculating Utilitarianism

This is the utilitarian dilemma: the right action to take in this situation is the one that maximizes happiness—in this case, killing the one man and saving the five. In a utilitarian viewpoint, the evils of taking one person’s life are offset by the benefit of saving the car crash victims. Intentions, and actions taken to get to an endpoint, play no role in a utilitarian’s thought process. Morality is quantitative to the utilitarian. The net amount of good is the main focus of any utilitarian train of thought. The doctor in our scenario may perform an unspeakable act—killing the man, robbing him of his right to live. But in the same breath, he turns around and grants five others that same right; and, as the math majors among us know, five is greater than one.

Paradoxically, while trying to maximize a happiness output, utilitarianism is often regarded as cold and uncaring of human life. People in utilitarian scenarios seem to be stripped of their humanity, more a means to an end or a number. Take the healthy man in the above scenario. His own life, memories, and happiness is not taken into account. Instead, he is reduced to a number—one versus five—in an absurd contest that he is fated to lose. A utilitarian viewpoint does not concern the deeper philosophical questions regarding right to life or the concept of “playing God.” Yes, those five people from the car crash would be saved. But at what cost? What gives them the right to exist over the man who wondered in, or even vice-versa? Whose life has more “merit?”

At the same time, utilitarianism, while cruel, can have its merits. I am sure you are at least familiar with the “bitten by a zombie” trope. If not, let me explain briefly: a member of your party in the zombie apocalypse has been bitten. There is an 80% chance that the virus will take hold and transform them into a zombie, and a 20% chance they will be fine. You debate on whether to kill them or let them live. A utilitarian would do what a softer person could not and kill them before they could become a zombie. To them, the choice is obvious. It does more good to stop a zombie from infecting other members of the group. They would only be killing one person, as opposed (possibly) to the disastrous collateral damage (consequence) if the virus took hold. Utilitarianism, while cold, can be useful in the long run.

Embrace It Or Not?

I certainly cannot tell you what to think. Utilitarianism is a divisive school of thought to be sure. But it is not the only way to see and approach the world—and as this blog continues, so will its viewpoints. Hopefully, your own scope of reference will widen as you consider different ways to handle moral dilemmas. In the meantime, I’m going to go get certified to be a surgeon. Ciao.