Many
people consider themselves to be ‘moral’ because they obey the injunctions of
their particular god or gods. They will
argue strenuously that they are not interested in ‘winning’ but rather in
‘doing what is right’. If pushed on the
issue though, these people will most often happily report that a clear benefit
derives from their morality.
Blaise Pascal
argued that it is entirely rational to believe in God (meaning the Christian
god). What is known as Pascal’s Wager is
similar in form to an asymmetric prisoners’ dilemma for one player and
runs somewhat like this:
The logical upshot is that since a sceptical Pascal faces eternal torment if he is wrong and an erroneously faithful Pascal suffers nothing, Pascal’s best bet is to believe, even if God does not exist.
The logical upshot is that since a sceptical Pascal faces eternal torment if he is wrong and an erroneously faithful Pascal suffers nothing, Pascal’s best bet is to believe, even if God does not exist.
Pascal’s
Wager is, of course, a simplification.
Belief in one’s god or gods is rarely sufficient to warrant eternal
bliss. Each belief structure includes a
set of commandments or rules which are additional preconditions for divine
reward. Below is a variation of Pascal’s
Wager. Note that “Supreme Being”
replaces “God” and can refer to a monotheistic creator, as in the
Judeo-Christian and Muslim traditions, a god charged with judging the dead, as
is found in most polytheistic traditions, or an intrinsic justice in the
universe, as implied in some forms of Buddhism.
This structure is based on the possibility that the Supreme Being has set out some guidelines for getting the most out of mortal life, but She does not intend punishing those who fail to follow them. This is accords more with a loving and forgiving type of God, rather than a vengeful and authoritarian type who demands unquestioning obedience. Nevertheless, mortals cannot be certain of the treatment they will receive after death, whether it is contingent on their earthly behaviour or not. Therefore, in this variant of Pascal’s Wager, it seems rational to bet on a stern and unforgiving God and follow His laws.
This structure is based on the possibility that the Supreme Being has set out some guidelines for getting the most out of mortal life, but She does not intend punishing those who fail to follow them. This is accords more with a loving and forgiving type of God, rather than a vengeful and authoritarian type who demands unquestioning obedience. Nevertheless, mortals cannot be certain of the treatment they will receive after death, whether it is contingent on their earthly behaviour or not. Therefore, in this variant of Pascal’s Wager, it seems rational to bet on a stern and unforgiving God and follow His laws.
A
religiously moral person is playing the ultimate end-game, a somewhat extended
‘game’ lasting an entire life-time. By
following the moral rules, a religious person expects to win. That same person expects that someone who
does not follow the rules will lose. The
nature of most religions is that the ‘game’ is entirely individual, my winning
does not preclude your winning as well and my losing neither helps nor hinders
you. Unless there is a divine rule which
states that we should think otherwise, we may be indifferent as to whether another
person wins or loses.
Perhaps
the most important distinction between the game of morality played by a
religious person and the end-game played by Prasopgarn and Sukhum is that a
religious person believes that he can win even if he dies. In the grand scheme of things, in fact, he
only ever wins after he dies. ‘Winning’
in this context, however, should not be confused with beating the Supreme
Being.
A
characteristic that Emperor Prayuhua shares with a Supreme Being, and with
nature, is that he sits so far above the players of the ‘game’ that he creates that
the players would gain little if anything if they chose to play against
him. A less supreme form of this
indifference manifests in our daily considerations, even in the absence of such
huge differences in relative level of status.
Consider a real game, or a sporting venture. When we play, say table tennis, against an
opponent who is clearly inferior we get little joy out of winning against them. (This may not be the case if the opponent is
better at something else, in which case winning at table tennis may be
considered fair compensation for losing in some other competition.)
More
importantly though, there is no great loss of face in being beaten by a clearly
superior rival. But when two players are
very closely matched, both will strive to win and the winner will feel far more
satisfied with a victory.
(The
mythical Greek hero Achilles exalted after slaying the mighty Trojan warrior
Hector, but found day-to-day battles with the more common Trojan soldiers
little more than an inconvenience.
Strangely enough, it was implied that an honour was bestowed upon a
common man when he was slain on the battlefield by a hero. No shame could be attached to losing against
a far superior warrior and in such a battle the common man certainly could not
be expected to win, at least not without the capricious intervention of the
gods.)
When it
comes to ‘games’ played in real life, it can be seen that we do in fact tend to
play only against those who are about the same level as ourselves.
This
concept can be applied to the considerations of Prasopgarn and Sukhum, who
would more likely care about the opinions of their fellow nobles than the
farmers on their own estate. They could
break an agreement with a farmer and feel no qualms about it but might keep a
thoughtlessly made agreement with a fellow noble at considerable cost to
themselves, to ensure that their word remains good. Being observed to act ‘immorally’ by one's
peers or betters seems to matter, whereas being ‘immoral’ in front of those
below us does not.
If you
do not have to explain your actions to anyone, morality and ethics could
be seen as irrelevant. (Of course if you
have a Supreme Being watching you, but then you do have something that
you will have to explain your behaviour to.)
As far
as Prasopgarn and Sukhum are concerned, Emperor Prayuhua, whose very word is
law, is above morality. Prasopgarn and
Sukhum are similarly above morality when it comes to agreements with commoners.
Note
that if a Lord were to break his word with a farmer and another Lord were fully
aware of this betrayal, it might still not matter. A promise made by a Lord to a farmer is
unlikely to be considered binding because it is not an agreement between
equals.
Consider also some of the quirky behaviour of modern humans.
Many people anthropomorphise their cars, even to the extent of talking
to them. (I’m really hoping it’s not
just me here.) We could imagine such a
person speaking to their car when it refuses to start properly, making what
amounts to a verbal agreement by saying “Please start and I promise I’ll put
you in for a service next week!” Even if
the car obligingly starts immediately, the owner can hardly be considered to be
under a moral obligation to have the vehicle serviced as promised.
A car
is a chattel, just as a farmer may be a chattel in the eyes of a Lord. If you have sufficiently dehumanised those
you are dealing with, and if you have consensus within your social grouping,
among your peers, as to that dehumanisation then you are under no obligation to
act in a manner which would be considered moral in other circumstances, such as
when dealing with your equals.
So, if
the person you are dealing with is not fully human, or at least is not your equal
in humanity then, while moral injunctions may apply in theory, not all of them
may apply in practice.
----------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------
This article is one of a series. It was preceded by Ethics as Winning Games and will be followed by Towards a Rational Origin of Ethical Structures. It all started with the first prelude, Saving the Dog.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Feel free to comment, but play nicely!
Sadly, the unremitting attention of a spambot means you may have to verify your humanity.