Telling the truth, moral luck, and being a child of your circumstances
You can’t just expect people to tell you the truth: you have to create an environment where they can tell the truth as well.
This came to me many years ago when I was very unpunctual---the kind of person who was habitually late to everything. I was meeting with a friend who stressed that they had to leave by 12.30 to arrive at a 1.00 appointment. Our meeting stretched on until 12.45---as they left, I apologised that I had made them late.
“Oh, don’t be,” they said. “I anticipated this, so I told you that I needed to end at 12.30 so that we would be done by 12.45.”
That was an eye-opener for me---honesty is important to me, and yet they had no choice but to be dishonest to me in order to get to where they wanted on time. I like people to tell me the truth---but how can I expect people to tell me the truth if I don’t create the right circumstances for them to do so?
Ever since then I have been very aware of the time for these types of things.
I recently read an article about Jakarta sinking due to people digging illegal wells, draining the foundations of the city. If nothing is done within a decade, much of Jakarta will be underwater.
This is a bad thing (to say the least). But it’s understandable why people do that. Many people in Jakarta lack clean water, and this is the only way they can get it.
If we want them to do things legally, we have to create an environment where they can do so.
To halt the sinking, the city needs to stop the digging of wells, which means Jakarta must provide residents with reliable, clean, piped-in water and, to clear the waterways, somehow — at a cost of untold billions — retrofit one of the world’s biggest cities with a sewer system, or something approaching it.
The work Silence is about faith and struggle. My favourite character in Silence (both the novel by Shusaku Endo and the movie directed by Scorsese) is Kichijiro, a weak Christian who keeps denying the faith under persecution. He has a plaintive explanation: he is weak, and he is born in a time when his weakness makes him an apostate. But if he had been born earlier in a time of prosperity, he would have been a good Christian.
‘ . . .Yes, it is true that I trod on the holy image. . . But I have my cause to plead! One who has trod on the sacred image has his say too. Do you think I trampled on it willingly? My feet ached with the pain. God asks me to imitate the strong, even though he made me weak. Isn't this unreasonable?’ . . .
‘Listen to me, father,’ Kichijiro whimpered in a voice that the other Christians could hear. ‘I am an apostate; but if I had died ten years ago I might have gone to paradise as a good Christian, not despised as an apostate. Merely because I live in a time of persecution . . . I am sorry.’
This is the role of moral luck. Kichijiro does wrong, but he is morally unlucky.
I sympathise with Kichijiro - because like him, I am a child of my circumstances. We all are, I think.