Monday, November 17, 2008

on "sticking to your principles"

Is it always wrong to lie? We certainly teach this idea to our kids-- and with good reason-- but I think we also expect them to outgrow this simplistic ethical stance, to realize that the world isn't so much black and white as a realm of often-subtle colors, and the right thing to do in a given situation might occasionally require the violation of one or more cherished moral precepts.

In the West, for example, a whole comic tradition has been founded on the idea that men, to maintain a relationship, need to lie to women. The paradigmatic scenario that illustrates this need: responding to the question "Does my ass look fat?" One guy I know showed major cojones when he told a female friend of his, "You have attained fat"-- but most of us men have been too thoroughly socialized (i.e., whipped) ever to dare uttering such a thing. We determine very quickly that lying for a greater good is appropriate, perhaps even moral when viewed in a larger context, such as the preservation of a relationship.

The series "24" was also great at presenting its protagonists with moral dilemmas that highlighted the conflict between two ethical principles. For me, the most striking example of this happened in one of the later seasons, when Jack Bauer essentially killed his lover Audrey's husband by forcing doctors to withhold treatment from him in order to save the life of a Chinese spy with crucial information. It was a stark choice between (1) saving someone Bauer had come to respect and admire versus (2) saving someone whose knowledge could benefit the entire country. For ruthless Bauer, it wasn't much of a dilemma, but we viewers sensed the gravity of the choice and watched with bated breath. As with the "ass looks fat" situation, "24" points out that we sometimes sacrifice one principle for the sake of another, supposedly greater principle. (Movie lovers will note that "The Matrix Reloaded" features a similar choice near its end.)

Buddhism, especially in its Zen form, tends to teach people to "follow your situation," i.e., to act in awareness of the present reality, without adopting an inflexible moral stance. A famous story illustrates this: the tale of the newly minted Buddhist and the hunter. In the story, a person who has just taken the precepts is walking down a forest path that splits into two forks farther on. A rabbit suddenly whizzes past and disappears down the right fork. A hunter runs up to the Buddhist and asks, "Which fork did that rabbit go down?"

At this point, the Buddhist is faced with a dilemma. On one hand, we should refrain from killing or from allowing sentient beings to be killed. On the other hand, we are not supposed to lie, even though lying might save the rabbit's life in this case. If I'm not mistaken, the storyteller usually ends the story with the Buddhist lying to save the rabbit, as lying represents the lesser of two evils. One cannot become attached to the precepts.

(NB: Smartasses have noted that the Buddhist could have responded with silence, thereby dodging the lying problem; they also note that rabbits aren't restricted to human paths in the forest, which means that the Buddhist's actions don't guarantee the rabbit's safety. Both of these responses can make for interesting side discussions, but strike me as examples of deliberate efforts to miss the point of the original story.)

The ability to set our choices and their consequences within a larger context is what allows us some flexibility in our actions. A less charitable way to describe this state of affairs might be to say that we can rationalize anything we do, for almost any action can be made to make sense when seen from a given perspective (this might be considered a pitfall for orientational pluralism; even Satanism is rational from a certain point of view).

But there's something to be said for such moral fluidity, because experience teaches us how complex reality can be, and how imperative it often is to adapt to changing circumstances. Even those who consider themselves "principled" recognize this need. How many American Christians will, for example, dogmatically insist that killing is wrong, no matter the reasons for it? Most won't (after all, many American Christians are proud gun owners!). There is, in fact, an entire theology of "just war," usually associated with St. Augustine, to justify killing en masse. Plus, most American Christians will admit that they'd resort to deadly violence, if necessary, in defense of loved ones. Few thinking adults take "Thou shalt not kill" as an absolute, across-the-board injunction against killing.

No matter what moral precept we're talking about, we can invent or discover possible scenarios in which that precept might need to be violated. Awareness of the larger context in which we operate is the doorway to such transgressions, if transgressions they be.

What does all this mean? If no moral precept holds absolutely, are we in a state of moral freefall? I submit that we live in a universe designed for adults, one in which a facile, black-and-white approach is likely to do more harm than good. To act morally, it's up to each of us to be aware of our situation and to determine the most appropriate response to it. Dogmatically hewing to only one narrow set of ethical principles is fine when you're a child, but adults should know better. Following your situation isn't a spineless thing to do; it's usually the wisest course of action.





SEASONAL NOTE: A discussion of right and wrong from the nondualist's perspective appears in my book, Water from a Skull. I know you want a copy for Christmas. So buy one! Click the link on the sidebar, or buy a reduced-price copy from me-- see Kevin's Wares for info on the book, including page samples. Scroll waaaay down the blog to find the entries featuring my books.

SECOND NOTE: the above essay isn't implying that the black-and-white viewpoint is always wrong, for that would mean falling into the same absolutistic trap. I think there are situations in which the right course of action is clear and obvious, a point driven home when I get into arguments with Korean friends or students about what basic attitude South Koreans should take toward the North Korean government.


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3 comments:

melancholy donut said...

snoop dog said that one of the most important things to know to be a good father is to know when to lie to your kids...

i havent given this too much thought but i imagine ill have to get around to figuring out where i stand if and when i have kids...

The Maximum Leader said...

You know something... I've seen that commandment rendered from Hebrew as "Thou shall not do murder." I believe this gives the commandment a shade of meaning that might be helpful. Especially in the context of your hypothetical. One isn't really "doing murder" when employing deadly force in defence of one's family.

Just sayin'

Anonymous said...

The hunter-and-the-rabbit story sounds to me like a version of Kant's murderer-at-the-door scenario. Notoriously, Kant thought you had an absolute duty to tell the truth even in that case, but most subsequent moral philosophers have disagreed with him.

A similar problem, concerning the duty to return property to its owner, is raised in Book I of Plato's Republic: Should one return a weapon to a crazed and homicidal friend?

Even within the Theravada tradition, which makes a much bigger deal out of the precepts than Zen does, violations of the precepts in the interests of a greater good aren't that big a deal. There's a Jataka tale in which the Buddha in one of his previous incarnations kills a ship captain to prevent him from murdering all the passengers and crew of the ship.

There are no categorical imperatives in Buddhism: that is, there's no "Thou shalt not ... ." It's just "If you ..., you'll accrue bad karma."