I was in a training programme and one of the topics for discussion was our internal value system- those ideals and beliefs which are important for us and which we hold as special and non negotiable. It is good to have a strong value system. I mean for me fairness is a very important personal value. However the important question here is -how good are we at deciding what is right and what is wrong? Do do we have an internal value meter which tells us what is wrong ( in absolute terms ) or do we have some sort of a convenient value meter which is more of a relative adjustment-my action compared to something which is more seriously wrong or grave in nature. And is it not true that sometimes we let ourselves off the hook for those small transgressions. Is there something called the absolute value system or do we get our judgement into deciding our right and wrong deeds? Let me explain.
If we take the first point of the argument –regarding how good we are at making absolute judgements, we are in fact quite poor. Those who find the argument quite intuitive, I will give a couple of more examples to reinforce the same point. Those who find the argument fallacious or misleading, I would strong recommend them to read the book – Predictably Irrational ( by Dan Ariely ) -the first few chapters are devoted to our error in absolute judgement. I was helping my friend to buy a lap top and my point of reference was different laptops and their price and features. My evaluation was very relative. At no point did I look at the feature and the absolute price. Dell does give us a feature and a corresponding price. Even in that case we started comparing between two models. At no point did I know what I really want in the absolute sense. In fact this relative comparison is a very important aspect of human decision making process. In the book Dab Ariely goes on to explain the importance of a coy being introduced to facilitate decision making.
To give an example from the book (https://lateralviews.wordpress.com/2009/04/26/book-review-predictaby-irrational-by-dan-ariely/)
“So let’s run through the Economist’s sleight of hand in slow motion. As you recall the choices were:
- Internet-only subscription for $59
- Print-only subscription for $125
- Print – and – Internet subscription for $125
When I gave these options to 100 students at MIT’s Sloan School of Management, they opted as follows-
- Internet-only subscription for $59—16 students
- Print-only subscription for $125—zero students
- Print – and – Internet subscription for $125—84 students”
The author then goes on to prove how the second option is a decoy aimed to shift the preference to the third option. This is such a strong example that it sets the momentum for the remaining chapters. In fact the role of decoy is further extended to discuss their importance in deciding whom to date and marry.
Going back to the training, I asked my group if we did think of our values while picking up a pen from the table and carrying it back with us when it was intended for use only during training . In fact we never think of this act as stealing. Or take the case where we do not return the book we borrowed from our friends. In fact research (again Dan Ariely) says that when it comes to dealing with non – cash item (it seems we are a bit more conscientious when dealing with cash) our morals are kind of relaxed and we end up easily rationalising our decisions.
The point is we do not understand ourselves as easily as we proclaim to. Neither is our behaviour always rational and in sync with that we claim to believe.
So, why umbrella morals? Well I am producing verbatim an essay of the same name (and from where I picked up the heading of my article) by A G Gardiner. His book ‘Pebbles on the Shore’ has essays on other interesting topics like falling in love, reading in bed and cats and dogs. This essay was recommended to me by an office colleague and I found it appropriate to produce the article here. She had read the essay as part of her school or college curriculum. Those interested may read it online from Google Books.
ON UMBRELLA MORALS by Alfred George Gardiner
A sharp shower came on as I walked along the Strand, but I did not put up my umbrella. The truth is I couldn’t put up my umbrella. The frame would not work for one thing, and if it had worked, I would not have put the thing up, for I would no more be seen under such a travesty of an umbrella than Falstaff would be seen marching through Coventry with his regiment of ragamuffins. The fact is, the umbrella is not my umbrella at all. It is the umbrella of some person who I hope will read these lines. He has got my silk umbrella. I have got the cotton one he left in exchange. I imagine him flaunting along the Strand under my umbrella, and throwing a scornful glance at the fellow who was carrying his abomination and getting wet into the bargain. I dare say the rascal chuckled as he eyed the said abomination.”Ah,” he said gaily to himself, “I did you in that time, old boy. I know that thing. It won’t open for nuts. And it folds up like a sack. Now, this umbrella….”But I leave him to his unrighteous communings. He is one of those people who have what I may call an umbrella conscience. You know the sort of person I mean. He would never put his hand in another’s pocket, or forge acheque or rob a till–not even if he had the chance. But he will swop umbrellas, or forget to return a book, or take a rise out of the railway company. In fact he is a thoroughly honest man who allows his honesty the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he takes your umbrella at random from the barber’s stand. He knows he can’t get a worse one than his own. He may get a better. He doesn’t look at it very closely until he is well on his way.Then, “Dear me! I’ve taken the wrong umbrella,” he says, with an air of surprise, for he likes really to feel that he has made a mistake. “Ah,well, it’s no use going back now. He’d be gone. _And I’ve left him mine_!”It is thus that we play hide-and-seek with our own conscience. It is notenough not to be found out by others; we refuse to be found out by ourselves. Quite impeccable people, people who ordinarily seem unspotted from the world, are afflicted with umbrella morals. It was a well-known preacher who was found dead in a first-class railway carriage with a third-class ticket in his pocket. And as for books, who has any morals where they are concerned? I remember some years ago the library of a famous divine and literary critic, who had died, being sold. It was a splendid library of rare books, chiefly concerned with seventeenth-century writers, about whom he was a distinguished authority. Multitudes of the books had the marks of libraries all over the country. He had borrowed them and never found a convenient opportunity of returning them. They clung to him like precedents to law.Yet he was a holy man and preached admirable sermons, as I can bear witness. And, if you press me on the point, I shall have to own that it_is_ hard to part with a book you have come to love. Indeed, the only sound rule about books is that adopted by the man who was asked by a friend to lend him a certain volume. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t.” “Haven’t you got it?” asked the other. “Yes, I’ve got it,” he said, “but I make it a rule never to lend books. You see, nobody ever returns them. I know it is so from my own experience. Here, come with me.”And he led the way to his library. “There,” said he, “four thousand volumes. Every–one–of–’em–borrowed.” No, never lend books. You can’t trust your dearest friend there. I know. Where is that _Gil Blas_ gone? Eh? And that _Silvio Pellico_? And…. But why continue the list…. He knows. HE KNOWS. And hats. There are people who will exchange hats. Now that is unpardonable. That goes outside that dim borderland of conscience where honesty and dishonesty dissemble. No one can put a strange hat on without being aware of the fact. Yet it is done. I once hung a silk hat up in the smoking-room of the House of Commons. When I wanted it, it was gone. And there was no silk hat left in its place. I had to go out bareheaded through Palace Yard and Whitehall to buy another. I have often wondered who was the gentleman who put my hat on and carried his own in his hand. Was he a Tory? Was he a Radical? It can’t have been a Labour man, for no Labour man couldput a silk hat on in a moment of abstraction. The thing would scorch his brow. Fancy Will Crooks in a silk hat! One would as soon dare to play with the fancy of the Archbishop of Canterbury in a bowler–a thought which seems almost impious. It is possible, of course, that the gentleman who took my silk umbrella did really make a mistake. Perhaps if he knew the owner he would return it with his compliments. The thing has been done. Let me give an illustration. I have myself exchanged umbrellas–often. I hope I have done it honestly, but one can never be quite sure. Indeed, now I come to think of it, that silk umbrella itself was not mine. It was one of a long series of exchanges in which I had sometimes gained and sometimes lost. My most memorable exchange was at a rich man’s house where I had been invited to dine with some politicians. It was summer-time, and the weather being dry I had not occas ion for some days afterwards to carry an umbrella. Then one day a sensation reigned in our household. There had been discovered in the umbrella-stand an umbrella with a gold band and a gold tassle, and the name of a certain statesman engraved upon it. There had never been such a super-umbrella in our house before. Before its golden splendours we were at once humbled and terrified–humbled by its magnificence, terrified by its presence. I felt as though I had been caught in the act of stealing the British Empire. I wrote a hasty letter to the owner, told him I admired his politics, but had never hoped to steal his umbrella; then hailed a cab, and took the umbrella and the note to the nearest dispatch office. He was very nice about it, and in returning my own umbrella took all the blame on himself. “What,” he said, “between the noble-looking gentleman who thrust a hat on my head, and the second noble-looking gentleman who handed me a coat, and the third noble-looking gentleman who put an umbrella in my hand, and the fourth noble-looking gentleman who flung me into a carriage, I hadn’t the least idea what I was taking. I was too bewildered by all the noble flunkeys to refuse anything that was offered me.”Be it observed, it was the name on the umbrella that saved the situation in this case. That is the way to circumvent the man with an umbrella conscience. I see him eyeing his exchange with a secret joy; then he observes the name and address and his solemn conviction that he is an honest man does the rest. After my experience to-day, I think I will engrave my name on my umbrella. But not on that baggy thing standing in the corner. I do not care who relieves me of that. It is anybody’s for the taking.
(The Article can be downloaded through the Gutenberg project)