Morally Lucky

Joan’s husband Paul decided to leave her and the kids to realize his inner-self. Since he made the “brave” decision of “following his muse” and not remaining entrapped in the mechanics of worldly life, he expected his wife to take him back with open arms when he realized his pursuit led him nowhere. Joan asks, “You want to come back into our lives. But how can we do that when you are not even ready to acknowledge that you were in the wrong when you left us?”. Paul confidently says, “In my heart I know I wasn’t wrong. I followed my calling. You have praised great souls who renounced their family to achieve a greater purpose, haven’t you?”. To this, Joan retorts, “But you are not a great soul. You came back because you didn’t have it in you to realize what they could.” 
“But none of them would have become great had they not taken the first bold step. I wasn’t aware that I would fail. What matters is that I tried. Would my action be morally acceptable had I succeeded? Am I called a betrayer only because I failed?”
Is Paul’s decision morally acceptable? Or does luck play a role in differentiating right from wrong when one takes a chance?
(Original Source: The eponymous essay from Moral Luck by Bernard Williams (Cambridge University Press, 1981)

I have pretty strong opinions on situations like the one described. I have seen families being neglected by flighty, eccentric husbands who take impulsive, idealistic decisions to serve themselves. There was one man who used to spend his time and meager savings on religious rituals, bhajans and the like, while his family used to struggle to make ends meet. When asked of his responsibility towards his family, he used to take Saint Thyagaraja’s famous words - “Rama will provide. He is the cause of everything, even this desire in me to serve Him all the time  is all His doing.” No, Rama does not provide to such families by magically dropping gold coins from the ceiling. The man is accountable for the misfortunes of his family, not Rama. Another extreme is the man/woman who orients their time and energy on higher, nobler causes such as serving humanity and people in need, not thinking twice about the welfare of their own kids or spouse

I am going to make a rather blasphemous assertion here. I’m sorry if this offends anyone. The famous Tamil poet and freedom fighter, Bharathiyar is still remembered and praised for his progressive attitude, his fierce patriotism, his spiritualism, and scholarly verses. I deeply respect him for being ahead of his times and for imparting rich, wholesome knowledge. But, I find it unacceptable that he didn’t fulfil his basic role and responsibilities as a father and provider. He followed his idealistic principles and didn’t conform to conventional work. What little he got, he is known to have freely distributed to animals and others in need, when his own family would go hungry. While many applaud him for his generosity, I can’t help but pity his poor wife. Back then, women like his wife didn’t even have the resources and means to earn a living by herself. She was completely dependent on a man who put the needs of the country before his promise and responsibility towards her; That to me, is morally wrong in a sense. The pain and anguish his wife went through is very similar to what the women in the above two examples went through.

Charity begins at home. Once we make promises and are responsible for the well-being of somebody who is dependent on that commitment, we can’t afford to forget our duty. I am not against following one’s heart, realizing deeper truths or standing to higher causes. My opinion is that it is wrong to overlook our primary duties in the pursuit of “higher” paths. Even the Hindu philosophy doesn’t talk of renunciation until the worldly/familial responsibilities are taken care of. I would be perfectly fine if the men in the above scenarios were single, or didn’t have any duties that they accepted onto themselves. Or better yet, there are always ways of leading a balanced life without vacillating between extremes of materialism and detachment. I realize that my take has tinges of the “selfish gene” theory. It’s perhaps true. The  "natural-selectionists" would argue that my instinct to perceive this situation as “wrong” or “unethical” arises because it is expected to nurture one’s own gene-pool before helping another set of genes. It's due to these instincts that serve our genes that humanity developed the concept of Morality. But we’ll leave this train of thought for now.

True to Paul’s question on whether luck/success plays a role in exonerating one’s morally dubious action, I am sure there are plenty of lesser-known, hidden “Bharathiyaars” in every town who pursue similar ideals, but are just not recognized, and are hence socially isolated and condemned for ignoring their family. Think about it. Granted, if someone really possesses the talent and innate ability, the likelihood of them being an undiscovered gem in a pile of rubble is low. But luck/chance does play a role in one’s life, doesn’t it? There are misguided idealists who attempt to rise to greatness (inwardly and outwardly), but are either not blessed with the capacity to do so, or are thrown around by fate till they sink into utter oblivion. Such unsuccessful attempts are indeed mocked at, frowned upon, and censured - specifically with the accusation of betraying, hurting and disappointing their family.

Such discrimination is definitely hypocritical to me. I think Paul’s decision to abandon his family to fulfill his muse or desire was indeed morally wrong, for he didn’t worry about breaking his promise to his wife or for overlooking his responsibility towards his children. My opinion will not falter even if he had been successful in his attempt.

One can argue that most moral actions are judged by the intention of the action and not through the consequences. The cliched example is using a knife to purposefully kill, versus using it to accidentally harm/kill someone. So although technically it wasn’t Paul’s intention to hurt or betray his family, he intended to leave them stranded, knowing that his actions will cause pain. It was an informed choice. Even if we are to consider the Utilitarian philosophy of weighing the consequences - Paul’s success will not outweigh the hurt and pain of his family, for he should have honored his commitment to his family. But then, measures of emotion and personal growth are subjective.

What do you think? Does luck/chance play a role in how morality is perceived?

Reflections: The Opposite of Fate

Life mostly runs on hope. But every now and then, as we are forced to find our way through thick jungles of uncertainty, we often wish for a pause button  to freeze the moment and collect our thoughts on the looming shadows in the horizon. Are they merely shadows cast by our fears, phantoms of our imagination, or spells cast on our set route of destiny? Is this moment a result of fate? Or is faith a weapon to slash and barge our way through the jungle? There are no easy answers. To the person who believes in the reality of the phantoms, faith is useless. But to the one who is willing to keep moving, faith is worn as an amulet close to the heart. Is it a placebo effect? Does the amulet really hold magic? Only the person who hoards such an amulet knows the answer.

Amy Tan's book of musings is a collection of snippets, reminiscing the flash-bulb moments of her life. Through her recollections, she muses on her encounters with fate and faith. Misery molds human minds - too much of it kills the mind, too little of it is a blessing, while a decent cupful is the impetus to our growth and wisdom. Tan has had her cupful. Her childhood was riddled with eerie coincidences of tragedy and pain, many of which were indeed good fodders for her novels. Tan's family "legacy" also teems with even greater tragedies; starting from her grandmother's harrowing life, down to her mother's miserable childhood, an abusive marriage to her first husband, loss of several children, and Amy's dad and brother to brain tumor. All of these trickle down to how her mom reacts and vents her anger, depression and insecurity, all on Amy and her brother. Needless to say, Tan's relationship with her well-meaning but difficult mother has left her with deep scars, which her stories and writing have been trying to heal and make peace with her life. Tan's spirit of resilience and hope, open-mindedness and charm, have left a deep impression on me. Our lives are different, but her writing makes the reader's spirit or self, tune in to her thoughts in a way that is difficult to establish. I empathized with every word, every thought - her feelings and thoughts were not new to me, and I could find much solace in the hope she inspires.

While Tan's musings start off with the question - fate or faith, her answer, or rather her exploration of the answers is not binary. It is quite interesting to read about her colorful life and her journey so far. It resembles a mottled patchwork of so many patterns -  of her past, her purpose, and inexplicable coincidences representing fluctuations of her destiny, all threaded together with a tight string of hope - perhaps even love. It was fascinating to me that most of her decisions were propelled by strong forces of intuition, or as she supposes, spirits of her loved ones. She candidly acknowledges the possibility of tricks played by her hurt and ravaged mind, making her read into coincidences. So she leaves the interpretation to the readers, almost sensing those wary eyes narrowing in cynicism.

The book also speaks to us about what it takes to be a writer, and what one has to endure to continue being one. She discusses the labels attached to writers, especially those of "color", and the impositions made by the literature-community on the norms of such writers. I have resented the stereotype that sticks with writers of ethnic origins. Someone from India, almost certainly is expected to write about India, about its culture, and boost its image in a positive light for the benefit of the world. So is it with authors from other Asian and African countries. Why? Why should this be the norm for literature and novels? Aren't there books beyond the genre of fiction to focus on those aspects? It makes little sense to me when people look forward to reading a best-selling novel to try and learn about a new culture. The few tidbits gleaned through the story don't constitute as culture-education to me. And the author's attempts at satisfying the reader's interest are by spewing the pages with detailed descriptions of the food and the design of furniture around, most of which have little impact on the story, and only stand out as distractors. It reminds me of the monotonous formula used by Indian movies - insert comedy, insert romance, insert a sizzling scene, some melodrama, a "fight", sprinkle in some sentiment on Indian tradition and voila, there is a best-selling movie.

The genre of fiction exists for a reason - its responsibility is not necessarily culture education all the time. Books like Adiga's White Tiger are loathed by some because of its "unhealthy, pessimistic" portrayal of India. But isn't that reality? What are we gaining by constantly brushing the grime under the rug and showing off a seemingly pleasant home blithely swarming with termites? I agree with the need to instill positive role models rather than perpetuating the negativity, but it isn't realistic to expect every single book (that too a novel) based on such countries to form the story around such tight constraints. Stories so churned out are too contrived to expect any reformation in people's thought processes. Each author has a different perspective to convey, their stories can be different, and the thoughts which are sparked by addressing the current unpalatable truths can be a fruitful turning point. Realism always helps; sugar-coating it, often times turns it into an imitation candy. If people choose to understand everything about what India or China is, from a novel picked off at the airport, I don't know what to say. Several rich and vivid documentaries and books exist precisely for the purpose of cultural education. While deeper principles and traditions of a culture may be brought out through the story - one book, one story can only provide a shade of any culture. Expecting everything in a nutshell is undermining the worth of stories and the purpose of literature.

The book encourages the reader to think along with Tan, to pause and grieve, to be intrigued and be inspired. She writes because writing is a part of her, and the more she writes, the more sense she makes of the world and the more balms of healing she dabs on to her blows. And just for that sentiment, the book connected with me.

Reflections: Ever

Fantasy tales serve as Chicken Soups for my Soul. They go down deliciously warm, soothing the chills and comforting the little girl inside me with their liberal doze of syrupy antidote; an antidote that quells the afflictions of reality. There exist no Zen principles to assuage the little girl as does a fantasy tale of magic, and miracles and most importantly, happy endings. Perhaps I'm just a recluse seeking refuge outside of reality, but sometimes, that seems to be the only cure to bolster faith. However, regardless of any deeper reason, I don't think I can ever outgrow such enchanted stories. Ever, is an endearing children's fantasy, which I would have probably relished twice as much if only I'd flown back to my childhood. Always one for mythology and stories centering Gods and mortals, this book brought me back in touch with the ten-year-old who sincerely believed in Magic.

Olus, the God of the Winds is a lonely young man earnestly flying across the skies searching for someone who would be his friend and companion instead of revering or fearing him. His parents repeatedly warn him against getting entangled with mortals, whom they allude to as soap-bubbles, due to their evanescent existence. Inevitably, Olus finds himself enraptured and in love with a pretty damsel, Kezi, whom he ardently follows, taking the role of her guardian angel. Due to the twisted mix of a debt and a careless oath pledged to the believed omnipotent and omnipresent God Admat, Kezi is forced to offer her life as a sacrifice to Admat. Olus is stricken with grief and avenges to save Kezi. As Olus begins to get much closer to Kezi, she discovers his existence and falls in love with his valiant gallantry. Together, Olus and Kezi try to resolve their conundrum. The only rope of hope is for Kezi to defy her fate and turn immortal so as to evade death and lead an eternal life with Olus.

Most fantasy books are woven with subtle themes on life, and the truths we try to seek, and this book is no exception. It is interlaced with an under current that explores the meaning of fate, destiny, and God. When Kezi realizes that Olus is also a God, she grapples with herself to define her belief in Admat, the all-knowing, all-powerful, all-pervading God, when Olus, another God doesn't even know who Admat is. It's a clever comparison of invented religions and Gods, versus the forces of Nature, who are in a more concrete sense the Gods who rule us mortals. The book also creates a nice metaphor to signify what it means to grieve, lose ourselves and fall into our own created depths of sadness and hopelessness. But Levine packs her punch by infusing generous bouts of optimism, as Kezi walks against the chosen path of Fate and creates her own destiny by holding onto her armors - strong-will and faith. The God of Fate strews Olus and Kezi to face their darkest fears, and fight their toughest battles, in order to give them a chance to alter the course of their destiny. This is reminiscent of an adage that says that God puts people through the toughest tests to hone their mettle.

It is also interesting that the God of Fate himself reiterates, "Fate may be thwarted. I long for a happy outcome." Well, how sweet are these words that spill out of Fate's own mouth? It's befitting to reflect on this and on the meaning of faith, on this very day that professes miracles and merriness.