4

Either Fear is the Key or the
Price is not Right

 

If you want to know the truth, it’s cowardice that keeps me moral not principle or even professed belief. I’m scared I’ll get caught. That fear is enough to keep me on the straight and narrow. Of course, every now and then and just like everyone else, I do stray but never very far and certainly not very seriously. Fear, as Alistair Maclean once put it, is the key. In my case, it won’t unlock the door and as a result I stay confined within the safe walls of morality. But am I moral? Ah, that is an altogether different question.

A moral man would not at any price compromise with his principles. Leave aside fear of being caught, he wouldn’t even be tempted by the bounty on offer. Does that apply to me?

My cousin Arjun, who teaches neuro-psychology at Newcastle and is visiting on holiday, has an interesting parable to relate. In fact, he claims it’s a true story but its value lies not in its veracity but in the ‘moral’ that it illustrates.

A friend, he says, was walking through a park in Cambridge. It was autumn and fallen leaves of red and gold lay strewn across his path. He was happy with the world and aimlessly kicking the leaves as he trod on them. Suddenly, his foot hit something that felt strange. A little bundle tossed into the air and caught his eye. It was a wad of 100 pound notes, rolled together and tied with a rubber band. There were several of them, perhaps six or seven hundred pounds in all.

“It sent him into a terrible panic.” Arjun said.

“Why?” I asked, somewhat nonplussed. Had I been in his place, I thought to myself, I would have pocketed the money and walked on. Perhaps I would have started whistling to appear nonchalant. It would have been my way of pretending to be innocent.

“Because of the amount involved.” Arjun replied.

“What do you mean?”

“You see, if he’d found a negligible amount he’d have pocketed it without a care in the world. It would have been too small to matter. On the other hand if he’d found a whopping fortune he’d have been too scared to touch it. Suppose it was a trap and he got caught? But six or seven hundred is somewhere in between. Too small to be frightened of but too big to ignore. It put him in a panic.”

In this particular instance, Arjun’s friend handed the money over to a nearby police station. Three weeks later, when no one had claimed it, the money was given back to him. Thereafter it was legally his. It would seem that God or good fortune appear to be on the side of the honest. But that, I hasten to add, was not the moral Arjun wanted to draw. His point was rather different.

“It’s all a question of price.” He claimed. “Each man has his price — each woman too, I suppose – and morality is a relative thing. At the right price, every saint can be made a sinner and at the wrong price every sinner can pretend to be a saint.”

It’s a hard-headed view of human beings. One that cuts to the quick, dispensing with ideals, morality and all the gooey talk of goodness or the fire and brimstone of sin. But is it true? I venture to suggest it is. May be not for all of us and may be not all the time, but for most of us most of the time.

To be honest, it’s happened to me. It was Easter 1975, I was 19 at the time, an undergraduate and careful about every penny I possessed. I was spending the weekend with Arjun and his wife Sipu and undertook to buy a turkey for our dinner. I ended up not paying for it. In fact, I walked out of the shop clutching the bird as close to my chest as I practically could but virtually without fear of being caught. This is what happened.

The turkey cost seven pounds but I did not have that much cash on me. As a student, I rarely did. So when I approached the till I paid by cheque with a supporting cheque card. In England, that’s quite common. The sales lady carefully noted the cheque card details on the back of my cheque but then, absent-mindedly, handed the cheque back to me along with the card and bill. She did not realise what she had done but I did.

This meant the turkey was free. What’s more, there was no chance of my being caught. The mistake was hers and if she realised it later I could plead innocence and claim that I too had not noticed the error. After all, both of us can make the same mistake or, at least, I could claim to have done so without appearing guilty.

It’s amazing how fast the brain can work when accidental good fortune is thrust upon you. In a flash, I had assessed the situation, the possible consequences, worked out every probable reply and, having done so, I pocketed the accidentally returned cheque with my cheque card and bill, picked up the turkey and walked out of the shop as quickly as I could.

Far from feeling ashamed about what I had done, I felt rather proud of it. In fact, I was crowing by the time I got back to Arjun and Sipu’s.

“Ah.” Arjun exclaimed, smiling benignly but nonetheless damned knowingly as well. “Seven pounds is your price.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, somewhat bewildered.

That’s when he told me the story I have just related to you. Put it all together and the outcome is simple. Either fear is the key or the price is not right.