This guest post comes from Alex Leveringhaus, from the Department of Politics, University of Surrey. He played Simon’s blindfold ice-breaker last week and it prompted some thoughts about philosophy. Obviously
Imagine
you are a member of a team that has been assigned a particular task. Nothing
unusual about that. Imagine further that your team is competing with a second
team that has been instructed to carry out the same task. There’s nothing
particularly unusual about that, either. But now imagine that all participating
team members (your team and your opponents) have to carry out their respective
task while blindfolded. That’s probably a bit more unusual.
Naturally,
the blindfold generates all sorts of practical challenges. How do you know who
your team members are? How do you coordinate the successful completion of the
task? The answer to these questions seems quite straightforward. You need to
engage in team work! That is, you need to devise a strategy for carrying out
your assigned task while blindfolded, and you need to trust your team mates
that they pull their weight. The two ingredients of success: strategy and
trust.
But not so fast. Strategy and trust have an inward and an outward component. The former relates to your teammates, the latter relates to the competing team. With regard to the latter component, the question is whether you can trust the competing team to play by the rules of the game and wear their blindfolds (and vice versa). More precisely, can you trust them not to peep underneath their blindfolds in order to gain an unfair advantage in the completion of the task? And how would you be able to ascertain this without breaking the rules of the competition yourself?
After all, in order to assess whether members of the other team are peeping underneath their blindfolds, you must peep underneath your blindfold, too. Naturally, whether you trust the other team or not will affect your team’s strategy. Arguably, a strategy that assumes universal compliance with the rules will differ from a strategy that assumes non-compliance.
The conundrum generated by the blindfold game is not new, of course. Nor has it primarily preoccupied the minds of political scientists. For instance, in his seminal work A Theory of Justice (1971), John Rawls, arguably the most important (political) philosopher in the English-speaking world post-World War II, offers a helpful distinction.
Rawls and Plato
According to Rawls, ideal theory, which he is primarily concerned with, assumes that there is universal compliance with principles of justice. Non-ideal theory, by contrast, assumes that not everybody complies with principles of justice.
Non-ideal theory generates two primary moral challenges. First, non-compliant individuals are free-riding. Second, moral obligations can quickly become over-demanding. Put simply, not only do non-compliant individuals benefit unfairly; to add insult to injury, compliant individuals also have to pick up the slack.
However, the problem is older than Rawls’ distinction between ideal and non-ideal theory. In fact, it goes right back to the inception of western political theorising in Ancient Greece. In his work The Republic (circa 380/1 BCE), Plato considers the story of a young shepherd who finds a ring that makes him invisible. (Sounds familiar anyone?) What should the shepherd do? He could kill the king, marry the queen, and become the new ruler. Untold riches beckon.
But Plato counsels against this. It is better, according to Plato, to play by the rules and not become a usurper, even if this means that the shepherd foregoes worldly riches. Why? Being a just person, Plato contends, is important for the well-being of one’s soul. It is, in other words, better to be a poor but happy shepherd than a powerful but miserable (Lady) Macbeth.
Hobbes and Machiavelli
Several centuries later, Thomas Hobbes devised a different solution to the problem. You can’t rely on justice or a sense of fair play, Hobbes claims. For, as Hobbes argues in Leviathan (1651), justice does simply not exist in the absence of a suitable authority to enforce the necessary rules.
The solution, then, for Hobbes, consists in establishing an authority, the Leviathan, to enforce the rules and punish those who transgress them. That sounds sensible, I hear you say. But is trust in the Leviathan enough? And how does the Leviathan maintain its own grip on power to lay down the law?
In Renaissance Florence, a disgraced former civil servant by the name of Niccolo Machiavelli had his own thoughts on this issue. In his work The Prince (1532), a guidebook on how to be a successful ruler (primarily by not getting killed by one’s subjects), Machiavelli advises that you should not trust anyone, at least if you want to remain in power. Nor should you try to act ethically. That won’t do you any good because everyone around you won’t act ethically, either. It is necessary, therefore, to be ruthless and act unethically. Nice guys, as the saying goes, always come last (or get their head chopped off).
However, the trick, according to Machiavelli, is not to brag that you are the toughest Pitbull in the yard. People will eventually hate you for doing so. And if they hate you, they will get rid of you sooner or later. Rather, what you should do is to appear to be an ethical person while acting unethically. Be a smiling assassin but ensure you sink the dagger in. Go to church and pretend to be a good Christian king but be prepared to mercilessly crush your enemies (or any other saboteurs, for that matter).
What
does all this mean for the blindfold scenario? To peep or not to peep, that is
here the question. Well. If you are a Platonist, you won’t peep underneath your
blindfold. You and your teammates will do the right thing. You will play by the
rules, even though you cannot be a hundred percent sure that the other team is doing
the same. If you lose, you can console yourself that you played by the rules. But
will that make you happy? Or will you be a sore loser?
By
contrast, if you are a Hobbesian, you won’t peep underneath your blindfold
because you trust that the person who supervises the game will enforce the
rules. More importantly, you fear that the umpire/Leviathan/Simon will
disqualify you if he catches you. (And let’s not even talk about getting a
reference for that job application from Simon. ‘I blindfold my students on a
regular basis. Student X, however, consistently peeped underneath his/her
blindfold. X is untrustworthy and finds it hard to play by the rules. Hence X
is completely unsuited to your organisation. Don’t give X a job. Sincerely, Dr
U’.)
Finally, if you are a Machiavellian, you will mostly definitely peep underneath the blindfold. Heck, everyone else will be doing it, too. However, what you won’t do is rip the blindfold off at the earliest opportunity to check what the other team is up to. Rather, you will pretend that you are complying with the rules. So, all Machiavelli will allow for are a couple of discrete glances underneath your blindfold. Discrete glances! And of course, if you win, don’t tell anyone you cheated. Remember you stuck to the rules. It was your group’s ingenuity that pulled it off. But what if you get caught? Don’t be a chicken, Machiavelli would say. You were unlucky – fortune abandoned you. But at least you tried to win.
Blindfolds
and philosopher asides, are there any repercussions for actual negotiations
between governments? Sure, you need to have a strategy and you need to have
trust in your teammates and vice versa
(which kind of explains Theresa May’s current Brexit predicament: she seems to have
neither). But what about the other side? Are they really negotiating in good
faith? Do they have a Plan B? Do they have ulterior motives? Do they possess
insider information that gives them an advantage? Perhaps it is time to give
the intelligence services a call … after all, the other side might do, too.
