Constitutional Puppies - 4

By J.R.

There was no reason to pretend otherwise.

"Yes. Yes I would. Just because I don’t know about the other person dying, doesn’t mean they died. I mean, I don’t get… I don’t know if satisfaction, maybe, satisfaction is the right word. But, I mean, that person is still alive, regardless. And I’m $500 richer."

"Would you rather have 364 survivors instead of 365—an additional person dying—and walk away with an additional $500?"

Roger was beginning to tense up a bit. He just felt like there was no point in answering; deep down, Graber must be able to look through all the prevarications and equivocations of his subjects and know—just know—deep down inside they would rather have the money.

"Roger, answer honestly. And keep in mind that this is, of course, strictly confidential. And, if you must know, I already wrote your law school application and sent it to the LSAC."

"I… I mean I trust you. I mean, I know this is professional."

Roger couldn’t restrain any longer. His idle curiosity woke up like a dog snapping to attention after hearing a door slam, nonchalantly wagging its way somewhere it wasn’t wanted, and pissing all over the floor: "Professor Graber, what is this button for?"

"What button?"

Roger pointed to the little red gumball, easily within the range of his index finger. The button was perfect: it seemed to be twice as wide as his index finger, perfect for allocating all of his index finger’s strength to the very center.

"This button," Roger pointed. "This is a button, right?"

Roger quickly clarified:

"I didn’t mean to have that sound disrespectful, or condescending or anything. Seriously, I just wondered if this was a button."

"Yes. It is a button."

"Everyone can use an additional $500."

Roger sat there, growing uneasy. Again, not uneasy about the ever-avuncular Graber, who knew how to deal with his patients like the best pediatrician. Roger grew uneasy because he was ping-ponging the ramifications of Graber’s suggestion around in his head while talking, and, logically, if one diverts some mental energy to another activity that person cannot invest all of their mental energy into the prior activity, and he didn’t want Graber to see him as any less than completely focused. But five-hundred-bucks is five-hundred-bucks, and people can talk all they want about saving the world—and of course, the world does need saving—but at the end of the day, what matters are objects, tangible things of substance. Ideas are ephemeral, and all those kids who preach about saving the Third World are gas-guzzling spoiled cunts who contribute to conspicuous consumption, have Mommy and Daddy to pay tuition, and still buy all the cheap immigrant-labor picked fruits and vegetables and the clothes made in sweatshops. And at the end of the day, their wealth insulates them from every really having to step outside of ideology. And they might approve of sacrificing $500 to save some poor citizen land-locked in some god-forsaken shithole country, but at the end of the day, they will be out at the bars or the clubs spending their money and you’ll be alone and penniless. Their words and world are circuitous, and god forbid they ever let any of those ideas float out upon the real world—he has already seen the signs of abandoned idealism in his liberal arts friends who, upon graduation, go to law school or become insurance agents (the last refuge of the worthless-major, perennially unemployed college graduate). Idealism curls up and dies in front of corporations and institutions and everything of substance—and those people in the Third World are still dying.

"This button," Graber leaned in, "Roger, would you push this button for $500?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"A direct one."

"What happens if I push it?"

"You get $500."

"How many students does the school use in these experiments?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I was just wondering how much of a maximum budget is set aside for this experiment, assuming that I actually would get any money."

Graber leaned in, "Roger, I assure you, this is not a fluke."

"I’ve just never heard of an experiment with such a large…payoff. I remember hearing Professor Oppenheimer, he was telling us how he was challenging some theory of Rawls…"

Roger quickly clarified, there is no some theory of John Rawls, but the theory of Rawls.

"I mean, Oppenheimer dealt with one facet of Rawl’s Justice as Fairness, and, in these experiments, they involved, like allocating chump change between people, like ten bucks or twenty bucks or thirty bucks at most, and then and seeing if people would leave any behind for other people in their group."

"I am aware of Professor Oppenheimer’s experiments. And yes, we have a much larger budget, even amidst general budget cuts. Well, not really 'general' budget cuts: business and engineering seemed to have been spared a dalliance with the budgetary ax."

"I just meant, Professor Graber, that Professor Oppenheimer was attempting to disprove such a landmark theory like Rawl’s with what is, comparatively, like, chump change. And that was a big undertaking, I remember him saying. So this is like, like ridiculous almost, the amount of money.

"So anyways, Professor Graber, what else happens if I hit this button? What are the results for people…other than myself?"

All this was getting to be surreal. He remembered the picture of Professor Graber online. Professor Barber’s picture was ostentatious and unintentionally self-parodic (a private spot on the university’s website was not enough for Professor Barber; Barber also had supplied a link to his personal website, which managed to have every profile shot of himself staring majestically into some oft-seen sunset, and had both a "brief" biography that managed to still take up pages upon pages and an "extended" biography that seemed to cover all the academic minutia Barber had ever been affiliated with…ever). Graber’s profile, on the other hand, was just a dorky, poorly formatted picture with him wearing an even dorkier yellow Mock Trial shirt that made him look like spread marmalade. Roger remembered that the caption underneath the picture: Professor Graber’s wife insists this is the worst picture of him ever taken.

"Well Roger, what happens is…you get $500, and, to put it in simple terms…"

A look of consternation, however fleeting, was visible across Graber’s face.

"I am sorry, Roger, I have been explaining this all so poorly. I do not like the way this seems to be 'building up’; it will construe the 'revelation,’ as it were, or the purpose of this experiment, in a negative light. It has been psychologically proven that revealing something like this—'building something up,' as it were— makes it seem much more dramatic and important, and as a result, recipients tend to respond unfavorably, even though many of your previous comments would indicate something different."

"I'm confused."

"Look Roger. Forget the experiment for a second. Honestly. Let me ask you something. Say someone in Libya, or Kenya, or Kuala Lumpur, wherever, was going to die in a week—98 hours—of some kind of infectious disease. If I were to offer you $500, would you give consent to allow that person to perish in 97 hours instead?"

"There is no way to prevent the person from dying?"

"There is no way for us to prevent this person from dying."

"Would they enjoy that last hour?"

"Well, they wouldn't know it was their last hour, but we will assume they would enjoy that last hour as much as they would enjoy any other hour."

"My heart would tell me its wrong, but to be honest I'd want to do it."

"Understandable. Remember when I told you about the 364 people who died in the plane crash. It was originally 364, right?"

"I believe so?"

"Are you positive?"

"I believe so …"

"Would you bet $500 on it?"

"Umm &hellip"

Graber laughed.

"Well, let's assume instead 365 people died."

Roger seared this number—365— into his brain.

"Well, would you allow the number to go back to 364? To be blunt, you didn't even remember how many survivors there were. Would it really matter much to you? If you do it, you get $500. Some number goes down and you leave with money."

Roger was chafing. He just wanted to get out of there.

"Yes, I guess I would."

"Well, then hit that button and it's all yours."

Roger didn't let deference enjoin propriety.

"Look sir, I know that isn't possible."

Graber leaned in.

"Roger, push that button, and I promise you get the money."

"I don't want to take your money, sir. And sir, aren't you a Constitutional Studies professor? What does this have to do with anything?"

"Yes, I am Con Law. But it's not my money. This is grant money. Donate the money to cancer research. You can turn an inevitable death somewhere in the world into a moral good. Buy something for your girlfriend or boyfriend or future significant other. Give it to a women's shelter or an animal shelter or wherever you want. I bet you can take this money, devote it to some good cause, and turn this whole thing into a moral-plus."

"If I hit this button, sir, are you telling me that someone is going to die? Is that what you're saying? Is that what you are really saying to me? Sir, how much of this has been fake? There was no plane crash, was there?"

Roger was a little nervous, but his eyes weren't doing his routine: even when people are stressed out, nervous, or irritated, difficult circumstances always enliven people. As much as people dislike pressure, it's what everyone needs to break up the quotidian sedation of everyday life. And Roger was thinking this would make a great hush-hush story between him and his friends.

Until he reasoned that this wasn't something to talk about.

"Roger. I am telling you, absolutely, that everything I said today was true. I promise you. And like I said, this is off the record; I have already written your LSAC recommendation. You have nothing to worry about."

"Look, Professor Graber, I know this is preposterous. And I know that there is probably some reason for this, some subject that…I mean there is a reason for this experiment, there is a reason why some organization or the school is funding this. I don't know why. Maybe this is the right reaction.

But I noticed you haven't been writing anything down."

"Because this is the only moment that matters."

"Look, I know it's stupid to complain about being lied to and strung along, because I did sign up for this, this experiment. But no one can ever believe that…this…one, it's obviously impossible; logistically impossible. Second, I mean it doesn't even make sense; what does this have to do with Constitutional Studies? But, but more, but more…an even better point is that, that the university would not sponsor something illegal, and if this was true, it would definitely be illegal."

"Roger, did you read that waiver you signed?"

Roger's silence answered for him.

"Not surprising. It is really long. I can brief you on it again later. On this experiment, I think we're getting tangential. I have already told you what I need to tell you. Don't believe it if you do not want to. I hold no stake in it. I am a participant in this study, just like you.

"But Roger, do you know how many peopled died in Iraq today? In the last month? How many people in Lebanon, El Salvador, Guatemala, Saudi Arabia, Iran, disappeared without a trace? Over the last twenty years? How many despotic Third world countries tortured and killed their citizens today? How many people died of preventable diseases?"

"The answer to that isn't to hurt more people."

"I'm not saying the answer is to hurt more people. But what I am saying is that you don't feel any real moral obligation to those people—but you do feel an obligation to polite society, to moral suasion, to whatever moral prestidigitation that allows you to think of yourself as upright and morally outraged even while you know terrible things are going on right now and you can do something about it but you continue to sit around in college classes cluck-clucking. Based on the life we lead, the only real moral decision is to push the button and collect the money.

"But to be honest, I am not trying to push you in that direction. I am saying that a gulf exists between how we feel and how we act, and everybody's sin is no sin. We lack a hive mind to enforce empathy. We feel it because we feel> obligated to, but we don't feel it."

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