
Is it ever right to break promises? If I don’t keep our lunch date because my neighbor’s house catches fire and I’m saving her pets, I doubt you’ll call me unethical. But what if there are no such extremities?
Last week I was scheduled to deliver a daylong ethics training workshop in an office park near Washington’s Dulles Airport, where I’ve been several times before. On an earlier occasion I’d been stood up by a taxi-company dispatcher who, after I’d waited 45 minutes for the cab to the airport, admitted she couldn’t find one and told me I was on my own.
So I’m understandably cautious about cabs in this part of the country. My hotel, a trusted national brand, was three miles from the office park, so I called the front desk the night before to order a taxi. The next morning a black SUV showed up, unmarked and without a meter. The price for the three-mile trip, $15, seemed high but not outrageous, and the driver’s GPS took us right to the door of my building.
So I asked if he could pick me up after the meeting and take me to the Metro station 20 minutes away. He was free and eager, so we agreed on the fare ($40) and confirmed the time (4:30 P.M.). We also exchanged cell-phone numbers, though I told him my phone would be switched off during the meeting.
Turning on my phone at 4:30, I get his message saying he’s tied up but has given “a friend” my phone number, and I’ll be picked up in a black sedan. Seeing no car outside, I call my driver, who says his friend will be there in 10 or 15 minutes. Calling back a quarter-hour later, I’m told his friend is now “two or three minutes” away. After five minutes — it’s now 4:55 — I’m about to call him again when two of our workshop participants walk out of the building. They’re surprised to see me, so I explain the delay.
“Where are you headed?” one asks.
“The Metro station in Vienna,” I reply.
“I live right near there,” he says. “Come on — I’ll drop you off.”
And there I stand, staring down the barrel of a right-versus-right, truth-versus-loyalty dilemma that, seconds before, I did not have.
On one hand, I’ve given my word to meet someone, and I have an obligation of loyalty to my promise. Yes, he’s late, but he seems to be well on his way to meeting me. No, I didn’t demand a metered taxi, but my trust in that hotel’s recommendation has helped me more than my trust in licensed cabs in this neighborhood. And yes, I’m annoyed, but is that sufficient reason for breaking a promise?
But look at the countervailing truths. I have a schedule to keep — another promise, in fact, for dinner that night in D.C. And it was the driver, not I, who first broke the deal. Would I be justified in accepting Plan B if he were only five minutes late? Probably not. But what if it were five hours? Of course I’d be gone. So is length of time the determinant? If so, what makes 25 minutes the magic number?
Then there’s the question of which facts carry ethical significance and which are irrelevant. Does it matter that I’m not pressured for time, since my dinner doesn’t start until 6:30 — or does that have no bearing on the driver’s promises? Does it matter that my original driver has reconfirmed his friend’s arrival, or are his reassurances perhaps based more on wish than reality? Does my disappointment with a cab dispatcher some months before carry any weight, or should that not be held against these drivers? And does it matter that Plan B requires an immediate decision, or is that urgency just an excuse for abandoning my promise (and saving money) in the heat of the moment?
“Look, the guy stood you up,” you may be thinking. “He needs to be taught a lesson. Just bail into Plan B and get on with your life!” But is it that simple? Is tit-for-tat a sound ethical principle? Does somebody wronging you justify your doing wrong in return?
If so, we’ve got a long and troubling period ahead of us. It’s called the campaign season. As it develops, lots of people are going to promise lots of things. There will be times when even the best of promises are overtaken by events, or when small promises are swept away by larger extremities. But two things remain true. First, we can’t live in a world without the lubricant of promise-keeping — not in politics, not in business, not in families. Second, we can’t always keep the promises we make.
Our goal is not to abandon the former — to refuse to make any promises lest we destroy our integrity. Our goal must be to get better at keeping the promises we make. The worst of all worlds arises in the cynicism of deliberate promise-breaking: the candidates who say, “I’ll do it,” knowing they can’t deliver; the campaign volunteers who say, “I’ll be there,” adding under their breath, “if nothing better comes along”; the drivers who say, “4:30, yes,” and immediately calculate a fall-back position; the customers who say, “Come pick me up,” while fully prepared to take another offer. All of us — drivers, customers, candidates, volunteers — need a right-versus-right framework to use not only for the big extremities but especially for the small commonplaces of our lives.
In my case, I bailed into Plan B. Ten minutes later, as we were driving to the Metro station, my cell-phone rang. It was the second driver, who was at the building and couldn’t find me. I had to tell him he was 35 minutes too late, and I couldn’t wait.
“You said that very kindly,” my friend remarked as I hung up.
“Thanks,” I replied, “but he was counting on my business, and I wasn’t really in that great a hurry. Did I do the right thing?”
©2007 Institute for Global Ethics