The Good Bet

Mark, a respected moral philosopher, is convinced that people are fundamentally good. Ben, who investigates intellectual property theft, is equally convinced that every seeming act of kindness is simply a more indirect route toward self-gratification. They have maintained an unlikely friendship since childhood; however, the effort Mark has always put into helping Ben has been matched by Ben’s resentment toward him for the lack of respect these efforts imply. When Ben decides to stop fighting white collar crimes and achieves immediate success by seducing disgruntled employees into committing them instead, he becomes convinced that unrestrained self-interest is the truth of human nature. He believes he is liberating people from the doomed quest to lead more morally exemplary lives espoused by Mark. When Mark derides this “realization,” Ben proposes a bet to prove it by tempting an unarguably ethical, socially conscious scientist into betraying the people who desperately depend on him. As it soon becomes clear, Ben is really out to prove that he can get Mark himself to do anything–however unconscionable–simply by making the cost of maintaining his humanity too high.

Playwright Perspective

I’m a huge fan of unanswerable questions, particularly the chicken and egg kind. One of my favorites is whether altruism is fundamental to human nature. Some people see altruism as a pure, uncomplicated reaction to the distress of others, as instinctual and powerful as our more self-serving reactions. Other people maintain that altruism is simply a strategy, crafted over the course of human evolution, to hide one’s actual, self-serving agenda. I’ve often wondered why so many people appear to be absolutely convinced that their view of human nature, whether it’s the affirming, hopeful one or its darker, cynical alternative, is the only correct one, despite the lack of any clear evidence that favors either. I was particularly interested in those people who are so emotionally invested in one of these viewpoints that it becomes too psychologically costly for them to entertain any doubts.

As my interest began to take dramatic shape, I imagined two friends, a moral philosopher and an investigator of intellectual property theft, whose tense, unlikely friendship has survived since childhood. Not only would they hold entrenched, diametrically opposed beliefs regarding human nature, but each one’s beliefs would be central to his personal and professional identity, along with whatever success he had achieved. Then I wondered: what would happen if one friend’s desire to prove he was right became so intense that he convinced the other to put their opposing beliefs to a test? And what would happen if the test got out of control?

Who