Musing on Silver
People constantly point to the fact that Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus for 30 silver pieces. I find it odd that the Bible even indicates how many pieces of silver Judas was given, or, for that matter, the fact that he was given anything at all. Would it have been better if it were 40 pieces, 50, 100? What about 1,000? Would it make more sense to people if Judas was offered the world in turn for his kiss? The ultimate question is thus stated: what gift is a rational exchange for the betrayal of a presumed savior?
The implication of pointing to Judas’s small acquisition is, of course, that there exists a possible level of silver that would be more rational, that would make more sense—thus, there must be some amount of silver that would make Judas’s decision more understandable.
Perhaps the problem lies solely in the fact that we live in a world too dominated by economics. The implication above points to the general process of computing opportunity costs: we weigh our options and select from the one which appears to have the greatest level of utility. But there seems to be a reality beyond economic models and calculated graphs—can we determine, through the application of economics, at what level an individual would betray his or her friends and family, at what level all that which we hold true and dear fades away as the offerings of a better “deal” are presented? Utilitarianism attempts to answer this question—can we adequately invest our faith in a system that weighs the betrayal of all that is good and right in the world against a specified amount of money, a formulaic output of silver?
The conclusion is rather obvious: regardless of the amount, a betrayal is a betrayal. 30, 50, 500—it makes no difference. Economics can help us understand many things, though it is mute when it comes to the matters of fairness, justice, and compassion. Ultimately, we live in a system driven almost exclusively by economic forces, often at the expense of humanism and genuine empathy. Thus, I think it is rather ironic when people scoff at how little Judas exchanged the betrayal of Jesus for—after all, I don’t know anyone else who wouldn’t have done the same for a mere 10 pieces of silver, let alone 30.
The implication of pointing to Judas’s small acquisition is, of course, that there exists a possible level of silver that would be more rational, that would make more sense—thus, there must be some amount of silver that would make Judas’s decision more understandable.
Perhaps the problem lies solely in the fact that we live in a world too dominated by economics. The implication above points to the general process of computing opportunity costs: we weigh our options and select from the one which appears to have the greatest level of utility. But there seems to be a reality beyond economic models and calculated graphs—can we determine, through the application of economics, at what level an individual would betray his or her friends and family, at what level all that which we hold true and dear fades away as the offerings of a better “deal” are presented? Utilitarianism attempts to answer this question—can we adequately invest our faith in a system that weighs the betrayal of all that is good and right in the world against a specified amount of money, a formulaic output of silver?
The conclusion is rather obvious: regardless of the amount, a betrayal is a betrayal. 30, 50, 500—it makes no difference. Economics can help us understand many things, though it is mute when it comes to the matters of fairness, justice, and compassion. Ultimately, we live in a system driven almost exclusively by economic forces, often at the expense of humanism and genuine empathy. Thus, I think it is rather ironic when people scoff at how little Judas exchanged the betrayal of Jesus for—after all, I don’t know anyone else who wouldn’t have done the same for a mere 10 pieces of silver, let alone 30.