Don't Lose the Virtues, Lose the Assumptions

Recently, I have found myself asking a question I am slightly embarrassed to admit I was asking at all: why have people been so unnecessarily unfair? Even writing that question now feels slightly naive. Not because unfairness is imaginary. People do break promises. They do exploit weakness. They do suddenly develop sophisticated interpretations of agreements that were perfectly clear when those agreements favoured them. But I have started to wonder whether my question raised a more important problem. Maybe I initially thought that, since I approached relationships following a particular moral code, others would naturally see and interpret those same relationships through the same lens.

I have always believed a person’s word should mean something. I believe in honour, loyalty, reciprocity, gratitude and the sanctity of a handshake. If I make a commitment, the fact that keeping it later becomes inconvenient does not, to me, erase the commitment. If somebody helps me at a vulnerable moment, I do not regard that help as disappearing from the moral ledger once the crisis has passed. There are things I believe one simply does not do, even when doing them would be profitable. That sounds admirable. I am beginning to understand that it can also be dangerous.

Imagine two people agreeing on a deal when both need each other. A year later, one of them becomes much stronger. Better opportunities appear. The original arrangement now looks expensive. I may look at the old agreement and think, “My word is my word.” The other person may look at exactly the same agreement and think, “Why would any rational person leave money on the table merely because circumstances have changed?” Neither person needs to be confused about the facts. They may simply be operating from completely different ideas about what an agreement means.

This is where I have begun trying an uncomfortable exercise of seeing the situation through the eyes of the other guy. Suppose I helped someone when they had very little leverage. Years later, I expect that history to matter. But what if, in their mind, the help was appreciated and the account was settled long ago? Suppose I gave someone generous terms because I valued the relationship. I may think I have deposited goodwill into a bank that can later be drawn upon. They may think I simply negotiated badly. Suppose I protect someone’s interest at a cost to myself. I may see that as loyalty. They may see it as my choice. The same event can create gratitude in one person and no continuing obligation in another.

That is a head-scratcher because we like to imagine that the moral meaning of our actions is obvious. Often it is not. Consider a handshake. To one person it means, “We have agreed.” To another it means, “We intend to proceed, subject to what happens next.” Consider the phrase, “I’ll look after you.” One person hears a promise. Another hears goodwill. Consider, “We are family.” One person hears permanence. Another hears warmth in the present moment. These differences stay hidden while interests are aligned. They reveal themselves only when keeping the understanding becomes expensive.

Perhaps that is the real test of almost every principle: what happens when it costs something? Most people are honourable when honour and self-interest are travelling in the same direction. The interesting moment arrives when they separate. The supplier who promised you priority receives an order twice your size. The partner who insisted ownership percentages were “just paperwork” discovers, years later, that the paperwork gives them control. The person who praised loyalty while they needed you may develop a more flexible philosophy of loyalty when you need them. Yet very few people experience themselves as the villain in these stories.

That last point interests me enormously. People are astonishingly good at constructing moral explanations for conclusions that also happen to benefit them. “Circumstances have changed.” “We need to be commercial.” “You have to understand my position.” “The original arrangement is no longer realistic.” Sometimes those statements are even true. That is what makes the problem difficult. Self-interest does not always arrive wearing a black hat. It often arrives with a PowerPoint presentation and a perfectly respectable explanation.

So perhaps I have been asking the wrong question. Instead of asking, “Why are people unfair?” a more useful question may be: “What did this person believe they were entitled to do once the incentives changed?” That question does not excuse dishonour. It rather helps me design better relationships going forward.

Business already contains clues. We use contracts because memories become selective. We use collateral because promises can fail. We use escrow because trust can be genuine and still insufficient. We use warranties because people can sincerely believe different things about the same product. We use boards, audits, approvals, default clauses and exit provisions because reasonable people can become unreasonable under pressure. These mechanisms are not declarations that everybody is dishonest. They are acknowledgements that incentives change, recollections differ and even decent people can rationalise behaviour they would once have condemned.

None of this means trust is worthless. Trust remains one of the most valuable assets in business. Reputation attracts better counterparties. Reliability compounds over time. But trust and safeguards are not opposites. A contract is not an accusation. Due diligence is not an insult. Clear documentation is not evidence that a relationship lacks warmth. Sometimes the most respectful thing two people can do is write down exactly what they mean while they still like each other.

That point matters because we often negotiate safeguards too late. We wait until relationships are deteriorating, at which point every clause feels hostile. It is far wiser to establish the rules while everyone is optimistic. Who owns what? What happens if more money is needed? What happens if somebody wants out? What exactly does “exclusive” mean? Does making an introduction create a permanent economic interest? If circumstances change dramatically, is renegotiation a right, a courtesy or completely off the table? These are not merely legal questions. They are questions about expectations, and unspoken expectations have an extraordinary ability to become future grievances.

I am also beginning to see that generosity needs structure. If I give because I expect gratitude later, I should be honest with myself that that may not be generosity at all. It may be an undocumented exchange whose second half exists only in my imagination. If I sacrifice something substantial for a relationship, I should know whether I am doing it because that is who I am or because I expect reciprocity. Confusing those categories is one of the easiest ways to manufacture resentment and then blame somebody else for not honouring an agreement they may never have known existed.

The same applies to loyalty. Loyalty is valuable, but unlimited loyalty can slowly become permission. There is a difference between standing by people during difficulty and remaining indefinitely available for exploitation. A relationship should be able to survive honest boundaries. If it cannot, perhaps the boundary did not damage the relationship; perhaps it revealed what the relationship actually was. Yet the answer cannot be to become cynical either. I could conclude that nobody can be trusted, that every favour needs an invoice, and that every handshake should be followed by a lawyer. That might reduce risk, but it would also produce a very small life. The harder challenge is to remain capable of trust without asking trust to perform work it was never designed to do.

I still believe a person’s word should be their bond. I still believe gratitude matters. I still believe some opportunities should be refused because taking them would require becoming smaller in character. But I now understand something I should probably have understood much earlier: my principles are primarily instructions to me. They tell me how I should behave when breaking my word would be profitable, when nobody would know, when somebody else is vulnerable and when honour has a real price attached to it.

I have now come to understand that my principles do not tell me how anybody else will behave.

That distinction changes quite a lot. I can trust while still verifying. I can be generous while knowing whether I am giving or investing. I can value a relationship while still defining the transaction. I can honour a handshake while ensuring that the consequences are written down. I can forgive people for being human without designing important arrangements that depend upon them being heroic.

Perhaps maturity is not becoming less idealistic. Perhaps it is learning where ideals belong. Integrity should govern my conduct, but incentives should inform my expectations. Trust should remain possible, but blindness should not be one of its conditions. I do not want experience to educate the honour out of me. I only want my experience to help me work through the assumptions.

My lesson to us all is a simple one. Keep the virtues. Lose the assumptions.

Maybe that’s how we keep our sanity in this crazy world we find ourselves in.

Thank you for reading. I welcome your reflections, questions, and suggestions for future topics. Subscribe to the ‘Entrepreneur In You’ newsletter here: https://lnkd.in/d-hgCVPy, follow me on all social platforms at @thisisthemax, or get weekly updates via my official WhatsApp channel: www.bit.ly/whatsappthemax.

Wishing you a purposeful and successful week ahead!

'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'

The author, Dr. Maxwell Ampong, is an entrepreneur, investment and strategy executive & CEO of Maxwell Investments Group. His work spans finance, technology, sustainability, trade, enterprise development and institutional partnerships. He serves in executive and advisory capacities across business, academia, culture, agriculture and social development. He is Nana Kwadwo Marfo Ampong I, Aboafuohene of Kona in Asanteman. Dr. Ampong holds postgraduate qualifications in finance, law, business administration, international relations, artificial intelligence and machine learning. He writes on economics, investment, entrepreneurship, technology, social and sustainable development. Entrepreneur In You operates under the auspices of the Africa School of Entrepreneurship, an initiative of Maxwell Investments Group.

Disclaimer: The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author, Dr. Maxwell Ampong, and do not necessarily reflect the official policy, position, or beliefs of Maxwell Investments Group or any of its affiliates. Any references to policy or regulation reflect the author’s interpretation and are not intended to represent the formal stance of Maxwell Investments Group. This content is provided for informational purposes only and does not constitute legal, financial, or investment advice. Readers should seek independent advice before making any decisions based on this material. Maxwell Investments Group assumes no responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions in the content or for any actions taken based on the information provided.