Sentenced to be shot to death by an Indonesian firing squad, they might be dead by the time these words are published.

I hope not.

The discussion of the fate of Chan and Sukumaran raises as many profound questions for Australians as it does for our neighbours in Indonesia. For our part, these questions include the following: are we genuinely opposed to the application of the death penalty per se? Or are we only outraged by the possible execution of Australians?

If we oppose the death penalty for all, then did we do all we could to petition for clemency in the case of Imam Samudra, Amrozi bin Nurhasyim and Huda bin Abdul Haq, the infamous “Bali bombers” executed for their part in that atrocity?

Did the terrorists’ apparent lack of remorse and repentance make a difference to our collective judgment in their case? Would Chan and Sukumaran be abandoned if they too remained unreformed?

These are just some of the questions that arise at the individual level. However, Indonesian President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo’s policy of showing no mercy for convicted drug traffickers gives rise to an even larger issue with which we must contend.

The essence of Jokowi’s position is that the harshest of means is justified by the ends of saving his citizens from the blight of addiction and death at the hands of those who profit from the illicit trade in narcotics. Jokowi’s policy of “no mercy, no hope” for convicted drug traffickers is his answer to the slogan “stop the drugs”.

What then of the slogan “stop the boats”?

It is difficult not to see a close parallel between the reasoning of Jokowi, when dealing with convicted drug dealers, and that of recent Australian governments when dealing with the plight of those fleeing oppression and persecution by boat in hope of asylum.

In its most potent form, recent policy has been very much in the vein of “no mercy, no hope”.

In a direct echo of Jokowi, the Australian government ultimately measures the success of its policies in lives saved.

Some people will object to any comparison that is made between the Jokowi government’s use of the death penalty as the ultimate deterrent and the policies of various Australian governments in response to asylum seekers coming by boat.

The idea that “the ends justify the means” (or that we should “do whatever it takes”) is one of the most pernicious principles yet conceived by humankind. It is the recognition of the terrible force of this idea that lies behind the warning that, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”.

Yet, more and more people are taking this road, enthralled by their belief in the absolute virtue of their cause; accepting as “necessary — if sometimes tragic” the destruction they cause along the way. To be clear, there is nothing wrong with “good intentions” — the trouble comes when people pursue their noble ideals without the restraint of firm ethical boundaries.

Islamic State is just the latest example of this malignant approach to the world.

The attention given to such extreme cases can make us blind to lesser examples that lie on the same “ends-means” spectrum. The execution of Chan and Sukumaran is just such a case. The Australian Immigration Minister saying that he will “do whatever it takes” to stop the boats is another.

Millions hope and pray that Chan and Sukumaran will be spared. Millions hope and pray that refugees will be accorded true sanctuary, as is their right.

We should all hope that our political leaders will banish the crude belief that the “ends justify the means”, including the denial of mercy and hope.

If I am sure of anything, it is that the world needs more mercy and more hope — not less.

Dr Simon Longstaff is the executive director of the St James Ethics Centre.