HOW TO BE A GOOD PERSON : IN A LANDLORD'S EYES

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

At some point in our lives, we all wonder whether we are "good people." We live with others. We know how "good people" act. We have an intuitive sense about what makes a person "good." We even hear things about what makes a person "good:" They are friendly, kind, forbearing, compassionate, ethical, honest, caring, loving, trustworthy, gracious, forgiving and generous. "Good people" do not hurt you. They do what they say; and they apologize if they do not. They consider you at the same time they consider themselves. Aristotle and many other philosophers have written tomes about what it takes to be "good." It is an age-old question.

Of course, not everyone can agree on what is "good." You can't know you are a good person until you know what is good in the first place. What is good in one person's eyes may be bad in another. It is easy to lay down absolute standards for goodness. Yet like all ethical dilemmas, only we can say whether we subjectively feel that we have done right. Nonetheless, we can generally all agree that being "good" involves living without intent to injure other people. In that sense, being a "good person" essentially depends on positive motivation. And that positive motivation shines through in good actions toward others. Good people think selflessly; they refuse to hurt others to advance their interests. Bad people do the opposite; they are willing to hurt others to help themselves.

Being a good person is an individual lifestyle. It does not depend on how much money you make or what you do for a living. While it is possible to identify "objective" factors that hint whether a person is "good," true goodness comes from the heart, not from action alone. Enron fraud artists probably donated some money to charity the same year they robbed millions; that donation did not make them good people. No, being good is internal; and good shines through in external action. It is hard to verify. But everyone knows it when they see it.

It is refreshing to know a truly good person because they are rare. In our world, it is hard to be selfless and honorable. There are so many impulsions to discard goodness toward others in order to advance yourself. By the same token, it is hard to be patient. No one wants to wait or understand others' problems. Nor do they want to waste their time on others without reward. After all, people need to fend for themselves. They only have a limited time to get the job done. If they waste their time being nice to others, they might injure their own fortunes. And no one likes to do that. Put simply, we expect most people not to be good; our society frustrates goodness. That is why it is a welcome relief to meet a good person.

There is no formula to being a good person. Yet people throw the term around far more than they should. In many cases, they say someone is "good" solely because they act in a way that enriches them. That misunderstands what it means to be good. A truly good person acts with malice toward no one. The fact that a person acts the way another person wants them to does not make him good. To the contrary, expecting a person to act in a way that is beneficial to you undermines their value as an individual. It "instrumentalizes" them; it makes them pawns in a game you want to win. Just because someone pays you according to a contract does not make them "good." Merely fulfilling an external legal obligation is no shortcut to goodness. A good person holds to his word because it is his word, not because the law threatens him to do so.

Yet many people think that observing external obligations makes you "good." It is easy to make this mistake. After all, complying with the law seems like a "good" thing to do. But the law is indifferent to intention. And intention is the only thing that determines whether a person is good. In that sense, it is possible to seem good by fulfilling every imaginable legal standard. Yet it is also possible to have only bad intentions while complying with the law. You can be a total scoundrel yet do nothing illegal. If a person did not know you, they might say: "Well, he is law-abiding. So he must be a good person." To that extent, fulfilling external obligations can disguise ethical flaws.

I encountered an example to illustrate this easily confused distinction in the New York Post a few days ago. I read an article about some poor web designer who got run over in a Brooklyn street. See N.Y. Post, Horror hit-run in B'klyn, April 19, 2010 at p. 9. The article quoted his landlord. She spoke about his character: "He works. He comes home. He's a very good person (emphasis added)."

What did the landlord know about this guy? How did she know he was a "very good person?" She based her assessment on the fact that he works and comes home. What does that have to do with ethical goodness or pure intention? Nothing. If anything, it reveals that the landlord thinks the web designer was a "good person" solely because he went to his job, came home every night and ostensibly paid the rent. He might have been an utter scoundrel who doublecrossed his friends and broke women's hearts. Yet as far as the landlord was concerned, he was a "good person" because he adhered to his contractual obligations to pay rent. He also was a "good person" because he quietly went to his job and caused no disturbances.

I suppose this is what it takes to be a "good person" in a landlord's eyes. Landlord apply a "formula" for goodness: Have good credit; make an income; cause no trouble; pay your rent; keep your mouth shut; pay next month's rent; pay a late fee after the first. Your intentions do not matter. And "being a good person" means acting exactly the way the landlord wants. In this case, the landlord happened to like the way her tenant behaved because he did what enriched her. She morally approved him because his behavior coincided with her interests. His own ethical qualities did not influence her appraisal. It was "all about her." And that determined whether he was "good."

This gravely misunderstands what it means to be a "good person." A person is not "good" simply because he acts in a way that enriches another. Nor is he "good" simply because he adheres to contractual obligations under law. Rather, goodness is more subtle than that. There is no checklist. Action is not enough. It takes real reflection to see whether someone is good. Getting a rent check in the mail every month does not suffice to prove goodness.

Criminals and scallywags can mail rent checks, too. That does not make them good people.

But who has time to sit down and really think about character in our society? It seems we only care about character when we want to damage a foe with some embarrassing "flaw." And once again, we do that to merely to advance ourselves at their expense. By hurting them, we help ourselves. And hurting others is rarely good.

WHY I WRITE ABOUT TIME

A REFLECTION

In recent weeks, my writing pace has slowed. I am thankful for that. It has allowed me to look back over my work and reflect on what is important to me. No one likes change, but I welcome this one.

I write thematically. Last week, I looked over several old pieces and started to think about the themes that occupy me most. I asked myself: "Why do I write about these things? Why are they important to me? Is it apparent why they are important?" Perhaps it is apparent why I write about reason, dignity, evidence, law, power, money, death, fairness, equality and happiness. Perhaps it isn't. Perhaps people think it's just because I am a hermit who writes whatever he thinks on a certain day.

But that would be incorrect. Common threads unite all my themes. Those threads bind all my pieces together. Taken together, they present an overall philosophy about our existence. I am a consummate individualist: I never surrender who I am. I do not like to follow, but neither am I a zealous leader. I am not presumptuous enough for that. If my ideas gain traction, it is by quiet assent, not by compulsion or advocacy. In the end, I am a voice against all the forces in our society that subvert individual creativity and value. I criticize commerce because commerce is antithetical to both. I do not like forces that instrumentalize human beings or reduce them to purposes. I do not like convention. That is why I write satire, too. Normality makes me laugh--hard.

Among the threads that unite my work is a respect for time. I write about time in many ways. But in the end I admonish my readers to remember that time is vital because it is all we have. Without time, we cannot cultivate our interests or expand our personalities. Nor can we experience joy or feel good about ourselves. Yet so many forces compete for our time. When we lose our time to some competing interest, we lose the opportunity to live for ourselves. That is one reason why I am so critical of employment: Employment robs our best time and leaves nothing for us. It purports to "compensate" us for the robbery with a paycheck. But what good is pay (even really poor pay) if you can't spend it until your best time is gone? We have just a limited time to experience positive emotions before we die. If we give up our time in unpleasant ways, we never get it back to spend it pleasantly. We have only one shot at joy.

My views about time have changed significantly over the years. Before my father died in 2006, I had a very dismissive attitude about time: I always thought I would have more. I did not mind working for 14 hours a day in an office because I knew there would be time to enjoy myself later in life. I had smug assumptions; I thought life would just wait for me as I slaved away, wasting my time. I thought for sure that I would have at least 25 more years with my mother and father. I thought they could wait until I put in all that work, so it wouldn't hurt if I skipped seeing them for Christmas. I thought they would understand if I had to work a weekend.

But all those smug assumptions came crashing down when my father died. He died without any warning. In January 2006, he was a healthy 58-year-old who ran half-marathons every year. Then he developed pancreatic cancer. By June 2006, he was dead. And I had skipped his birthday every year for five years before that because I had no idea that he could die. I was focused on my "traditional career program." I did not respect time. And I suffered for it.

Thankfully, I learned my lesson. Only after living with death did I start to respect time. It made me rue the choices I had made in my life. I did not care about "success" any more. After all, what good does "success" do when you can suddenly just die at any moment like my Dad? Who cares whether you get a certain job or own a home? It's all meaningless; it can all end before you know it. Recognizing how fast life can end makes you respect time. And it makes you start spending your time more wisely, too.

Within six months after my father's death, I resigned my job at the law firm. It came to nauseate me. It probably would have nauseated me even if my father had not died. But after experiencing his death, I simply could not bear the pettiness of law practice. I could not bear hearing people whine and bicker about money. I could not bear the infighting about filing papers, sharing copy costs, managing calendars and setting docket dates. And I could not bear the ceaseless criticism about "not moving fast enough" to make profits on cases. It all seemed utterly, utterly meaningless. I did not care in the least. After all, what difference did all this make? I could just die suddenly like my father; what good what profits and docket dates do then?

When my father lay dying, he was not thinking about success, careers or money. He was thinking about his own existence. He was thinking about the fact that his time was running out; and whether he had spent it well.

I took that lesson to heart: Was I spending my time well? Or was I wasting it in a chase after meaningless rewards? I concluded that I was wasting it. I began living in the awareness of death; and that made me treasure my life. I started savoring my time. I resented anyone and anything that impinged on my time; for how was I to know whether I would be here tomorrow? I wanted to be master of my own time, because time gave me my chance to live. Obviously, this did not make me a good candidate for employment. So I had to adjust my approach to supporting myself.

I contented myself with making just enough money to feed and house myself. And I did so in a way that did not rob my time and dignity. Since then, I have been happier with my lot. For the most part, I am master of my time. That brings its own rewards.

I never forget what happened to my father. It tempers me whenever I feel the impulse to get into the "success race." I reflect on how little time I have to relish my life. Then I think how much time I will have to yield in order to achieve "career success." That is to say nothing about the sacrifices in dignity, ethics and happiness I would have to make to achieve it. Finally, I think: "Even if I do achieve 'career success,' what will I feel? What good will it do? What if I simply die on the way? When I lay dying, what will I think about how I've spent my time? Will I regret all the days and nights I toiled in an office fighting for a company's profit?"

These thoughts comfort me. They assure me that I have made the right decision for my life. Having said that, I know not everyone will make the same decision. My views about time reflect my experiences. They work for me because I live in the awareness of death. My respect for time intertwines with my respect for death. After all, life--with all the joy and misery it can write upon our bodies--hangs by a thread. It can end instantly. And life is time: There is our time, then there is death.

That is a pretty good impulsion to spend our time well. Because once it's over, we're over, too.

That is why I write about time: It is the tragic, ever-diminishing coating that encapsulates us all. When we waste it, we waste ourselves. So I choose not to intentionally waste it on anything that does not bring me joy.

HOW TO BREAK UNHEALTHY ATTACHMENTS TO PEOPLE

OESTERHOUDT ON RELATIONSHIPS

People often approach me for relationship advice. I don't like to flatter myself, but I'm good at it. I know a thing or two about human beings and their capacity to live with each other. I have credentials. I have been in a committed relationship for eleven years and I have endured every emotional, physical and sanity-damaging challenge you can possibly imagine. Along the way, I have coped with jealousy, envy, longing, lust, passion, disappointment, infidelity, vanity, heartache, reconciliation, misunderstanding, rage, sleeplessness, abuse, frustration, ecstasy, contentment, simple joy, tension and anxiety. I have even weathered trying health troubles at my partner's side, like unforeseeable life-changing accidents and mental illness.

When it comes to living with another person, I've been around the block. I'm not a boy anymore. I'm a man. That's not a boast. That's a fact.

In many cases, people ask me whether they should transform pleasant acquaintances into lasting relationships. Others ask me how to overcome consumptive attachments they develop to people, then the terrible disappointment that flows when their love interests do not reciprocate their devotion.

These are related situations. They arise frequently. When a person tries to force a relationship onto another level, a power struggle ensues. One person wants something the other might not. This leads to a disparity in desire, as well as wishful thinking and blind faith that the other person is acting in accordance with your fantasies. In short, it is emotionally dangerous. When you start expecting another person to act the way you imagine they will, you are setting yourself up for heartbreak or worse.

I did this in my first love. I became very close friends with someone when I was just a teenager. I loved our time together. We had a very special friendship and I felt respected whenever we met. Eventually, my feelings grew stronger. I wanted a romantic relationship. I started believing that he did, too. He really didn't. I wanted him to love me the same way I loved him. I turned it over in my mind all the time; it kept me up at night. I wanted to talk to him all the time, but I didn't want it to seem that I was the only one making the phone calls. So I would wait around for days at a time wishing that he would call me; and of course he didn't. When he finally did call, my heart would race and I would stumble on my words. I felt that I was speaking to my savior; he had all the power over me. It was just pathetic. I was slavishly dedicated to him even though he never gave me the reciprocation I craved.

It took me several years to break my attachment to this person. I wasted so much psychic energy on an illusion. I will never do it again.

Now I see clearly what I did wrong. I created a whole mental patchwork of fantasies about my friend. Those fantasies overwhelmed my mind. I expected my friend to act in accordance with them. It was unrealistic, of course, but when you're craving a person's love, you do not think reasonably. My mistake was this: I fell in love with a subjective fantasy image, not a real person. And when the real person did not act according to the fantasy script in my mind, I felt crushed. I expected too much; and I learned that people are basically inscrutable: They rarely act the way you really want them to.

My youthful attachment to my friend was unhealthy for another reason: It led me into slavishness. I hung on his every word. I followed his every action with total devotion. I delivered my fate into his hands. Whatever he did, I followed. I gave him all the power because I wanted him to give me what I wanted. I wanted him to love me so much that I sacrificed my own dignity and spirit to win his affections. I stumbled on my words when I was around him because he was my mental master. I wanted too much. That made me slavish.

I did not break my attachment to this person until I stopped wanting what he had to offer. And that is the lesson: If you have an unhealthy attachment to a person and they are not showing you the love you want, you must convince yourself that they have nothing you want. Once you do that, you will stop obsessing about them. You will regain your peace of mind and dignity. You will reorder your desires and think clearly again. True, it is hard to do. But you will thank yourself if you can pull it off.

Let us try to understand how this works. We develop unhealthy attachments to people when we WANT something they have. "Want" is the most important word in our mental lives. It expresses our truest desires. It honestly discloses who we are. No one controls what we want; our personality dictates it. We are never so happy as when we get what we want because it satisfies our deepest, most personal yearnings.

Problems arise when we want something that only another person can give. In this case, we cannot easily address our wants because we cannot directly slake them. And because the other person has what we want, we make concessions in order to entice him to give us what we crave. We indulge him far more than we should. We bow, scrape, flatter and stumble on our words. We make our love interest our master; he has power over us because he has the discretion whether to grant us what we want. That is unhealthy. It leads us into despair because we willingly enslave ourselves to his will. Disappointment and frustration become our dominant emotions. We never get what we want. And we are crestfallen every time our love interest does not act the way we expect--which is much more often than we'd like.

But there is a way to overcome this cycle. To break the attachment, you must engage your reason. You must take control over your own desire again. You must convince yourself that the other person has nothing you want. If you can do that, the other person loses his authority over you. He becomes indifferent to you. You get to say what you want, not him. You can pursue your own desire again without a fickle middleman. That is freedom in the purest sense.

I know it is difficult to do this when you are caught in an unhealthy attachment. It is hard to engage your reason when you are contorted with unrequited desire. But it is worth the effort. It helps to have a distraction that breaks your incessant attention to your love interest. In my case, I met someone else who took my mind off my obsession. It helped me turn my mind away from its destructive focus on unattainable affection. Within a few weeks, I felt free again. It was wonderful.

If you ever find yourself with an unhealthy attachment to another person, think about why you feel the way you do: You want what the other person has. You put your happiness in his hands. You heap unrealistic expectations on the other person and you disappoint yourself every time he acts some other way. You give him total power over the way you feel. Conceptually, it is easy to understand. To break the attachment, you must simply stop wanting what he has to offer. Once you control your own wants again, no one will ever tyrannize you with frustration and disappointment. And life feels much better when you're not frustrated.

FACTS DO NOT NEED TO BE OFFICIAL; THERE ARE NO "REAL FACTS"

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

I went to Starbucks this morning to buy a coffee. I wasn't really thinking about anything. I was groggy and I was battling a cold. But as I waited for the barista to serve up my venti bold, I overheard the man behind the espresso machine say to his coworkers: "Wikipedia is written by us. Those aren't real facts."

My mind immediately sprang into action. I really did not care about the man's opinion about Wikipedia. Everyone knows that you need to read Wikipedia with a grain of salt. Its reporting can be unreliable, just like any other source. But I took serious issue with his assertion that Wikipedia does not contain "real facts" because "people like us" write it, as if "regular people" are incapable of reporting "real facts."

I was saddened for two reasons. First, the barista's comment revealed the widespread--and servile--public belief that "facts" must flow from certain "official" sources. Second, it revealed the belief that "regular people" do not deserve credibility when they report "facts."

Let us begin with "facts." More than a year ago, I struggled to formulate a workable definition for "facts." Everyone thinks they know what "facts" are. They think "facts" are "things that actually happened." But it is impossible to really know whether something "actually happened" if you were not there to perceive it. Everyone else must rely on second-hand reports to form an opinion about "what actually happened;" and that opinion may not reflect what "actually happened" at all. Facts intertwine with belief; a person calls something "a fact" as long as he subjectively believes it to be true, even if it is not. A person's belief, too, is a "fact." It is a "fact" to say: "John believes that Mary robbed her mother." It is not necessarily true that Mary robbed her mother. But if John believes it, John's belief about it is "a fact."

Viewing all human existence as a whole, most "facts" are incredibly banal. It is a "fact" that I just moved my eyelid and that I just pursed my lips: I perceived these "acts" through my visual and tactile senses, so they are facts. Facts are rarely newsworthy, and almost never "the stuff of history." Yet many people mistakenly believe that "facts" must be "official." Like the barista, they believe that something is not a "fact" unless some reputable source reports it. To use the barista's term, only certain sources can present "real facts," not plebeian sources like Wikipedia.

What is a "real fact?" How does a "real fact" differ from any other fact? After all, a "fact" is any event, act or condition that is objectively verifiable and perceptible by the human senses. Your own emotional state is a "fact" at this very moment. Whether you're wearing blue jeans right now is a "fact." These are "conditions" and "acts" perceptible by human sense. The New York Times will never report these "facts," but they are still facts. Anyone can recount facts. As human beings, we all can recount our sensory impressions through memory and language. Put simply, the power to recount facts does not require a reputable press pass or an advanced degree.

Facts do not distinguish. There are only "real facts" to the extent that another person chooses to believe them. Source is irrelevant to the inquiry whether something is a fact. Source is only relevant to the question whether a reported fact is credible or reliable.

But the barista confused theses issues in a deeply troubling way. He not only manifested a belief that certain sources were not reliable. He also revealed a belief that certain sources cannot even report "facts" at all. According to the barista's logic, only reputable sources dispense "real facts." Sources like Wikipedia do not. Yet this is pure nonsense. Wikipedia definitely reports "facts." It reports "acts, events and conditions that are objectively verifiable and perceptible by the human senses." True, its reports might contain inaccuracies and falsehoods. But that is a danger inherent in all reporting. And in the end, "facts" are not about "what actually happened," but rather about "what we are willing to believe." Both Wikipedia and the New York Times face the same "factual" dangers every day when they report on matters that occurred beyond their writers' own sensory range. Both Wikipedia and the New York Times ask their readers to believe their words to be facts, no more. In that sense, they are exactly the same.

It is dangerous to believe that only certain sources have the power to dispense "facts." When people believe that only certain "official" reports deserve credibility as "facts," they disempower themselves. They yield their power to judge the truth for themselves by conditioning their belief systems on "official sources." The barista's comment revealed this servile dynamic at work. He demeaned Wikipedia because "regular people" write it, not "official sources." As such, he refused to even believe that it reported a single "real fact," as if any fact were more real than another.

Worse, the barista tacitly acknowledged his inferior station in our society's truth-creating hierarchy. Our society perpetuates the notion that truth can only proceed from certain "official" sources, like news agencies, universities, government offices, courts, churches and science labs. While those sources might deserve credibility in particular circumstances, the ultimate decision whether to believe something is entirely individual. And when people do not do their own research by investigating as many sources as possible, they subject themselves to dominant power systems. They accept some reports as "fact" solely because they flow from some exalted source, not because they verified the reports themselves.

We all can perceive the outside world. We know facts because we perceive them. We can report what we know. When we are honest, we know our word is the truth, even if we are not an "official source." We might even write an article about our knowledge in Wikipedia or some other popular publication.

Yet according to the barista's logic, we do not deserve belief. More substantially, we are not even recounting "real facts," even if we saw them with our own eyes. Only "official sources" can dispense "real facts," not regular people. That is not just weak. That is outright capitulation.

I wish more people would understand that we all can report facts as long as we can perceive and communicate. All facts are "real" as long as we believe them. And we do not have to be news agencies to deserve belief.

YOU ARE AN EXPENDABLE (AND EXPENSIVE) INSTRUMENT : THE UGLY TRUTH ABOUT JOBS IN AMERICA

THE MYTH OF EMPLOYMENT IN AMERICA

PART 2 - PRACTICAL REALITIES

During the 2008 presidential campaign, both Barack Obama and John McCain touted their plans to "create American jobs." No matter what subject they discussed--the environment, the military, the schools--they always related it to the "jobs question." The fact that they talked so much about jobs reveals just how much Americans love jobs. In 2008, Americans were certainly worried about jobs; unemployment was rising after the worldwide financial collapse. They wanted jobs. The candidates understood that. So they talked about jobs.

Since 2008, it has not gotten any easier to get a job in America. Unemployment steadily rose through 2009. Many people lucky enough to get a paycheck during this time got it from some "sub-level" job with no benefits and no entitlements. Americans started to panic about their economic futures on a scale not seen since the 1930s. Why? Because there were no jobs out there. No one was hiring. Skilled workers and professionals compromised; they took jobs with much lower pay and responsibilities than they deserved. That, in turn, left unskilled workers holding the bag. There simply were not enough jobs to go around.

Meanwhile, the old American rhetoric continued to churn: "You must have a job. Go to school to get a job. Learn in order to work at a company one day. You can even learn how to find a job by writing a good resume with the right kind of paper. You can learn how to interview properly, answer employer questions and wear the right suit to the meeting." Yet millions of Americans who followed the program did not get what they expected. Graduates who did everything right found themselves completely unable to land even an entry-level scrub job.

"What happened?" they said. "I got all the right grades, wore the right clothes, wrote the right resume on the right paper and answered the interview questions the way I was supposed to. And I didn't get the job?" Either that, or the employer just wasn't hiring in the first place.

Americans are rightly confused about why it is so difficult to get a job. After all, our history has somehow given rise to an expectation that everyone easily gets a job in this country. When we look back through history, it seems Americans have always been working. Europeans immigrated here to work. They built things. They worked in factories. They worked on farms. Later generations continued working. It was almost a matter of right. Historically, then, America has symbolized work: We provided work as inexhaustibly as our mighty lakes provided fish and our vast plains provided wheat. We were the great "Land of Opportunity." There was always something to do here; and we needed all the labor we could get.

Times have changed. But popular expectations have not. That is why Americans are confused about why it is so difficult to find a job these days. And that also explains why modern jobs are not as appetizing as they were in the past.

Americans simply do not understand how the modern free market system works. To understand why jobs are no longer so appetizing or available anymore, we must investigate how labor operates in the free market system. In essence, jobs are scarcer and more demeaning today than in the recent past because employees are little more than expendable instruments calculated to win profits for employers. At the same time, employee advocacy has fallen, while employer power has grown.

We can begin our investigation with two basic premises. First, people only engage in commercial activity for large profits. Second, jobs are contracts for labor offered by those who intend to use the worker's productive capacity to win larger profits. As such, they are not entitlements; they are private, discretionary relationships that may be terminated at any time. They are, so to speak, a "matter of grace" bestowed by those with enough money to pay.

These two premises lead to two basic conclusions. First, because people only engage in commercial activity for large profits, they offer employment to others on the implicit understanding that they will further their ultimate profit goals. That means that employees are only as good as their profit potential. If they do not further the ultimate profit goal, they are expendable. Second, because employment is a matter of grace, not right, employers assume a necessarily superior position over their employees. This results in a permanently unfair relationship in which one party takes almost all the benefit from the other's labor. All the while, he subjects the other party to ruthless control, discipline and indignity. When the laborer works, in other words, his time is not his. It belongs to the employer. And it all inures to the employer's benefit.

We can more closely understand these conclusions by focusing on the "profit premise." The "profit premise" is the best way to understand both why it is hard to get a job and why existing jobs are so precarious. The "profit premise" takes all the guesswork out of employment. It takes all the subtlety and uncertainty from the equation. Rather, it simplifies the inquiry to simple arithmetic: "Does this employee yield more profit to me than he costs me in expense?" Employees, after all, only have value to the extent that their labor vaults the employer toward greater profit. But the problem is that employees also represent an expense. It is impossible to have profit if expenses outweigh income. In that light, employees must "pull their weight." If they do not justify their cost in profit, they will be fired. And if the employer simply does not have enough money to "purchase" an employee in the first place, he will not hire anyone.

This explains why no one is hiring these days: Companies do not have enough money to spend on new employees. Private employers are usually corporations. Corporate officers, in turn, must answer to the shareholders. The shareholders want profits. If new employees mean threatening the existing profit level, corporate officer cannot spend money on new hires. If they did, they would disserve the corporation and undermine the very reason why people do business in the first place: To make money, not lose it. Corporations have no duty to the public; they only have a duty to deliver a constant profit stream to their owners. Corporations would actually violate their raison d'etre if they hired people as a "public service."

It helps to see the "hiring problem" in strictly economic terms. It demystifies the issues. From a job-seeker's perspective, it also makes life in the job market much easier to understand. After all, the "profit premise" makes all non-profit-related concerns irrelevant: It does not matter what clothes you wear to the interview. It does not matter what paper you use to print your resume. It does not even matter how smart you are or what school you attended. No, all those things mean nothing compared to the ultimate question: Does the employer have enough money to invest in your labor potential? If he does not--or he fears that your labor potential will not generate a suitably high profit level--you will not get the job. It does not matter how charming you are, or how good looking or even how qualified. All that means nothing next to the real issues: (1) Does the employer have enough money to gamble on you? and (2) Will the employer make a big profit on your labor?

In other words, your own talents and will have nothing to do with the employer's decision to hire you. If the economy is bad and the company is unwilling to threaten existing profit levels, you will not get a private sector job. End of story.

Understanding the "profit premise" also helps clarify why companies lay people off. Existing employees present a different question than new hires. Once a private business hires someone, a new relationship arises. The employer has new concerns. Before hiring, the question was whether the company had enough money to invest in another person's profit-creating potential. After hiring, the question is whether the employee is adequately productive. From this point, the employer takes on a more evaluative role. He investigates whether the employee is working "hard enough." He compares the profit generated with the amount he must pay the employee in wages. If the wages are greater than the profit--or if the profit is not sufficiently greater than the wages--the employer lays the employee off. He says there were "cost concerns." The investment did not pay off. So the employer cuts his losses and dismisses the employee. After all, it is voluntary relationship. And the employer can say "good bye" whenever he wants.

Of course, the above scenario assumes that the company has enough money to continue employing people. When the economy tumbles, or when the company suffers overall losses, it loses the ability to continue paying its existing employees. In that case, it does not matter how qualified or productive the employee may be. When continuing to pay wages threatens overall profit levels, employees get cut. That's the "profit premise" at work.

All these examples lead to a more abstract conclusion: Employment is a vastly unfair relationship. Having a "job" not only subjects the employee to ruthless economic appraisal under the employer's "profit principle." It also places him in an institutionally inferior position. Despite all social expectation to the contrary, employment is not a right in the United States. It is a matter of grace. This is significant because a "relationship of grace" is no equal relationship. Rather, only lords, Gods, sovereigns and those with greatly superior power bestow "grace." And only pathetic petitioners and sinful beggars seek grace from their acknowledged superiors.

Some may say that it is an exaggeration to call employment a "relationship of grace." But close analysis confirms it. In a "relationship of grace," a suppliant party seeks the benevolence of another party known to have strength, power and influence. The suppliant throws himself on the master's mercy in a plea for grace. One imagines a lowly feudal peasant begging his local lord for a loan, throwing himself at the lord's feet. Then the lord, with a condescendingly smug look on his face, extends his ring for the miserable peasant to kiss. Once the lord gives his grace, the peasant bursts into tears and thanks the lord for his benevolence. The lord can then count on the peasant's complete dedication in paying back his grace, even if he exacts a sum far higher in obligation than the sum he bestowed in grace.

Isn't this what happens in a modern employment relationship? Isn't this what job-seekers must do to win approval from their lordly potential employers? Don't they have to debase themselves and claw the floor and kiss rings? Don't they indebt themselves to the employer for his generous decision to throw them a few shekels? Isn't it just as pathetic and despicable as this?

No matter what "career experts" say, I cannot escape viewing the quest for private employment in these "feudal" terms. Landing a job requires more than a healthy economy and an employer who can afford to pay you. It also requires a subservient mindset and the willingness to sacrifice individual dignity for "grace," namely a paycheck. To win that grace, employees must kiss the symbolic ring every day. They must shlep to and from their jobs. They must stay awake. They must attend to meaningless tasks intended solely to enrich their employers. They must remain in an obedient position to receive commands for at least 8 hours a day. To add insult to indignity, they must bear all this so that their employer makes a bigger profit. And when they finally go home, they are both physically and spiritually drained. They have neither the strength nor the will to enjoy their own lives. Rather, they live for the employer. They live for their modern feudal lords.

Inwardly, employees thirst for their precious two days (or less) off. They yearn for time that belongs to them, not their lords. But is that not ironic? After all, they fought so hard to get their jobs. They bowed and scraped and sacrificed everything to get hired. Now, once they commit their waking lives to their employer's profit, they dream about the weekends. Is that not somehow disloyal to the lord they pledged to serve? Or at least "less than diligent?"

If you need proof for this proposition, just listen in on some honest employee chatter. Just note how often they mention what they plan to do next weekend or what they did last weekend.

So is this what it's all about? Are these the magical "jobs" everyone wants? Are these the symbols of our strength as a nation? Is this how we all should spend our lives? As expendable economic instruments to be cast away the moment we fail to justify our costs to our employers?

Perhaps it is. Then again, perhaps that is why there is so much unhappiness in our society. Perhaps the unending pressure to have a job stands at odds with what we want as individuals. Yet jobs always win; "what we want" always loses. And we can only ignore "what we want" for so long until we start feeling really, really bad about life.

Worse, what do we gain for all this unhappiness? A paycheck. Only the employer really wins. He doesn't care whether you're happy or sad. You are just a variable in the income/expense equation. You are a figment of the "profit principle," no more.

SURRENDERING, WASTING TIME AND FOLLOWING ORDERS : THE LANGUAGE OF EMPLOYMENT

THE MYTH OF EMPLOYMENT IN AMERICA

PART 1 - LANGUAGE

Last week, the White House announced some encouraging news about the economy. It said that the "Job Report" for March showed "significant gains." Apparently, more people found private employment during the early spring; and that meant more people were getting paychecks. Since late 2008, the "Job Report" had consistently reported losses. So last month's news was cause for celebration: When people have private sector jobs, it is a national victory.

What makes jobs cause for celebration in America? After all, what exactly is a "job," and why do Americans fetishize them so much? Is there something magical about jobs that makes people live their whole lives seeking them and toiling at them? I say no: In most cases, jobs are a poor way to spend your life; and they are sure way to obliterate your spirit as an individual.

Viewed in the abstract, jobs are nothing to glorify. In most cases, they are just a waste of time. People only work because they need to earn money to stave off material ruin at the hands of creditors, landlords, banks and other superior economic beings. They do not enrich people intellectually or spiritually. Rather, they commit people to a "service obligation," namely, unswerving dedication to the employer's economic mission. That economic mission might involve questionable ethics or outright deceit. But jobs require people to put those concerns aside and "do what the company wants." Worse, if the employee does not "do what the company wants"--or if he simply does not justify his cost in company profit--he is fired. If anything, jobs are gloomy reward. In return for a paycheck, an employee not only must sacrifice his time, dignity, ethics and individuality; he must also commit himself to another's material gain. That is a high price to pay for freedom from bankruptcy.

But still Americans thirst for jobs. Everyone wants one. Economists even measure national commercial strength by evaluating "job creation" and "job robustness." In other words, the entire economic system depends on everyone getting a job and doing what they are told so that larger commercial interests can profit and pay more employees. Jobs depend on hierarchies and disparities in power. Some live to benefit the employer; meanwhile the employer makes off with all the money. The employer expects total dedication to his economic mission; he pays just enough wages to keep the employee fed and under a roof. The employee must follow instructions and be productive.

It is not a fair system: No matter what free market apostles say to the contrary, very little labor is actually voluntary in the United States. True, no one is pointing a gun at employees to force them to work. But deluging people with ceaseless economic obligations under threat of homelessness amounts to practical coercion. If the choice is between letting one's children starve and taking an unfair job somewhere, is it really a choice?

If the field is so tilted, why does everyone want a job? If jobs are inherently unfair, coercive and wasteful, why does the White House tout them as the ultimate measure of national success? Does it not say something about our collective life expectations that we view our jobs as the highest expression of who we are? After all, most jobs are quintessentially counter-creative and anti-individualist. To understand that, consider that in American discourse it is often possible to replace the question "Who are you?" with "What do you do?"

Language relating to employment paints a bleak picture. It tells a story of banality, wasted time and exploitation. By investigating a few common words that regularly appear in the employment context, we see an oppressive, anti-individualist motif at work. And in the process, we begin to understand that the whole mythology surrounding "jobs" in America is exactly that: An elaborate hoax that sustains itself on false expectations and wretched servility.

Let us begin with the most obvious example: "Job." The word "job" is ubiquitous in modern American discourse. We cannot escape it. We even think we know what a "job" means; we visualize some guy slapping on a Starbucks apron and serving up mocchachinos for $5.50 a pop. But do we really understand the word? Where does it come from? What does it tell us? Is it really the sacred thing the propaganda tells us it is? Is it really the thing that determines our strength as a nation? Is it the be all and end all of our lives?

Let us look.

No one can agree on "job's" precise etymology. Most scholars agree, however, that "job" relates to the Middle English word "gobbe," meaning a "lump or mass of something," like clay, mud or grime. Dictionary.com says that "gobbe" did not imply "work" in 1400. But by the 17th Century, it began to assume a new meaning. Specifically, it meant a "specific, discrete piece of work done for an agreed-upon price." That distinguished it from long-term employment; jobs were "petty" and "inconstant." The handyman did "jobs," while the priest had a "profession." A person with a "job" was common trash. The fact that the word relates to "gob" tells almost the whole story. Jobs are grimy, unsavory and despicable ways to spend time. They are like lumps of filth with which people contend every day for a few lousy shillings. And they have always occupied the lowest spot on the "employment hierarchy." Only the meanest types worked "jobs." "Better people" spent their time with "professions" or "callings."

In this historical context, who would ever want a "job?" The etymology tells a nasty story. Only common rogues would deign to be "jobbers" slaving away at their daily lumps. What a horrible way to spend a life. While the word "job" may have taken a more neutral meaning over time, etymology never lies. It is indisputable that the word "job" reflects low social standing and abject surrender to a superior master. Only the most wretched people did "jobs" in the past, like cleaning privies or washing horse dung. Yet now Americans fetishize jobs. Who would have ever thought that so many Americans would have wanted to be the linguistic successors to Elizabethan shit sweepers?

Other employment-related words do not really improve the overall linguistic image. Those fortunate enough to avoid having a "job" might have a "career" instead. Like "job," "career" has become ubiquitous in American discourse. And like "job," Americans think they know what a "career" is. They also understand that "careers" are somehow "better" than jobs. They might not know why; it just seems that "career people" make more money than common slugs with "jobs."

But from an etymological perspective, "careers" are just as pernicious as jobs. While "career" has always elevated itself over "job," both concepts do the same thing: They voraciously consume time. "Career" especially implies a lifetime dedication to a chosen economic pursuit. It derives from the Latin word "carriara," meaning a "road intended for vehicular transport." See Dictionary.com, v. 1.1. "career" derivation. The dictionary's definitions stress "career's" temporal demands: "1. An occupation or profession, esp. one requiring special training, followed as one's life work; 2. A person's progress or general course of action through life or a phase of life." Id.

On its face, "career" does not necessarily imply economic service to a private master. But in American discourse, it does. People go to "Career Schools" and learn how to "prepare for their careers." They hear that it is "great to have a career" and that losing a career is worse than death. In all these usages, "career" implies dedication to a particular economic mission. It is wonderful to have a "life's work" if you believe in it, but how many "careers" really inure to individual benefit? A corporate "career," for instance, is not about the worker; it is about the corporation. A lawyer's "career" is about purposeful economic activity, not individual enrichment or creativity. In this light, "careers" in American discourse paint a disheartening image: They show people slavishly dedicated to a particular economic master for their entire lives. While "career people" may need special training to have a "career" rather than a "job," and while they may earn more money at longer engagements than "jobbers," they are no better in dignity. After all, to have an American-style "career," you have to give up your life to a "particular course of action;" you must "get on the road." In most cases, that means disciplined, directed service to a private economic master. If you do that, what time do you have left for yourself? Very little, if any. In this sense, "careers"--like jobs--generally reflect an essential hostility to individuality and creativity, as well as dedication to superior economic masters. And that is exactly how it is supposed to work, too.

American discourse about employment reveals its hierarchical function through other words, too. Beyond the basic distinction between "jobs" and "careers," there are also "professions." In modern American usage, "professions" are "special careers" that involve some unique learning or discipline. They pay more than other careers and certainly more than mere jobs. "Professions" even conjure mystical connotations because they involve special skills that average people cannot even fathom. "Professionals" use highly specialized language. They ply highly specialized procedures to obtain almost miraculous results. Generally, they go to school for a very long time before going into business. And on that basis they demand more money for their services. The word "profession" is all about "exclusivity:" Not everyone can be a "professional." We cannot all be so smart or skilled. If we were, we could pull our own teeth or conduct our own trials--that would not be good for dentists and lawyers.

"Profession's" etymology bears out these colloquial connotations. The word derives from the Latin "professio," meaning the "taking of the vows of a religious order." Dictionary.com v. 1.1 (profession etymology). In modern usage, the word means: "1. A vocation requiring knowledge of some department of learning or science." Id. Professionals, then, are modern-day mystics. Their very name invokes a "religious order." But they are not free spirits; they "took oaths" to the "religious order." This commits them to their "craft," or--in modern terms--their "knowledge of some department of learning or science." And they are essentially secretive: Not everyone can join a secret religious order, let alone master its complicated rituals or rites.

In practical terms, there is not much difference between a "career" and a "profession." Both refer to constant work for pay, most likely in the service of a private master. In that sense, "professions" consume time even more than simple "careers." Some "professions" genuinely do good. But in most cases, "professionals" band together to maximize their profits by exploiting public need for their "special knowledge." And in America, people do not become professionals to do good. They become professionals because they want "high-paying careers." In the process, they commit themselves to the profession's narrow "department of learning or science" for their entire lives, ruling out all else. Like jobs and careers, then, professions work strongly to suppress individuality and creativity. There is simply no time for anything but the profession--and profiting from it.

Finally, there is a general word that applies to almost all employment-related terms: Occupation. In many ways, occupation perfectly summarizes the temporal difficulties involved in employment. It is a relatively simple word; the subtlety lies in the imagery.

Occupation derives from the Latin "occupare," literally meaning to "occupy." But beyond the familiar "occupation," the word implies a "taking of possession of time or space." There is an element of both superior power and control in the word. It implies that someone or something takes possession. Obviously, anyone or anything possessing someone or something else is superior to the person or thing possessed. In this sense, "occupation" requires a subject and an object, a dominant element and a subordinate element. There is an "occupier" and an "occupied object." It is all about power.

These are revealing insights when applied in the employment context. After all, if a person has an "occupation," who is occupying and who is being occupied? Does the work "possess" the worker, or does the worker "possess" the work? I would venture that the work possesses the worker. It possesses his entire being, including his mind, his time, his creative strength and his focus. He allows someone to occupy him for pay. But he sacrifices his dignity in exchange. It is fundamentally submissive. And it confirms the essential power struggle that pervades all employment relationships: Someone occupies; another is occupied. The occupier profits by occupying the occupied object; the occupied object receives "compensation" for allowing the occupation. Yet make no mistake: It is always the occupier who holds the power, just as a carpenter holds power over his tools.

Where does all this leave us? It leaves us with an ugly picture about employment. American employment propaganda tells us that we should all want jobs or careers. Or a career of jobs. Or maybe a profession, or a professional career. Or at least an occupation. But if we understand what those words actually mean, we should hesitate before so zealously pursuing them. Jobs are just gobs of nasty filth. Careers are time thieves. Professions are hypnotizing, mind-narrowing cults. And occupations are invitations to be "possessed" or "owned." They are all about surrender. They are all about submission.

But maybe that's the point. Maybe we're supposed to surrender and just do what we are told. After all, the White House says we're a stronger nation when we all have jobs.

That is pretty scary if you ask me. Then again, not everyone reads the dictionary like I do.

DON'T SAY "NEXUS;" SAY "CONNECTION" : WHY I DON'T LIKE PRETENTIOUS LANGUAGE

AN ESSAY

During my first year in law school, I had to take a "legal writing course." It was pure misery. The "professor" was really no professor at all, but rather a disgruntled low-level staffer from the Attorney General's office who worked part-time scolding terrified first-semester students for putting one space before a period rather than two. She never praised anyone. And she consciously tried to drain all individuality from everyone's writing. She said: "This is legal writing. It's time to un-learn everything you've ever learned about writing. Right now."

In her defense, legal writing is certainly different from expository writing. It follows distinct conventions and customs that differ from the classic liberal arts essay. It proceeds along identifiable logical pathways and channels arguments to lead ineffably to a conclusion. It is not subtle. Legal writing does not hide anything from the reader. It tells him exactly what he is reading and repeats it about fifty times before it is over. In our legal writing class, we learned how to manufacture these technical baubles. And we got lots of bad grades along the way to remind us that we missed some essential detail or other.

I became a pretty decent legal writer. After all, it isn't difficult. It's just a skill, like baking. There is no artistry to it. You just take a position, organize some arguments to support it and start declaring why you're right. You avoid the passive voice, follow a set sentence structure and repeat your argument over and over again. You make all your sentences declarative and begin each closing line in a paragraph with "thus." Clarity is important. Subtlety is not. And why should it be? After all, if you're writing to a court to win a case, you don't want to leave your fate to interpretation, do you? Hell no. You want to scream why you're right; and you'll be damned if you hesitate in your demand for victory.

But there is irony in all this. Legal writing--like the law in general--leads lawyers to believe that they possess magical powers. After all, lawyers feel exulted because they know that they can influence the machinery of the State to deprive others of property, liberty and even their lives. They influence that machinery through advocacy, including writing. For that reason, lawyers believe that their "legal writing" opens the doorway to power over others.

Yet there is nothing magical about the law or legal writing. In fact, I came to understand that legal writing actually wields very little influence, despite the mythology to the contrary. When I practiced law, my superiors praised my writing. I thought it led courts to make better decisions in particular cases. But time after time, I saw that judges probably had not even read what I had written. Rather, they knew beforehand how they would rule in a case and carried that prejudice with them through the proceeding. No matter how grand my rhetoric or airtight my logic, my writing would never dislodge an entrenched conviction. Just because I nailed all the technical criteria required for "good legal writing" did not mean I would magically win the case.

All this sobered me about the "power of the law." I learned that there was a vast propaganda machine at work perpetuating the idea that "judges were impartial" and that "good arguments always persuade." The cruel fact is that judges and lawyers are just as shortsighted and prejudiced as the next man. They make decisions based upon their cultural intuition, social values and emotional reactions. They can skillfully cite the law to provide a seemingly "neutral" justifications for their decisions. But in the end, "good legal writing"--and even "good arguments"--will almost never change minds.

Nor should it. Legal writing is agonizingly formulaic. I even wonder how judges can even keep their eyes open when they read it. And who really needs to know what one side in a case says? You can pretty much figure out what each side wants in the case simply by looking at the facts. If a person gets injured, he's going to say the other guy is at fault and should pay him money. The other guy will say he's not at fault and shouldn't have to pay. Or maybe he'll say the injured guy caused his own injury, so he's excused. Our legal system is adversarial. That means that you can figure out exactly what each side wants beforehand: Team A wants to make money; Team B wants to save money. Each accuses the other of bad faith and shouts to the court why he should win.

It's not complicated. It's just a game: One team wants to beat the other. You don't need masterful writing to understand how most cases go. Our adversary system explains it all. And chances are a judge will form an intuitive opinion about the dispute long before he reads what either team has to say about it. So nothing either team says will change the result.

Yet lawyers love their writing, even if it does not ultimately influence anyone. Worse, they scold lower-level employees who do not use the right words in court papers. This may seem meaningless--after all, why insist on particular words if the writing does not affect the outcome in the end?--but it happens. It is as if lawyers understand that their writing will change no one's mind, yet they adhere to rigorous standards merely to show that they can. This is sheer pretentiousness, and I don't like it. Moreover, it is pretentiousness without reason; for even when lawyers use all the right formats, phrases and page headings, their writing will not influence the judge. He has already taken an intuitive notion about the case.

Take this example: In legal writing class, we learned that you must always recite a legal rule exactly as it appears in a case. Over the centuries, pretentious judges have written pretentiously (and sometimes very poorly) about the law. When they lay down a legal rule in a particular case, they enshrine bad writing for generations to come. But in legal writing class, you must cite the rule exactly as it appeared. I recall an example about some lawyer being disciplined for neglecting his client. Once upon a time, a court said there had to be a "nexus" between the lawyer's conduct and resulting harm in order to determine whether an attorney should be disciplined for client neglect.

What the hell is a "nexus?" In law school, I remember thinking: "What a pretentious, unnecessary word. You can just use the word 'relationship,' or even 'connection' to express the same idea without sounding like a complete SAT-word-dropping douchebag.'" So in my brief, I cited the rule without using "nexus." I changed it to "connection." I thought it sounded more accessible. It sounded less arcane. I did not want to sound like a spell-casting sorcerer when I wrote. I wanted my reader to understand immediately what the law said.

But I got a bad grade on that paper because I did not literally use the word "nexus" in reciting the legal rule. It did not matter that my formulation expressed the rule better than the judge's legalese. No, details are important in legal writing, even really bad details that do nothing to improve communication or style.

Still, at the time I had not yet recognized that the law cared nothing for style. I had always prided myself on making my writing as clear and as accessible as possible. It was difficult for me to comprehend that clarity and style did not matter in this new discipline. I resented the formality and structure in legal writing. Ultimately, I learned to do it with the best of them. But it was just imitation. I never believed that legal writing possessed any intrinsic merit over my traditional, expository style.

Recently, I have begun to see legal writing in a larger context. Now, its rigidity and pretentiousness make sense: They reflect the law's effort to construct a fanciful aura of authority and inaccessibility.

Courts and judges--as well as the governments that institute them--benefit from a population that fears the law. People fear things they do not understand. They cower before institutions that speak in a hard-to-understand way. It makes them obedient and respectful. That is why courts want words like "nexus" instead of "connection." If they used words like "connection," people might understand what they were saying. If that happened, more people might see through the law's charades and disrespect it. They might not even need lawyers to translate all the legal rubbish.

In this light, pretentiousness in legal writing makes some sense. It is a smoke-and-mirror routine. It is Wizard of Oz stuff. It looks impressive. But in the end it's all nonsense. Men behind velvet curtains are still men, even if they use befuddling synonyms for common words.

And the ultimate irony is that even the best legal writing will not impress the men behind the velvet curtain. They already know what they plan to do each day. Lawyers can talk and write until they are blue in the face. It won't change anything.

COMMUNISM : STILL UNBEATABLE IN THEORY

AN ESSAY

During the Cold War, America faced a serious intellectual challenge. It fought several wars and invested its entire economy into proving that its free market economic system was superior to communism.

Between 1945 and 1990, communism appeared a viable alternative to the free market. In both theory and practice, the Soviet Union and China loomed as proof that major world powers could function under communist governments. During this era, America did what it could to demonize communist countries: They were repressive; they did not allow free expression; they made it hard to earn a living; they were gray, forbidding places; they did not offer limitless opportunities for wealth; you couldn't own a home. Yet until the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, America did not have really tangible arguments to show that communism was ineffective. After 1991, it gained a valuable new rhetorical weapon. From then on, free market defenders could say: "See? Communism doesn't work. Look what happened in Russia. Our system is better. I told you so."

Many Americans accept this argument without further thought. If educational and social indoctrination did not suffice to bias them against communism, the "Soviet example" put the nail in the coffin. "Our system is better," goes the argument, "because the Russians lost and we won."

But why exactly did the Soviet Union "fail?" And why do Americans use the Soviet failure to claim that "communism does not work?" In my view, the answers are not so simple. To the contrary, the Soviet failure does not reflect that communism is theoretically flawed. It merely reflects that communism did not work in practice in Russia. More vexingly, Americans base their conclusion that the free market is "superior" to communism only after making some embarrassing assumptions about human nature. In a word, capitalist defenders must admit that human beings are greedy, rapacious, egotistical scoundrels in order to sustain their argument that "the free market is better" than communism.

Think about how Americans craft their traditional responses to the Soviet failure. They say: "Well, communism might be great in theory, but it doesn't work because of human nature." What exactly does that mean? After all, in theory, Marxism posits that every human being is equal and that every human being deserves dignity and respect. It warns against the divisive influence of private property on human relationships. It also posits that labor is free and that no man should exploit another for profit. Further, Marxism posits that government has a responsibility to care for people because government is essentially humanitarian. From a Marxist perspective, the people deserve care, not merely the freedom to exploit one another for money. Moreover, Marxism supports these principles by assuming that human beings are naturally good. It also places great emphasis on individual worth as opposed to economic "instrumentalization" that sacrifices individual identity for "usefulness."

Are these bad principles? Do they reflect a vicious attitude toward our fellow man? Certainly not. If anything, Marxism espouses an extremely positive--even brotherly--approach to human nature. Yet according to the capitalist defenders, this approach fails because it misapprehends what humans are "actually like." To defeat the Marxist vision, the capitalist defender must say: "No, this system does not work because humans are not brotherly. Rather, they are conniving rascals who seek at all times to enrich themselves, even if that means backstabbing and betraying their brothers. Individuality is only useful to the extent that some individuals can reduce other individuals to economic servitude. Additionally, this system does not work because humans do not live for equality and dignity, but rather for crass personal gain, even if that means oppressing and exploiting their fellow man. Finally, government does not exist to care for these rascals, but rather to allow them to engage freely in rascalry, because self-interested rascalry leads to economic prosperity."

In a word, the American response to communism confesses that human beings are ruthless, savage, insensate exploiters who have no duty to their fellow man. In a sense, it admits that the communist vision is admirable. But it discounts that vision by sighing: "We are not so noble." In a strangely depressing way, capitalist defenders take solace in the recognition that human beings are brutal competitors without decency or compassion. After all, that brutality and competitive spirit keep the shelves stocked and the children fed. Who cares about theoretical appeal when merciless self-interest gives you all the shaving creams, sneakers, steak varieties and breakfast cereals you could possibly desire?

In this light, I do not believe that the Soviet failure theoretically debunks communism. No historical event will ever discount Marx's hopeful vision of human society, nor will any one State's experience tarnish the communist ideal in theory. Perhaps communism will never escape its theoretical constraints. Perhaps no State will ever live up to its high theoretical ideals. Perhaps we are just not good enough.

But sometimes ideas are beautiful, even if they are not realizable in present circumstances. I think communism fits in that category. We can all dream about utopia, even if utopia is not attainable given our limitations. Still, that does not detract from the dream. If anything, it merely shows that we are not capable of living the dream. And that is not something to be proud of. It is just an embarrassing confession that highlights our weaknesses.

Maybe human beings will never successfully practice communism. But that does not prove that communism is "bad in theory." It merely proves that we are weak, selfish, fungible, vicious creatures. Non-communist governments accommodate that weakness and harness it to good effect. Yet I would argue that there is nothing laudable about our natural weakness. The sad truth is that free market prosperity depends on inequality, exploitation and savagery. Although the benefits might outweigh the burdens, it does not change the fact that it is an ugly business. And the individual only matters to the extent that he can use other individuals to enrich himself. That is pretty bleak.

But this is what makes America strong. What a strange business. In the end, the question is: "Who am I? What am I worth? Does anyone care about me?" The communist says: "You are a valuable individual. Everyone cares about you. If you are in need, you will receive help." The capitalist says: "You are nothing unless you make something of yourself. And if you don't, that's your fucking problem, because no one is going to help you, pal. So get out there and start earning."

Guess which perspective won? So much for humanity.

PRESIDENTS ARE BORING : WHATEVER HAPPENED TO INTERESTING RULERS LIKE FREDERICK THE GREAT?

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

In centuries past, political leaders led much more interesting lives than they do today. They were not just politicians and party bosses. They were more than petty thugs and criminals. They did more with their time than merely sign legislation, negotiate treaties and give speeches. They had more freedom to be themselves, not the calculated personas we see in rulers today. In the past, rulers have not just been commercial administrators. They have been painters, singers, writers, sculptors, generals, conquerors, heroes, scientists, philosophers and theater lovers. But today, most political rulers have no outside interests: They are usually just devious lawyers and cutthroat business tycoons who crave reelection.

By American standards, Barack Obama may be "interesting." But he is still pretty staid compared to history's more well-rounded rulers. In brief, he's just another wealthy lawyer who wears a lapel pin and panders to business interests. Come to think of it, no American President has ever been very well-rounded. The office simply does not lend itself to flamboyance or rebelliousness. Perhaps that has something to do with Democracy: People in a Democracy want relatively boring "stewards" to manage their affairs. In the American Democracy, for instance, people want stability, not calamity. After all, you can't make money without stability. That explains why virtually every American President has been either a lawyer or business baron. Lawyers and business barons are "stable people." Boring as hell, generally, but stable. They don't invite calamity, at least intentionally.

By contrast, interesting people aren't usually very stable. And they court calamity. That's why American Presidents aren't very interesting. American Presidents just want to keep the economy going and get reelected. That might yield a comfortable existence, but it isn't very memorable.

But rulers like Frederick the Great of Prussia (1712-1786) are memorable. Frederick was no mere commercial orchestrator. He was a general, a conqueror and an arts patron. He invited French philosophers to stay with him in his palace and engaged in homoerotic banter with his all-male courtiers. He played the harpsichord and the flute. He carried on correspondence (in French) with Voltaire and wrote music in his spare time. He even penned marches for his army. About his wife, he said: "There can be neither love nor friendship between us." He never had children; his wife lived in her own castle and he visited her once a year for tea. And he even tried to flee his own country with his ostensibly gay lover when he was 18. His father caught them before they left. Then he forced his son to watch as he had his lover beheaded.

Now that is interesting. A man like that could never be President: Too interesting.

Yet Prussia became a major European power under Frederick's rule. Frederick might have been a composer, artist, general, philosopher and arts patron. But he also ran the country extremely well. He was interesting and well-rounded. He inspired faith in his people. His example shows that well-rounded rulers can be exceptional, despite the impulsion to be boring commercial orchestrators.

I find it significant that no one remembers Frederick for his commercial tact. In fact, no one ever thinks about commerce when they think about Frederick. They think about his military prowess, cultivation and Enlightenment. They think about the things that made him a well-rounded person, not his skill as a financier.

In a way, Frederick's example shows that great rulers transcend commerce. After all, people don't remember quiet bourgeois comfort. They remember unique personalities who vault beyond the banal concerns of prospering at business. They remember interesting people.

That is why most American Presidents are quite forgettable. They just aren't interesting. The only ones worth remembering did things beyond commercial management. Abraham Lincoln comes to mind. He saved the country from dissolution, led it through war and abolished slavery. He might not have been an artist or composer, but he spent his time attending to matters larger than commercial management. In America, that is memorable. After all, almost all the other Presidents did little but manage the economy. Like Frederick the Great, Lincoln transcended commerce. That is why he is the most memorable American President.

But even Lincoln was not as interesting as Frederick. Lincoln was just another lawyer in a long line of lawyers who became Presidents. An exceptional lawyer, to be sure, but nonetheless just another bourgeois. He was a creative statesman and even an amateur inventor, but still nothing like Frederick. America simply does not tolerate such colorfulness in its political rulers. They would never get elected in the first place. Can you imagine what the media would say if a Presidential candidate admitted he tried to flee the country with his gay lover? Or that he preferred to speak French? That would not go over too well in South Carolina. America just doesn’t like flamboyant originals in high office. Especially flamboyant originals who might be gay.

Instead, America likes mediocre career politicians in high office. America likes one-dimensional Washington insiders who know how to work the system just well enough to keep unemployment down and income up. It does not want men like Frederick the Great, or even Abraham Lincoln. Put simply, American democracy does not want leaders who rock the boat too much, even if rocking the boat improves things in the end. Well-rounded men might be brilliant, but they are risky. And commerce abhors risk.

It is no accident that someone killed Lincoln. That's what happens to American rulers when they get just a little too interesting for comfort. And that's a shame, because interesting people can lead Nations to incredible new heights.

OUR SHAMELESS, DISGUSTING SUPREME COURT

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

Today I am reading the Supreme Court's decision about corporate funding in Federal election campaigns: Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, 558 U.S. __(2010)(No. 08-205 slip op.). I have already heard horror stories about this case. But I am always careful to judge Supreme Court cases without actually reading them. The press usually distorts what Supreme Court cases actually say. Sometimes they exaggerate. Other times they leave out disturbing (or encouraging) nuances. If my legal education taught me anything, it was always to read a text carefully before saying anything about it. And you really have to do that in order to understand a Supreme Court case.

That is not to say that magic lies within Supreme Court cases. Far from it. In most cases, Supreme Court decisions represent nothing more than gross political prejudice masquerading as erudite legal science. Justices make up their minds about the political issues at stake in a constitutional question. Then they instruct their law clerks to dress up their prejudices in neat legal rhetoric for the presses. Principle rarely plays a role in this process. It's just power and political judgment operating as law.

In law school, I read old Supreme Court cases and marveled at them. In the 1950s and 1960s, the Court actually seemed to want to find justice in American law. I even dreamed about becoming a justice myself: It seemed that they could actually do some good in the world. Men like William J. Brennan, Jr., Thurgood Marshall and William O. Douglas became my intellectual heroes because they spoke out against entrenched American injustice. And they bent positive law in order to achieve justice: They knew that positive law could legally create injustice just as easily as a mob could inflict injustice without law.

But those days are long, long gone. Supreme Court justices today do not fight the good fight. They are tired, uninspiring, lukewarm political actionaries who do less to enlarge individual rights than to stamp out what few liberties Americans still have. Worse, the current five-member conservative alliance is far more concerned with corporate freedom than individual rights. Under Chief Justice John G. Roberts, Jr., the Constitution stands for corporations, not people.

That is not inspiring. It is just disgusting.

It is doubly disgusting because justices today actually reference Supreme Court precedent enlarging individual freedom to defend massive corporations. I have only made it through the first 12 pages in Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, and already Justice Kennedy cited two cases in which Chief Justice Roberts referenced cases from the liberal 1960s to argue that "corporations need freedom, too." This is like the KKK using Brown v. Board of Education, 347 U.S. 483 (1954) to argue that "murderous white bigots are people, too." This sheer dishonesty--and ignorant contempt for American history--makes my jaw drop.

First, Chief Justice Roberts cited New York Times v. Sullivan, 376 U.S. 254 (1964). In that case, arch-liberal justice William J. Brennan, Jr., concluded that newspapers could not be sued for libel when publishing stories about "public figures" and "matters of public concern." The case stands as a testament to individual free speech rights. It established a principle that the people can speak freely about the powerful without substantial legal worry under the First Amendment. It reinforced the idea that the First Amendment is the people's check on the powerful: They have a right to speak no matter how exulted their target.

But now comes Chief Justice Roberts. He rips Sullivan's hopeful constitutional language from its context to support a conclusion that the First Amendment "must give the benefit of any doubt to protecting rather than stifling speech." Federal Election Commission v. Wisconsin Right to Life, Inc., 551 U.S. 449, 469 (2007)(opinion of Roberts, C.J.).

Justice Brennan wrote those words to promote public speech by individuals against powerful interests. They made sense in that context. But now Chief Justice Roberts shamelessly co-opts them to promote corporate speech designed to influence elections and ram corporate messages down people's throats. This is the ultimate misuse of Sullivan. Justice Brennan would have been horrified to see his language warped for this purpose.

Chief Justice Roberts does not end here. He uses another classic liberal First Amendment standard from the 1960s to support neoconservative corporate license in the 2010s: NAACP v. Button, 371 U.S. 415 (1963). In that case, the Court struck down segregationist Virginia laws that banned black political agitators from promoting civil rights. Justice Brennan--the liberal champion--again wrote the opinion, remarking: "First Amendment freedoms need breathing room to survive." Id. at 433.

Chief Justice Roberts used the same sentence to defend the corporate freedom to ram political advertisements down people's throats. Federal Election Commission v. Wisconsin Right to Life, Inc., 551 U.S. 449, 468-469 (2007).

This is so outrageous it is almost satirical. To even imagine that a Republican Chief Justice would steal language from a symbolically liberal free speech case to aggrandize corporate power is so shocking that it prompts disbelieving laughter. But Chief Justice Roberts did exactly that: He used a 1960s civil rights case about the First Amendment's importance in the individual's arsenal against injustice to bolster a corporation's power to maintain its strength over individuals.

That is almost as inappropriate as prying random words from a Hitler speech to commend Jewish freedom.

Sadly, this is how the Supreme Court operates these days. It has no respect for principle, no respect for American history and no respect for consensus. It ignores the fact that the Constitution should provide guiding unity on major principles, not an excuse for discord. On hot-button issues, its members dig in their heels and act like children--or Congressmen. They cannot agree on anything except their own base prejudices, which they enshroud in law as soon as they get a fifth vote--just like Congressmen.

Maybe this is just how any human being would behave in the circumstances. But these are Supreme Court justices; we should hold them to a higher standard. They say they are not politicians. They say they rule "on the law and nothing else."

But I see through the charade. It's all nonsense. It's all just crude power play. And it's disgusting because it's so dishonest. If a Chief Justice can corrupt hopeful language from 1960s civil rights cases to enlarge corporate power today, it is obvious that the Supreme Court has no shame at all. Just like any political group, it will use whatever means at its disposal to achieve particular results.

Yet the Constitution is more concerned with means than ends. The People adopted the Constitution because they demanded respect for individual rights against the government and larger powers. While corporations may not have been as powerful in 1787 as they are today, it is indisputable that they now wield enormous influence over American lives. Corporations can dominate debate about public issues in a way the Framers could scarcely have imagined. That is dangerous for individual First Amendment rights.

Apparently, this Supreme Court does not understand that. Now I'm afraid to continue reading the case. Who knows what terrors lurk in its later pages.

On the other hand, I might get a few guffaws along the way--and more ideas for satire.

I can't write the shit Supreme Court justices come up with.

SOME PEOPLE ARE MORE VALUABLE THAN THINGS THEY DROP ON THE TRACKS

A LETTER FROM A CONCERNED CITIZEN TO THE COMMISSIONER OF THE METROPOLITAN TRANSPORTATION AUTHORITY (MTA)

By : Mrs. Zelda B. Wertheimer, Wife of Joseph G. Wertheimer, Founder, Wertheimer Industrial Plastics & Enamels Co., Inc. Owner, 2500 Acres assorted real estate in four countries; Resident, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY; Member, Director's Guild, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

February 1, 2010

Dear Sir,

As a New Yorker and a humanitarian, I wish to complain about several new print advertisements you recently published around the metropolitan area. Although your safety advisements and commercial messages rarely arouse my indignation, your recent admonishment to subway riders: "Whatever falls on the tracks is not as valuable as you" is simply shocking. I speak for all New Yorkers when I say that your message is offensive.

I understand that the MTA wishes to protect its customers from train accidents. I also understand that train accidents are more likely when customers step off the platform onto the tracks. Further, I understand that some customers might disregard their own safety if they drop something onto the tracks, such as an iPod or other relatively expensive object. The MTA has a right to warn people not to risk their lives to save a piece of personal property. Additionally, the MTA has an interest in avoiding litigation arising from train/customer collisions.

I do not dispute the MTA's financial reasoning in this matter: No one likes lawsuits and no one likes paying money when they don't have to. But there are other considerations in the world. It might be prudent and even financially advisable to publish a poster warning people not to enter the subway tracks. Still, the MTA's message in this case is both philosophically unsound and in poor taste. In the name of decency and community values, I insist that the MTA remove these posters at once.

It is wrong for the MTA to suggest that "whatever falls on the tracks is not as valuable" as the person who dropped it. Although the MTA might think that its message esteems human equality and the importance of life over property, it is philosophically unsound because there are so many applications in which the message is not true. Popularly, people might believe that no object is worth more than a human life. But experience reveals that this is rubbish. Put simply, value depends on a comparison between how much the object is worth and how much the person is worth. No matter what our mothers told us when we were children, people's value can be expressed in dollar amounts. Insurance companies tell us how much we are worth all the time. Our portfolios define our monetary values. Courts tell loved ones how much their deceased family members "would have made" if they had lived. In a word, people are worth a number: And if the object they drop on the tracks is worth more than that number, then the MTA's "human value" message is totally untrue.

Consider the principle in action. Let us say that an impecunious, smelly beggar has a $40 faux diamond ring in his pocket. Let us further say that this beggar has no money, no savings, no real estate, no bonds, no stocks, no accounts, no chattel paper and no right to receive payment from any investment. He has no job; no one wants to be in a room with him, let alone hire him. In a word, this hideous, stinking beggar is literally not worth a cent. His "value" is zero. In these circumstances, if he drops the $40 ring on the tracks, he is actually less valuable than the object he dropped. If a train runs him over as he scampers to recover the ring, the MTA's "message" does not apply: The object he dropped was actually more valuable than he was: A $40 faux diamond ring is worth more than a $0 beggar. A third-grader could do the math on it.

Of course, that is a simple example. Most people are worth more than a beggar. But again, it is difficult to calculate human value. After all, a fresh-faced 30-year-old graduate with $150,000 in education debt is actually worth less than a $0 beggar even if the graduate has $4000 in the bank and a $10,000 stock fund. In that situation, appearances are misleading. Debt negatively impacts worth. Thus, the graduate is actually worth -$136,000. In this situation, if the graduate dropped even a quarter on the tracks, he would be worth $135,999.25 less than the object he dropped. Once again, the MTA's reasoning fails completely: A debt-riddled person is worth much less than even a modest object on the tracks. Any "positive" value is greater than any "negative" value: And debtors are "negative values."

I find it tasteless for the MTA to suggest that human beings are intrinsically more valuable than property. As the above examples illustrate, property is in many cases much more valuable than people. Many people will disagree with that assertion. But experience proves it true. A beggar's life is nothing compared to a $4,000,000 townhome, just as a debt-riddled graduate is nothing compared to a custom car. And what about criminals? Does the MTA suggest that a convicted rapist is somehow more valuable than an original Van Gogh? If a criminal dropped a Van Gogh on the tracks, does it honestly contend that the criminal is "more valuable" than this classic object of Western Art? I should certainly hope not. The bottom line is: Property is worth more than individual human beings.

But not always. When wealthy people hold comparatively less valuable objects, then people are more valuable than property. For example, if I were standing on a subway platform and I dropped my iPod on the tracks, I should refrain from scurrying after it because I am worth much, much more than the $250 iPod. I have extensive savings, accounts, real estate holdings and cash. My assets greatly exceed my debts. My net worth, therefore, is considerably higher than the object I dropped, so in this case the MTA's message is true: I am worth more than my iPod, so why risk myself to fetch it?

Still, these inconsistent results provide further proof that the MTA's message is incorrect. Messages must be philosophically sound. They must apply consistently no matter the subject matter. Yet even a cursory glance at the MTA's message here shows that it does not apply in many situations.

Finally, I find it utterly tasteless that the MTA believes in life over property. It is hypocritical for any governmental institution in this country to assert that human beings are worth more than valuable objects or land. We do not live in this country to spiritually enrich our fellow men; we live in this country to amass more property. There is simply no merit to the contention that life is about human worth. Simple commercial experience contradicts that contention at every turn. Men only have "worth" to the extent that they can expend labor and capital to amass even more property. Beyond that, there is no "intrinsic worth" in men worth protecting.

Legal doctrines and public messages that advocate life over property are indefensible. It makes no sense to sing odes to human life, as the common law does when it says that it is never permissible to kill someone to guard property. This is just ludicrous. If a person worth $0 tries to steal my art collection worth $45,000, there is no debate about which one is more valuable. What incentive would enterprising people have to amass property if they could not defend it against those without it?

Additionally, the law sends completely mixed messages in this regard. If it is so wrong to kill someone to protect property, why does the law not hesitate to heap supplementary punishments on thieves depending on the value of the objects they steal? Does that not show that our society finds it more wrong to steal something worth more than to steal something worth little?

Put simply, we put dollar amounts on both people and things in our society. Some things--and some people--are worth more than others. In that sense, the MTA grossly misunderstands what is really important in life. It is both philosophically unsound and tasteless for the MTA to suggest that all life is more valuable than all property.

Mr. Commissioner, I demand that you remove these hypocritical messages from our streets. It is time to educate our citizens about real worth, not delude them with foolishness about equality.

Yours very sincerely and truly,

Mrs. Zelda B. Wertheimer