DEAD FOR A GYM BAG AND SOME DEODORANT

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

Two days ago, a Manhattan lawyer dropped her gym bag onto subway tracks on the Upper East Side. She leaped down to fetch it. She had difficulty getting back onto the platform, then she panicked as a train came rushing into the station. Horrified witnesses froze. Some told her to lay between the rails so the train would pass over her. Most said nothing and just watched. The lawyer tried to press herself against the platform wall so the train would pass her. It didn't; the train squashed her.

Later, officials reported that the gym bag contained keys, a cellphone, gym clothes and some deodorant. See N.Y. Post, Panic on tracks doomed subway victim, March 13, 2010 at p. 5. It did not contain priceless diamonds or even confidential client files. There was absolutely no need to risk life to save it.

I recount this sad story because it represents yet another occasion on which my writing has foretold true events. Just last month, I penned a satire called "Some People are More Valuable Than Things They Drop on the Tracks." See http://reasoncommercejustice.blogspot.com/2010/02/some-people-are-more-valuable-than_01.html. In that piece, I analyzed the New York Transit System's admonishment never to chase dropped property onto subway tracks. I used satire to show that our society places disproportionate weight on property over human life. At the same time, I made my own perspective clear: That it is grotesque to assign monetary value to individual lives. Still, my own sarcasm now seems eerily macabre in light of this new incident: "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;" and "The bottom line is: Property is worth more than individual human beings."

I was trying to elicit uncomfortable laughter when I wrote those words. Anyone with a shred of compassion understands that property is petty compared to human life. Yet at the same time, it is incontestable that property wields immense influence over both our society and individual perspectives. All too often, property seems to mean more than life itself. My satire reflected on that sad truth. It dared to suggest that life was more important. Privately, I held out hope that people would respect their lives more than their property.

But my hopes fell on deaf ears. The Post story shows just how much property means to people, even in very small amounts. Here was a woman with a career--and ostensibly, something to live for--who disregarded her life to save some deodorant and gym clothes. Her property was more important to her than her existence. So she jumped after it, even as a train raced toward her. At that moment, she thought herself less valuable than her gym bag.

Perhaps there are alternative explanations. I can think of several. For starters, the Post article recounts that the victim was a "lawyer" who--according to neighbors--used to wander hallways and elevators in her apartment building "muttering to herself in a strange way." See N.Y. Post, Panic on tracks doomed subway victim, March 13, 2010 at p. 5. One neighbor even said she looked "distressed" and that she was "not 100 percent there."

Many functioning lawyers have latent mental problems. When I practiced law, I knew many "well-respected" attorneys who muttered to themselves in elevators, sighed loudly, grumbled in abject frustration and habitually balled their fists from stress. It is not an easy job. "Getting results" in court is not an exact science; in fact, it is not a science at all. There are no sure things in law practice. Lawyers live with biting uncertainty and deadlines every day. They live on a razor's edge; and they are surrounded by striving, ambitious, ruthless people at every turn. They make their living battling contentious people for money. It is an extraordinarily negative enterprise. Their success depends on chance as much as preparation. Everyone wants something from them: Clients, bosses, judges. Everyone wants results now and no one wants to wait. There is never enough time; and there is always something else to do. They live under the clock; and the clock does not forgive. In fact, no one forgives. It is a fretful, ulcerous existence. That is why it is no wonder that lawyers fall into alcoholism, drug abuse and mental illness at a far greater rate than the general population.

Lawyers on schedules are dangerously unpredictable creatures. You don't want to get in their way; they might do something impulsive. When they have somewhere to be, they get there at all costs, even if it means taking absurd chances with their own lives. I own recalled my uncomfortable days in law practice when I read the Post article. I remembered what stressed-out lawyers are like. My memories helped me understand why this poor woman jumped on the tracks: She was in a hurry; she was trying to squeeze in the gym during her busy day; she did not want to wait for help to get her bag because that would throw off her schedule; if she got behind schedule, she would have to make unpleasant phone calls to disappointed superiors; she wanted to get home before 9 PM; if she waited for help to get her bag, she would never finish her day; and she really wanted to finish her day on time.

On an impulse, she jumped onto the tracks. She did not want to wait. She did not want to make those phone calls. She did not want to fall behind schedule. So she took matters into her own hands and died for deodorant.

I am glad I don't practice law anymore. And no matter how much my satires presage reality, it really saddens me when they do. I am not proud of it.

In the end, it's hard to exaggerate anything to satirical effect. Reality always sees your bet, no matter how high you make it.

WHOM WOULD YOU RATHER KILL? A MAN OR A DOG?

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

We learn from earliest childhood that "killing is bad." We have a natural moral sense that ending lives is generally not a good (and certainly not a nice) thing to do. Along the same lines, we learn that "life is valuable." We especially learn this when it comes to human lives. Animal lives are, well, not as valuable.

Some people genuinely take these lessons to heart. Abortion opponents, for instance, say that "all potential life is valuable." That means that not just full-grown adults do not deserve to die, but also tiny cell clusters that might one day develop into fetuses. Some even think that any potential life is valuable. But this reaches into absurdity. After all, every ejaculation and ovulation cycle represents "potential life." Surely it is neither sin nor murder to have a period or to ejaculate without an intention to procreate.

But all "life rhetoric" is vexingly biased. After all, who speaks up for non-human life? All cellular organisms are "alive." They all "die" when their necessary cellular functions cease. Is it somehow distressing, then, when a cow dies? How about a cockroach? Or a tree? These things are all "life." Yet no one marches to stop "tree murder," and no one wails when a raccoon dies in the wilderness. Put simply, when people say they "believe in life," they really mean that they believe in "human life." After all, people have an interest in staying alive. From a biological perspective, no living creature wants to die. A few people, of course, want to kill themselves. In the aggregate, however, most living humans want to stay alive.

Despite all this, even those who feverishly "defend human life" are not absolutists. Even people who fight tooth and nail to defend the unborn--or lament wasted sperm--have exceptions to their rule. After all, many people think that some human life is not worth preserving. When a man "deserves" to die, even the staunchest life defenders do not intervene to save him. I always found it amusing that most abortion defenders support capital punishment. I find it even more amusing that some particularly fiery abortion defenders murder doctors in order to prevent abortions. How's that for a problematic principle? All life is precious; but some people deserve to be killed. It's enough to boggle one's mind--or even laugh, if it weren't so serious.

Perhaps it is not so surprising after all. In fact, I venture that most people actually have little problem killing their fellow man. In fact, I think most people would have an easier time killing a man than a "lesser life form," like a dog or a deer. Despite all the things we learn about killing others, I think most people just need to be pushed far enough in order to kill another human being. And not just kill--gleefully kill.

And that's the difference: Men must be pushed to kill another person. Only human beings have the capacity to taunt, insult, degrade, abuse and denigrate their fellows. They can cause untold misery to one another, both physically and psychologically. The urge to kill builds in proportion to the misery a person endures at another's hands. Sometimes it does not even take that much to push a person over the edge. Think about road rage killings and drunken barroom squabbles. Men exchange words. Their emotions fly off the handle. Next thing you know, someone is dead. In other cases, a person suffers chronic abuse and finally snaps. Consider the beaten wife who just can't take it any more and slits her husband's throat while he sleeps.

In short, people kill each other for comparatively little. Maybe life is not that sacred after all.

But the same people who gladly kill their fellow man might have trouble killing a puppy dog. After all, people who kill over abuse or petty arguments do so because humans have a unique ability to arouse enmity in one another. In the moment before a man stabs a rival who insulted his girlfriend, he thinks: "I'm gonna kill this fucking asshole." In other words, the human capacity for intent leads men to kill each other. It even makes killing easy in the right circumstances.

Not so with a dog. Why would anyone want to kill an innocent little puppy? Everyone knows that a puppy can't cause any harm. It can't lie, deceive, insult, connive, abuse, beat, torture or tyrannize. It can do none of the things that arouse homicidal rage in human beings. If it came between an innocent puppy dog and a hated tormentor who slaps and insults you all day for weeks on end, I don't think I'm stretching to suggest that most people would much rather kill the man than the dog.

In a word, it is facetious to claim that "all human life is sacred." Our own behavior proves us wrong when we do. The truth is that human beings drive us crazy from time to time. They drive us so crazy, in fact, that we become all too willing to kill them if the circumstances impel us. Only humans have the capacity to arouse such furious, homicidal rages. Puppies have no such capacity. That is why-- if given the choice--I think most people would rather kill a detested, tyrannical person than an innocent dog.

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE IS A PRECIOUS COMMODITY--AND PSYCHIATRISTS SELL IT

A REFLECTION

I know a lot of people in therapy. Pretty soon I might join them. In one way or another, everyone deals with emotional disturbance and unhappiness in our society. Life can be incredibly painful. After all, we live in a competitive world. We basically contend with two types of people: (1) Indifferent people who want to outdo us; and (2) people we love who are biologically bound to die one day. It is stressful to cope with high stakes and loss all the time. We suffer defeats, losses and setbacks every day. Freud said that it is "much easier to experience unhappiness than happiness." Civilization and its Discontents, 26 (Strachey trans. 1961). Sometimes unhappiness grinds us into submission, no matter how optimistic we try to be. In brief, life takes a toll, even if you had a relatively stable childhood. And that's a rarity.

Yet for all our vulnerability to unhappiness and emotional pain, we strive for love. See generally Civilization and its Discontents, 33-34. We think that love will counteract our unhappiness, or at least make it more bearable. But we seek a very specific kind of love: Love without conditions or qualifications. We want love without first fulfilling others' demands or acceding to others' conceptions about "what we should be." As simple as it sounds, we want people to love us "for who we are," without manipulation or expectation. Generally speaking, expectations result at least in stress and at most in unhappiness. Expectations create a disparity between our conceptions about the future and reality. When reality does not match the expectation, we feel failure or worse. "Love with expectations" results in serious emotional pain. But love without expectations--simple, unconditional love--results in emotional satisfaction, even euphoria. That is what we want from life--strongly positive emotions--because when we feel that good, nothing else can bring us down.

But this is exactly the problem. After all, it is almost impossible to find unconditional love in society. First, our entire social structure does not really value individual happiness. Rather, it merely expects objective economic productivity and "service." Those two basic goals do not require happiness. Quite the contrary, they typically induce unhappiness. Very few people are ever happy about being "objectively economically productive" for someone else, nor are they ever happy about serving some domineering economic master. Yet "success" in our society flows from "productivity" and "service." It does not matter whether a "successful man" feels happy while he productively serves. It does not affect the bottom line. Subjective, individual feelings, in other words, simply do not matter in this objective social scheme.

But what are human beings if not feeling creatures? In the final analysis, every man and woman is a unique entity with emotions and thoughts. Emotions and thoughts are entirely subjective. While they might mean nothing to society or the economy, they mean everything to the individual who thinks and feels. Unconditional love is one of the best feelings a person can experience. Society, however, could care less about it. It is not essential either to productivity or service. This is why unhappiness is so rampant, even among people who appear "successful" and "content." They may reach "objective" standards for social success, but miserably fail to satisfy their own "subjective" emotional needs. In a word, there is much more to life than success.

We should not be surprised that it is hard to find unconditional love in our society. After all, everything has conditions attached in the merciless commercial crucible of life. A condition means something that must be fulfilled before something else is given. It is "bargain-like:" "If you cut my grass, I will give you $100." It channels behavior: You don't get the $100 if you don’t cut the grass. No one does anything for anyone else in our society without imposing some condition on performance. Conditions allow people to induce behavior in others. They allow people to tyrannize and manipulate others for their own gain. This might be perfectly appropriate in cutthroat commerce. But conditions attach not just to contracts and business deals. Rather, they attach just as often to human affections.

We want unconditional love because we are accustomed to conditional love. I read an article in the New York Times last week arguing that modern psychiatry can be explained by reference to "selling unconditional love" in a society that rarely loves, and only conditionally when it does. According to the article, living with conditional love cripples us emotionally. It said that even our parents do not often love us unconditionally. Much to the contrary, they typically want to "control our behavior" by baiting us with love. The article claimed that parents could warp their children not just by scolding and criticizing them, but also by excessively praising them. Each case implicates "conditional love." Praise creates an internal urge for conformity in a child, leading him or her to modify behavior in order to win the praise. Parents only give praise when the child acts "as they wish;" that is conditional love. Without fulfilling the condition, the parent does not praise--and does not love. Praise, then, can be just as damaging as critique.

If parents do not love unconditionally, who will? That is a serious question. If our closest relatives do not love us "for who we are," can we expect commercial actors, bosses and clients to do so? Certainly not. In fact, in commerce we never expect unconditional relationships. We always know that someone wants something from us in return for what they give. As fundamental as that "bargain imperative" may be in commerce, it is anathema to our emotional needs. We might steel ourselves to conditional relationships as we move through life. But in the process we deny ourselves the one thing that might bring us happiness. We will never find unconditional love in commerce; we will never find it in our careers. We never even find it within our own families. People always want us to act in some way that benefits them, or at least matches their sentiments. It is never enough to "be who we are." To fulfill conditions, we must always "be someone else." That leads to emotional ruin in the end.

This is the psychiatrist's niche. The psychiatrist, unlike the boss, the parent, the admirer or even the sometime friend, staunchly empathizes with his patient no matter what. He listens attentively. He does not impose his own moral or family-based judgments on the patient's choices or lifestyle. He offers the love that the patient's own parents refused to give without conditions. This is modern therapy. It is a dose of unconditional love in a world without unconditional love. Perplexingly, however, it is also a commercial relationship. Therapists do not support their patients because they genuinely want to give unconditional love; they do it because they are on the clock. In this sense, they offer "unconditional love conditional upon payment," but even that is better than purely conditional love.

Unconditional love is a precious commodity. The fact that so many people turn to therapy testifies to its pricelessness in our emotional lives. No matter how much we cynically harden ourselves to commercial realities and its myriad conditions, we always must attend to our own emotional health. Unconditional love makes us feel really good. It makes us feel better than any hard-won, competitive victory. Nothing can match it because it affirms our own personality without any effort on our part. It feels good to be loved "simply for who we are" without having first performed a song and dance to placate some demanding taskmaster.

Taskmasters surround us in life. They come in many guises. Even our own spouses and parents might force us to act in unappealing ways to win their love. When it comes to love, no one wants to compete. If we compete for love, it is not really love. We want others to love us because we are who we are, not because we do things for them. But this is a hard thing to do in a world that consistently heaps us with conditions and expectations. This society does not make individual happiness a primary goal. So it leaves us to struggle--often vainly--to obtain it.

QUICK WORD ON VACATIONS : EUROPE V. AMERICA

AN ESSAY

I have many European friends. We communicate all the time on a forum. During the summer, they always write about this and that journey they plan to take. They call them "summer holidays." They talk about traveling far and wide. They talk about taking four weeks off--with pay--to wander around Eastern Europe or France. Some even talk about going to China or India. In short, they talk about vacations with true relish. When they get home, they talk about how refreshed they are. They even say they do not mind going back to work after so much enjoyable time on vacation. They don't feel guilty about forcing their bosses to find replacements while they're gone, nor do they check email or phone messages while sprawled on Brazilian beaches. Put simply, Europeans know how to relax.

I can't resist contrasting these idyllic reports with horror stories about vacation time in the United States. This morning, for instance, I read about a friend who plans to take several weeks to travel through Germany and Bulgaria. He will receive pay during his trip; his boss actually encouraged him "because it's important for you to relax" and "see the world."

In response, I described the typical working American's vacation plans:

If only Americans understood the value of real vacation time. Over here, people hem and haw about taking 5 days off, compromise and wind up taking a "monumental excursion" to a water park in some god-forsaken suburb.

What's the difference, then? For starters, there's the obvious temporal difference. Europeans just get a lot more paid vacation time than Americans. Americans are lucky to get a week off with pay per year (including sick days), while most Europeans--even entry-level twentysomethings--get five paid weeks minimum. But the real difference is about power. Europeans get so much vacation time because they have relatively more power over their work lives than Americans. Over here, people feel obsequiously honored to have jobs. Like good fawns, they are prepared to sacrifice everything to keep them. It is a hopelessly servile approach; it puts full power in the employer's hands. Employers take full advantage; they dole out one week's vacation, no more. All the while, they cultivate a belief that "taking time off is bad," causing workers to feel guilty about leaving the office.

In Europe, by contrast, employers do not dominate workers as much as they do in the United States. Additionally, workers in Europe keep both government and private industry honest through spirited political engagement. When governments in Europe deliberate measures that award more power to employers, workers revolt. When Congress does the same thing in America, workers meekly stay at home and watch Monday Night Football. Given such political apathy, it's no wonder American workers have virtually nothing by comparison to their European counterparts.

Europeans do not seem guilty about taking time off, either. I think this reflects another important difference between Europeans and Americans: The mental relationship to work. In America, workers tend to revere their jobs. They want to impress their bosses, advance and succeed. To do so, they want to make the best showing they possibly can. That means doing work at all times, even on weekends and holidays. This is the attitude that resists vacations: After all, how can you impress your boss in Toledo, Ohio if you are tanning on a beach in Brazil? You're not making the company any money tanning. Americans debate with themselves about taking any time off at all. They worry about making the wrong impression. They feel guilty about foisting their job duties on some poor sot who's stuck in the office. To assuage their guilt, they simply decide not to enjoy themselves when they ultimately go on vacation. They bring laptops and BlackBerries with them to theme parks, casinos and spas. They stay in touch with work when they are supposed to be relaxing. They even try to show their loyalty by agreeing to take off fewer days than the number to which they are entitled. They travel locally, not over long distances, "just in case they need to come back in an emergency."

In short, Americans don't escape their mental relationship to work, even when they are supposed to be on vacation. It's about work, not life. And people wonder why they are unhappy.

But Europeans forget work when they go on vacation. They don't take guilt-ridden 4-day "long weekends;" they take month-long sojourns. If someone has to pick up the slack at the office, so what? That guy will get his time off sooner or later, too. They do not bring office email accounts with them. They do not return work phone calls while drinking or dancing with friends in a Warsaw discotheque. More importantly, they actually have time to unwind, "switch from work mode," reflect and experience the world. At the same time, they are not worried about their bills, nor do they worry about the boss' wrath. Their bosses actually encourage them. This is the European approach to vacations. It is about life, not work.

Americans criticize Europeans for precisely that reason: They don't care about working enough. But what has America's dedication to work really won? Americans are generally more unhappy than their European counterparts. They face more anxiety and stress because they do not have a safety net. They face more workplace guilt and obligation. True, Americans keep more of their income than Europeans. If they're lucky, they can even own more property than Europeans. But what Europeans pay in higher tax they receive in a more compassionate existence. Their high taxes finance their month-long vacations and free medical care. And in some sense, their high taxes provide them more happiness. An existence with less guilt and less obligation is a happier existence.

But America won't change its mind about vacations any time soon. Employers hold far too much power here. It is not just economic power; it is psychological power. It is deeply entrenched, too. Until Americans stop feeling guilty about abandoning their poor-paying posts for more than two days at a time, employers will continue to hold their psychological edge. That pyschological edge maintains political apathy; and political apathy keeps employers strong.

In an abstract sense, vacation time is just a proxy for the much more significant difference between Europe and America: Who really holds the power? If you feel guilty about failing to serve your economic master even though you are entitled to take time off, are you really in control of your life?

Employers in America do not just control time. They control emotions, too. That is power.

HAPPINESS, UNHAPPINESS, WORK, CAREERS AND DRINKING

AN ESSAY

When I practiced law, I learned the real meaning of the word “unhappiness.” I have garbled memories about my months in practice. Impressions flitter back to me without warning. No matter how they reappear, they put a bitter taste in my mouth. They confirm to me that I made the right decision to abandon the legal profession. They remind me just how awful I felt every day in a law office.

Before I practiced law, I never thought much about the concepts “happiness” and “unhappiness.” In my young mind, happiness was uncomplicated; it simply meant that you generally “felt good” in your circumstances and that “nothing was wrong.” Applying that definition, “unhappiness,” too, was easy to understand. It was just the “opposite of feeling good.” “Unhappiness” depended on “happiness.” If I knew one, I could abstractly imagine the other. I never considered that “unhappiness” could have an independent meaning.

It does. The mere fact that the word “unhappiness” contains the word “happiness” does not mean that “unhappiness” depends on “happiness.” To the contrary, “unhappiness” is a unique, pervasive, all-consuming feeling of malaise that darkens your entire outlook on life. It is not merely the absence of happiness; it is much more. It is a poisonous, enervating, hopeless mental condition. When you are unhappy, life appears bleak and pointless. Days pass slowly, even torturously. You just want to lie down and go to sleep. You expect bad news at every turn. When you are unhappy, you do not think to yourself: “I am not happy.” You think: “I am unhappy; and unhappiness has nothing to do with happiness.”

Practicing law made me unhappy. I could not bear to get up in the morning. I would lie in bed and pray that the minutes on the clock would not pass. From the moment I walked into the office, difficulties arose. My supervisor would yell at me for failing to make a phone call or fax something. She would reject my explanations with vague advice, such as: “You need to do better, remember more and move faster.” Of course, she never told me how to make people answer the phone or return calls. Nor could she tell me how to make the U.S. Mail move more quickly. Whenever I mustered the effort to fulfill her requests, she had a fresh rebuke for me. She called me names and told me she would dock my pay if I kept “fucking things up.” I tried to emphasize that no one had trained me. She told me to train myself by reading a 900-page “best practices manual.”

I felt disillusioned. I entered law practice after a very successful law school career. I thought my academic success would carry over into practice. It did not. Whenever I talked about legal theory, I was told to be quiet and do “case management” instead. That meant making phone calls and setting up appointments with doctors and engineers. Law had nothing to do with my practice. It was an elaborate horse-trading game that happened to revolve around a courthouse. All the while, intimidating people besieged me from all sides. My own supervisor told me I was incompetent. My adversaries called our lawsuits “baseless, stupid and worthy of sanction.” I even made judges angry because my supervisor instructed me to file idiotic motions in court. In short, I was castigated for following orders as often I was for failing to follow them. It was classic Catch-22 material.

My life degenerated into pure negativity. Nothing ever felt right. No matter what I did, I expected to be insulted, censured or criticized. I never received even one encouraging word from anyone. I remember losing interest in everything, even things I really liked. My libido vanished. Lawyers in my firm sympathized with me. But they, too, endured the same hardships I did; they had little time to worry about me.

And I could not escape. I stayed in the office for 11 hours or more for six days a week. I had no vacation time. I received cell phone calls before and after I left the office. The bad news and mean-spirited criticism never ended. Six months into my law practice experience, goodness seemed to have evaporated from my existence. It had become one grim, emasculating failure after another with no end in sight. My boss even reneged on a promise to increase my salary after six months, explaining: “You haven’t earned it yet.”

That’s when I learned what “unhappiness” really meant. I quit. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Since then, life has dealt me more tough cards. But at least I do not face ridicule, scorn and criticism every hour. I happier now than I was when I practiced law. In any event, I know I am not “unhappy” anymore.

Could anyone be happy in such circumstances? I remember something my supervisor said to me one Friday evening. It was about 6 PM. I was working on something that had to be done on Monday; there was still a long way to go. I knew I was going to be back in the office on Saturday, but I wanted to knock some work out before the weekend. Everyone else had gone home except my supervisor. She wanted to leave, too. So she came into my office and said: “Would you wrap it up? You’re cutting into my drinking time.”

I will never forget that. It made me seriously think about life, careers, happiness and success. Here was a successful law firm manager who divided life between “work time,” namely, Monday morning through Friday afternoon, and “drinking time,” namely, Friday afternoon through Sunday evening. When she said “I was cutting into her drinking time,” she implied that she drank at any moment she wasn’t working. For her, life was binary: Working and drinking. She must have liked drinking, because she did not like the fact that I was keeping her at work during her drinking time. If she had liked working, she would not have minded staying at work for a few more hours. But she was upset because I was encroaching on “her time,” and in “her time,” she liked drinking.

I am sure this is a common sentiment. But what does it really say about happiness and success in America? People are so proud of their jobs, especially people—like my supervisor—who achieve prominence and wealth. Yet despite this pride, they always yearn for days off so they can go get drunk. People say they love their work. But if they would prefer drinking to work, are they really being honest with themselves? Sigmund Freud wrote that intoxication is the “purest, most effective method” by which to ward off unhappiness. Civilization and its Discontents, S. 44 (Fischer Verlag, 10th Ed. 2007). Drinking “drowns cares.” If my supervisor loved drinking, she must have had “cares” she wanted to “drown.” This showed me that, beneath the collected exterior, she was somehow unhappy, too. She may not have been abjectly unhappy, but she must have been unhappy enough to want to drink as soon as she got home on Friday night. My unhappiness sprang both from my ill treatment and my disillusionment with a profession that cared nothing for the principles I struggled so long to master. My supervisor’s unhappiness came from some other source. I do not know what made her unhappy. She was powerful and had much more money than I did. She commanded people around the office and owned three apartments. Yet she was upset with me because I delayed her weekly rendezvous with the bottle.

Can we ever really find happiness in employment? It seems that every working person “lives for the weekend.” I know I do whenever I work a “traditional job.” I do not delude myself by saying “I love my job.” I do not like being a servant. I do not like sacrificing my time for a few dollars. Sure, in many cases it is necessary to sacrifice time for money. But that does not mean I like it. That is why I meticulously count the days toward Friday. During the week, a part of my mind always resents the idea that I am stuck doing someone else’s bidding for a shekel or two. Friday, however, represents a liberation from service. Working people divide their mental lives between weekdays and weekends. Weekdays are boring, stressful and unsatisfying. Weekends are exciting, free and fun-filled. The human brain does not like stress, obligation and constraint. Yet it loves freedom and fun. If it came between weekdays and weekends—and if money were not an issue—everyone would choose the weekend: Who would willingly face stress and obligation if there were no compensation for the pain? That is just the way our minds work. It is easier to be happy when you do not face stress, ridicule and failure. Even if you do not face extreme pressure at work, you still have to show up and sit in one place for over eight hours a day. Your brain would much rather be doing other things during that time, like drinking, sunbathing, shopping or surfing. That’s just the way we are, no matter how much guilt-ridden social programming we’ve absorbed to the contrary. We are trained to say “we love to work at traditional jobs.” But this is self-delusion.

Ironically, traditional jobs tend strongly to induce unhappiness. They consume time, leaving only limited opportunities for personal satisfactions. The fact that so many people—even wildly successful people—yearn to drink on Friday night is compelling evidence that people would “rather not be working” if they had the choice. More to the point, the persistent mental distinction between “workday drab” and “weekend fun” vibrantly illustrates that employment makes people unhappy. Workdays are “unhappy time” and weekends are “happy time.” It is childishly simple, yet accurate. “Weekend fun” makes us “happy.” “Weekday drab” runs us down, then thirst for “fun.” Without sufficient “fun” in our lives, we are not “happy.” We may not be truly “unhappy,” but we set ourselves up for unhappiness.

All this makes me wonder whether our entire social program even cares whether people achieve happiness. We learn to work at traditional jobs. We hear rhetoric about it all the time. It is “good” to have a stable job. It is “good” to know your place in the workplace hierarchy. It is “good” to spend your best years serving some company’s economic interests. And it is “good” to make money in the process. We hear that it is important to “be happy.” But how can we be happy if we spend 72% of our lives (ie, 5 days from every 7) wishing it were the weekend? Is it “good” to be happy only 28% of the time? Against this background, it almost seems revolutionary to want happiness 100% of the time. No offense to office workers, but if you say you are “100% happy” at your job copying papers, answering phones, staring at spreadsheets, delivering coffee and cataloging documents, I don’t believe you. I know that every Wednesday morning you secretly say to yourself: “Only two more days to go….only two more days to go.”

Happiness should not be a revolutionary sentiment. I made it my goal in life. I have experienced unhappiness. It is deeply unsettling. It makes you doubt life altogether. It makes you just want to give up. Still, avoiding unhappiness is more difficult than it seems. In our society, we learn to serve. We learn to spend our time to benefit others in order to win some monetary reward. Only a few have the freedom to spend their time as they please. But happiness lies in the power to say: “I will do what I want to do.” On weekends, working people say: “I will do what I want to do,” and they do what they want. On weekdays, they say: “I must” and they do not do what they want to do.

This is not a good recipe for happiness. Yet this is the program we’ve received from day one. When we sit in an office dreaming about the weekend, we understand just how little time we have to be happy in this world. Freud put it best when he said: “Our chances for happiness are already limited by our constitution as living organisms. But it is much less difficult to experience unhappiness.” Civilization and its Discontents, S. 43 (my translation) (Fischer Verlag, 10th ed. 2007).

When we divide our time between “work days” and “drinking days,” we obviously don’t like the work days as much as the drinking days. Yet we work much more often than we drink. Where does that leave us? Or do we drink because we work? If we do, what does that say about work? Should we defend it so proudly?

ARTISTS IN DEBT : THAT'S JUST THE WAY THEY ARE

AN ESSAY

Sometimes I genuinely identify with stories I read in the news, especially when they involve credit, hardship and creativity. You might think that those three issues do not arise in tandem very often. But they certainly have in my life, and apparently they have for photographer Annie Leibovitz, too. See For Annie Leibovitz, a Fuzzy Financial Picture, N.Y. Times, July 31, 2009. The article tells us that Annie is wrangling with a bank for control over her intellectual property catalogue, which she pledged as collateral for a $24 million loan last year. It looks like she will lose. After all, law favors the creditor; and Annie hasn’t paid her loan back. Pretty soon, a New York County sheriff will escort bankers into Annie’s home. Armed with clipboards, BlackBerries and appraisal books, they will seize her priceless works—all pursuant to contract, of course.

How did Annie sink so deeply into debt? How could such a “successful” artist be so dissolute? The article offers a striking answer: “The mind that can take these extraordinary pictures is not necessarily the same mind that is a perfect money manager.” Put simply, Annie Leibovitz doesn’t think about money. Her head is in the proverbial “artistic clouds.”

And there is nothing wrong with that. Annie may not get along well in this world, but she will live on long after she dies. In the end, people will remember her majestic portraits, not her petty disputes over loans and cash advances in fiscal year 2009. Put simply, “money managers” die and no one cares. Annie Leibovitz’s lender will die one day and be forgotten the next. But “flighty artists” with “money issues” die and leave behind a transcendent testament. It is true: Creative minds do not sit well with the banal concerns of money, credit and day-to-day management. The same gifts that make them unique make put them at a tremendous disadvantage when it comes to “everyday administration.”

Yet it may not be fair to simply assume that Annie’s money woes derived purely from her “artistic nature.” Although sources in the article say that she had always been “notoriously bad with her expenses,” that she “never turned things in on time” and “forgot to pay bills,” apparently she faced some genuine hardship, too. According to the article, Annie lost both her parents, her life partner and gained two children within five years. Perhaps she let her finances go because she really didn’t give a shit after losing the most important people in her life.

I can understand that. My father died three years ago and I will never be the same. His sudden death completely undermined my belief in “traditional life pursuits” because I saw that they all come to nothing in the end. Losing one parent is a cataclysmic psychological event, even if you don’t recognize it when it happens. Losing both multiplies the impact. And losing a life partner intensifies it even more.

I identified with Annie because I have suffered similar personal losses in a relatively short time. Within a year after my father died, my life partner suffered a catastrophic injury that landed him in the ICU for over a month. His heart stopped twice on the operating table and his doctors said he probably would not live. He recovered, but he has never been the same and will remain permanently disabled. I have been at his side ever since I received the dreaded 2 AM phone call alerting me that “your friend in the emergency room” two years ago. All this happened before I had fully processed my father’s death. It confused and deepened my grief. More importantly, the two events combined to make me deeply question every path I had chosen in life. They made me question assumptions I made about money, career and happiness. In a word, personal calamities—especially the death of parents and loved ones—force you to fundamentally reevaluate your life. Things that once seemed important suddenly seem ridiculous. After all, when your life’s foundations can suddenly evaporate in an instant, you can never really take anything for granted again. And you learn to doubt every plan, because nothing is certain.

I am a bad money manager, too. Even before I suffered my personal setbacks, I recoiled from money because it always struck me as “petty.” “Making money” requires careful, unexciting, mundane daily administration fraught with threatening financial consequences. Basically, it requires disciplined attention to profoundly boring subject matter, like scheduling and checklists. I certainly do not claim to be an artist on Annie Leibovitz’s level, but I understood what the article meant when it referred to her mind’s natural hostility to “management.” My mind does not naturally germinate toward daily administration, either. I have trouble making phone calls. I hate making appointments. I forget things on the “to-do” list. I detest doing laundry and running errands. Yet I do these things because I must: Left to my own devices, I would probably ruin myself. Why? Because my mind naturally germinates to “more substantial” things, like philosophy or the next satire I want to write. My mind dwells on the absurdity and foolishness of existence. Money and “administration,” however, typify that very absurdity and foolishness. That is why I can’t stand either one. I intellectually abhor them. I push them out of my consciousness as much as I can, even if it makes me “irresponsible.”

I suspect that Annie Leibovitz does the same thing. She doesn’t think about debt; she thinks about the next grandiose photo shoot she wants to do. She is thinking about the exquisite details and social commentary she wants to express through the image. She is thinking about aesthetics, color, lighting, shading and beauty. She is not thinking about outstanding bills, credit scores or whether a loan is 45 days past due. These are “insignificant matters” to an artist’s mind. Of course, this is not a healthy prescription for survival in a commercial world that exults daily administration over creativity. It may lead to artistic achievements that transcend the centuries, but it renders the artist an outcast during his own lifetime.

Mozart was no different. He generated monumental artistic works during his life. But he was a “notoriously bad money manager” who constantly racked up debts and died penniless. His mind was elsewhere. He didn’t think about commerce and administration. He thought about the beautiful melodies in his head. He worked to express his creative impulse, not to satisfy petty creditors and bankers. His commitment to creativity ruined him in life, but it made him immortal after his death. Of course, fame after death pays no bills. Yet artists, like Mozart and Annie, really could care less whether they pay their bills. After all, that is mere administration—who has time for that? In short, artistic genius rarely translates into earthly success because the free-ranging mental state necessary for artistic genius typically rules out the mundane mental state necessary for financial “responsibility.” Artistic geniuses simply do not attach importance to matters they consider trivial or petty, even if they suffer for it.

Many great artists die worthless. Then their creditors move in, seize their works and exploit them for all the money they never earned during life. I always find it ironic when banks play Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 when I’m on hold for an agent ready to take my payment. That’s a debtor’s song they’re playing!

It is hard to live a “responsible” life. It is hard to hold your emotions together long enough to survive childhood, go to college, get an education and please private employers. If any substantial misfortune strikes during the journey upward, success becomes progressively more difficult. If anything derails your focus, you will not achieve great commercial goals. If you are creative, you stand a greater chance to be distracted from the “traditional life program.” Success in the “traditional life program” requires unswerving discipline and rigorous attention to administrative matters. Yet those matters are revolting to creative people. They attend to them with grudging resentment, if at all. And if they don’t attend to them, they come to ruin. In a word, creativity is a “handicap” in the quest for “responsibility.” Some, like Annie Leibovitz, achieve success on their own terms. They get patrons and stipends without selling themselves into the “traditional life program.” Creativity may impose a disadvantage on most people struggling to “live responsibly.” But a few break through despite their creative handicap. Nonetheless, they remain uneasy with the demands of “responsible life.” It is only a matter of time before commerce smacks them down. After all, they are not “responsible” enough to fend off creditors and avoid debt. They blunder into financial straits because they do not even really think about what they are doing. This is what happened to Annie.

Combined with personal hardship, artistic creativity makes commercial success virtually impossible. Genuine artistic creativity interposes a natural aversion to the administrative tact necessary for commercial success, while personal hardship undermines the very motivation to seek commercial success in the first place. Taken together, personal hardship and creativity combine to form a recipe for commercial failure. I know this because my own creative impulses predominate over my commercial impulses, and my own personal hardships showed me that seeking “success in the traditional life program” is really a quest for meaningless shadows. For me, “responsibility” and “management” are a chore, not an opportunity. And my personal hardships make me see that success really yields nothing in the end anyway. Recognizing that, I am happy simply to live and to give voice to the ideas in my mind. That may not make me rich, but it gives me a feeling of more lasting significance in a world that actively rewards insignificant lives.

In sum, I was not surprised to read that Annie Leibovitz is in debt. Artists usually are. They simply do not attach importance to “everyday administration” the way “responsible people are supposed to.” Artists just don’t “fit” in the “normal commercial value system.” Their minds dwell on larger issues, not just property. And when I read that Annie suffered profound personal losses, I understood even more. When creative, thoughtful people suffer hardship, money management is the last thing on their minds.

But perhaps that is a compliment. In commerce, it is a cruel truth that uncreative, forgettable people always prevail over creative, memorable ones. Forgettable people know how to handle money and die unknown. Memorable ones are scatterbrained, irresponsible and live forever. No one will remember the banker who seized Annie Leibovitz’s photographs and “owned” them. Yet everyone will remember Annie Leibovitz, the great photographer.

CONFESSIONS OF AN ANGRY HEALTH CARE FUND ADMINISTRATOR

By : Mr. Marcus H. Lovejoy, M.B.A., B.S., Fund Manager, Coordinated Care Systems LLC (a Delaware Limited Liability Company); Trained Statistician; Cost Control Analyst; Certified, Standard & Poor’s Profitability 100 Association; Philanthropist.

People wonder why our health care system has problems. I’ll tell you why: Too many sick insured motherfuckers sucking up trillions of investor dollars.

It’s a disaster. You have these 32-year-old insured people who get chronic diseases. They live ten, twenty years before finally succumbing. Every day during that time, they require incessant care, medication, hospitalization, therapy, treatment, surgery, assessment, rehabilitation. Do you have any idea how much this shit costs? It costs $20,000 to remove a fucking wart in a 30-second procedure. Imagine how much it costs to care for some ailing asshole who needs constant sunctioning, recurrent surgery, ICU care and ventilator treatment for years on end. Let me tell you: Caring for sumbitches like that would break an African country’s national treasury in less than two weeks.

So what do we do? To be perfectly honest, I really don’t know. All I know is that insured sick motherfuckers really ruin my day. I run a major health insurance fund. Our company provides top-notch care to paying customers. But we assume that most people won’t require constant care for years on end. We assume that they’ll need some surgery once or twice per lifetime, not every goddamned week. We assume that they will get better, then live healthy lives during which they can pay premiums. Most people do. They pay their premiums, go to the hospital once or twice in their lifetimes, then die. Look, death might be traumatic on the family. But for me it’s a relief: It means the asshole won’t need any more bank-breaking care at the fund’s expense.

We do what we can to cut really sick people off before they drain the fund into non-profitability. Our company employs hundreds of lawyers to do two main things: (1) Draft policies that restrict coverage; and (2) Find ways to deny coverage to everyone who faces an expensive illness. As concerns the first matter, our lawyers write 100-page contracts that give the appearance that insured people will get the care they need. But upon closer inspection, they contain thousands of exclusions and exceptions that provide the company a way to bail out when care gets a little too pricy. For example, we might cover eye injuries, but not corneal injuries. Or we might cover leg injuries, but not “injuries involving the leg” as that term is defined in a later section. Additionally, we include clauses that limit our liability for certain covered care at a certain dollar amount. This means we can call off a hopeless show before it gets out of hand, like the guy who needed a $15,000,000 brain surgery. We only covered $1,000,000. He had to agree to pay the remaining $14,000,000 or forget about the brain surgery.

Hey, I have a fund to run. I don’t have time to worry about a tumor on some fucker’s brain. I’ve got a Board of Directors to answer to. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you say I’m a mean-spirited prick who doesn’t care about people. Well let me tell you something: This business is not about care. It’s about dollars, bee-otch. And I don’t make dollars when some lucky moron pays $54.99 a month and gets fully covered for a $15,000,000 surgery. Sure, I’ll let that happen: IN HELL. And I’m not afraid to say it: I’d rather keep my job than put my ass on the line for some kid with leukemia.

As concerns the second matter, our lawyers know how to fight people who claim coverage for expensive illnesses. When it looks like someone has a minor illness—like a cold or something—we don’t fight it. A doctor visit here or there won’t affect our returns. But when it looks like someone just came down with Parkinson’s or—worse—a woman just had a difficult pregnancy, we scramble for ways to back out. We scour medical histories and applications for inconsistencies and pre-existing conditions. We look for lies in statements. We send out investigators. We look for anything that lets us invoke an exclusion. Basically, when an insured woman is writhing in labor for 20+ hours with a premie, we start sounding alarms. We know the bill will be enormous. Do you know how much it costs to keep a premature peanut alive in a neonatal ICU? It’s in the tens of millions. Then I say: “Fuck her if she thinks we’re gonna cover this shit.” Guess what? We never do. We have our ways; and you’ll never know what they are. You just get the denial letter that says: “We regret to inform you that, pursuant to your policy…(no coverage) blah blah blah.”

So yeah, I have a stressful job. I have a lot on my mind. I have people to answer to. They want to see quarterly growth, not loss. This fucking recession isn’t helping things, either. Now I have to worry about insureds complaining about their jobs and reduced pay. In a way, I’m glad they don’t pay their premiums, because that means we can just strike them off the rolls; and that’s one less potential multi-million dollar Parkinson’s sufferer to worry about. On the other hand, we need lots of people paying premiums to keep the company afloat. The key to success in the health insurance business is twofold. First, you need to keep a healthy premium flow coming in at all times. Second, you need to make sure you don’t pay out more in benefits than you gain in premiums. Obviously, lots of customers mean lots of premiums. That is good. But when lots of customers get expensive diseases, it can erase all your gains in a heartbeat. Basically, it’s a balancing act: Keep the premiums coming in without paying out too much in benefits.

That’s where I come in. I scrutinize benefit payouts. I have charts. I have reminder programs. I have manuals. I have employees who keep me informed about each and every last insured bastard who might come down with a rare blood disorder. I take Tums® for ulcers. I have anxiety. I am edgy because I never know when I’m going to get another bad phone call from the Senior Claims Reviewer: “Some guy needs a full intestinal transplant.” When I get calls like that, my heart sinks. “Fuck. There goes another $10,000,000. What the hell am I going to say to the Board?” Then I call the lawyers and tell them to start checking payment records and medical histories. Most of the time, we find good news that lets us deny coverage, or at least really cut it down.

But sometimes we don’t. Those are bad days. Then I need to call up the Chairman and tell him why we just authorized $10,000,000 to some schmo who paid only $100 a month for basic hospital coverage. “I’m so sorry about this…” I say. Then comes the screaming interruption: “Lovejoy, you dumb ass! Do you know what this is going to do to our numbers for May?!? You incompetent little fuck, etc., etc.” Then I glance around the office and try not to have a heart attack. All because of some heartless, selfish man who decided to get intestinal cancer on my watch.

My job isn’t all doom and gloom. I have won awards at industry dinners. Health Insurers’ Insider® magazine even called me a “scrupulous professional fund manager; one of the best in the biz” in their 2006 “Health Industry All-Stars” issue. I take comfort in the fact that my company is a major American business that employs over 5,000 people from coast to coast. I also take pride in the fact that we provide competitive coverage in the private health insurance market that helps people lead healthy, productive lives. My work earns me a great salary. I have a beautiful home and two great kids. Private health insurance did this for me. There are some moments in which I am truly grateful for my job. And I wouldn’t have it if America didn’t trust private enterprise to handle health.

Still, most of my life is a battle. I live my days worrying about whether some lucky insured will hit the care jackpot and get a lifetime of free medical treatment after paying a measly monthly premium. I will say it now and forever: I hate high-priced insureds. They make my life miserable and they hurt my company. Kids are the worst. When some kid gets cancer, you’re looking at decades of high-dollar care at clinics, sanitoriums, hospitals, rehab centers and university laboratories. Then there’s surgery, therapy and all the fucking doctor visits. Then you’ve got specialty examinations, referrals, CAT scans, diagnostics, blood tests and every imaginable MRI test. This shit adds up like a bar tab from hell. Chronically sick kids are the bane of my existence. They cost billions of dollars to keep alive. And for what? So they can weakly breathe through a tube while sobbing relatives crowd around the bed and miss work? What is the fucking point? I wish these expensive little shit-sprouts would just hurry up and die. They are costing way too much, and no one is happy about the situation. I mean, for Christ’s sake, the kid ain’t getting better. He’s just going to keep wasting away until he finally croaks. Why make me pay billions of dollars to prolong the inevitable? You selfish cocksucking assholes. AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! I just want to pull my hair out when I think about it. And to think that the company is slipping down the Fortune 100 list because of these greedy dying kids…it’s just a disgrace.

I am in the health care management business. It’s not easy. It’s stressful. It’s agonizing. It’s difficult. When you deal with other peoples’ money, life is tough. And I deal with billions of investor dollars every day. Investors don’t want excuses. They want profits. That’s where the anxiety comes in: How am I supposed to generate a profit when people get sick for years and don’t die? Do they realize how uneconomical that is? No, they don’t. Sick people sit around and expect care while our investors grimly foot the bill and wait for them to kick off.

As a health fund administrator, I think about people differently. I have no personal stake in people’s lives. I don’t care about their pain, dreams, hopes, emotions, fears and aspirations. I just want to know whether they represent a company liability. If they do, they force me to make tongue-tied explanations to the Board. If they don’t, God bless them, because they bring in profits. The Board likes profits. It doesn’t like liabilities. You figure it out. Die, you sick fucks. You’ll make my life so much easier when you stop racking up those monster medical bills.

So here’s what I really feel. I confess that I don’t like sick children, sick old people, women who experience pregnancy complications, people who require unanticipated surgery, people who require long-term hospitalizations and anyone who costs more to keep alive than to let die. Here’s my message to all of you: You are selfish, lucky money-grubbers. You make my job difficult. And you can all go to hell.

Having said all this, if you are in the market for affordable, reliable health insurance, call your local Coordinated Care Systems agent. Because it’s your health—and you matter™.

"A FAMILY OWNED BUSINESS" IS STILL A BUSINESS; AND IT'S NOT YOUR FAMILY

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

Corporations are private profit machines. In prior essays, I noted that corporations are “legal entities” that pool money and labor for a single reason: To generate returns for shareholders. They concentrate management authority in a “Board of Directors” that makes “prudent decisions” solely to benefit the shareholders. Directors must observe a “duty of loyalty” to the corporation, meaning all their actions must serve the entity. Directors, then—as well as corporate employees and officers—are simply glorified servants. Like vassals in medieval times, they are “duty-bound” to support their corporate lords. They must not think about themselves. Their time belongs to the corporation and the shareholders who own it. The corporation pays them “compensation” for their pains; but they do not share in the overall profit unless they own stock. In short, true “business corporations” channel individual self-interest and multiply it a thousandfold. There is no room for altruism, compassion or charity. In fact, corporate leaders who spend money on others can be legally sanctioned. See, e.g., Dodge v. Ford Motor Co., 204 Mich. 459 (1919).

Corporations act largely in silence. Not many people know how they actually work. In fact, most people look upon them with some respect. After all, they look official. They own properties all over the country. Their employees wear uniforms. They have recognizable logos. Everyone can identify corporate goods, like Mercedes cars and Whopper® sandwiches. In short, major corporations play a visible role in people’s lives. They wield almost as much influence as the State. But this is the central error: Corporations have nothing to do with the government. While the State accords them special legal status, they are still private entities. They exist to sustain private enterprise. They owe no duties to anyone except their own shareholders; and their shareholders want profits. In that sense, corporations have a duty to act selfishly. There is nothing noble or glorious about their motives.

Yet corporations must cultivate a good image to win customers. If people did not to some extent “trust” a corporation, they would not buy from it. And no corporation can make a profit without customers. In that light, corporations cannot blatantly reveal that they just want to make profits. They need to advertise in such a way as to suggest that they “care” about their customers. They need to appear that they care, even though they only have one legal duty: To enrich the shareholders. This is no easy feat. After all, people do not like unabashed selfishness. So how do corporations mask their true intentions while convincing customers that they are “trustworthy” and “caring?”

I will not discuss every possible corporate ploy intended to fool customers into thinking that “corporations care.” That would take much too long. Rather, I want to discuss a specific corporate practice, namely: Advertising the company’s “family roots.” Many corporations do this. On trucks, billboards and even television commercials, they proudly claim: “We are Blah-Blah-Blah Corporation, a Family-Owned Business,” or “XYZ Inc. Family-Owned Since 1980.”

In effect, these companies want to associate themselves with the concept “family.” Why? In my view, it is quite insidious. After all, we all have a tender place in our hearts for own families. Even if we hate our siblings and our parents, we nonetheless grew up with them. We never completely forget them. On a very profound psychological level, we depend on our families for our identities, our names and even meaning in life. No matter how much we think Mom screwed us up, we still love Mom on some level. And when we think “family,” we think intimacy, familiarity, comfort, love, mutual caring, compassion, trust and “home.” This is not to say that all families nurture these positive things. Indeed, family life often brings great unhappiness and discord. But the fact remains that the word carries a generally positive connotation. No matter how bad our own family relationships may be, our mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters know us and somehow understand us. We are “linked by blood.” We are not “just strangers.”

Companies exploit these associations when they paint themselves as “family businesses.” They attempt to forge a link between their private, undifferentiated profit-seeking and the positive, “caring” complex inherent in “the family concept.” They attempt to lull customers into thinking that they will not be “just another customer;” rather, they will be like a “family member” who deserves trust, respect, love and caring. These companies want to distinguish themselves from “regular corporations” that do not involve “families.” Those corporations are “cruel, cold and uncaring” because they are not “family-like;” they are just “companies” that “don’t care.” By contrast, a “family business” wants you to think that they care about you. It wants to believe that you are “special” because “families care,” while “regular businesses” do not.

But this is all a naked fraud. It does not matter who owns a corporation; it is still a corporation. Corporations exist to enrich private shareholders, whether those shareholders are total strangers or whether they are blood relatives. Put another way, it is irrelevant whether a “family” owns the company because it is not your family. Only your family cares about you and your needs. The family that owns the corporation will look to its own members, not you. It merely wants you to think that it cares about you by tying its name to the concept “family.” Advertisers know how to exploit average people’s mental processes. They know that the word “family” carries unusually hypnotic power. It is no accident that modern psychiatry dwells largely on “family development” and “family trauma” to identify psychological problems. Our family lives play a significant role in forming our personalities and character. Families nurture—and corrupt—our instincts for love, caring and emotion. Companies know that “family rhetoric” packs a devastating subconscious punch. That is why they attempt to link their image to “the family.”

How crass is this? How shameless? What does petty commerce have to do with our unique family life? Can companies really stoop this low? Yes, they can. In fact, they have a legal duty to resort to any means—ethical or legal, unethical or illegal—that generate more profits than costs. If triggering a fallacious connection between “family caring” and “corporate service” generates more profit than it would without the connection, then a company will adopt it. It might be utterly groundless and tasteless, but good reason and taste mean nothing next to the bottom line. In fact, if shareholders learned that the company made less money without the “family business” tag than it did with the tag, it could hold the Directors liable for failing in their fiduciary duties to them. In the free market, companies compete for customers and profits. They need to be inventive in order to obtain an edge. In this competition, delicate tastes will not prevail. Rather, only the strong survive. And the strong are not afraid to resort to any means needed to win the competition, tasteless or not. If that means falsely insinuating that the business is “one, big caring family,” then the company will insinuate it.

This is not just hot air. Many extremely large companies claim that they are “family businesses,” not just mom-and-pop shops in small towns. Du Pont Corporation claims to be a “family business.” So does Disney. These are not “close-knit, caring organizations.” These are ruthless capitalist titans who would sooner run over their competition than show mercy or compassion. Such ruthlessness is not thematically consistent with the concept “family,” yet these moguls do their best to cultivate a “family image” in order to better pursue their fundamentally “un-family-like” private ambitions. In essence, it makes no more sense to trust a “family business” than it does to trust a “Fortune 500 Company.” They are all the same because they all seek the same thing: Private shareholder enrichment at any cost. Self-interest dictates a corporation’s actions, not family-like compassion or mercy. If a corporation is a “family business,” it does not treat its customers or its competitors any better than the cruelest industrialist would. In that sense, “family businesses” only act like “families” with their own shareholders. The family gets the profit and the riches, not the outside world. This is the central irony in the whole “family business” fraud: Corporations want you to think that you are “part of the family;” but in fact you are simply paying to keep their family wealthy. You are not “part of the family.” You are an outsider. Again, if it is not your family, you should not expect it to treat you like a family member.

It is difficult for me to write about corporations without mentioning cynicism. Cynicism provides an ideal analytical framework to understand corporate action. After all, cynicism assumes that self-interest motivates all human behavior. Cynicism immediately penetrates corporate activity because corporations institutionally enshrine self-interest. Shareholders pool their money in a corporation to advance their own self-interest for minimal personal risk. A corporation exists to enrich its shareholders, not others. This is institutional selfishness; it provides fertile ground for cynical analysis. In fact, it would be illegal for a corporation to act altruistically because altruism implies acting for another’s benefit, not your own. When corporations act for others, their shareholders sue them for deviating from the “self-interest principle.” Against this background, it is possible to deconstruct every corporate ploy and expose its selfish roots. In virtually every case, when a corporation tries to “appear caring,” cynicism instructs us to mercilessly doubt its motives. Put simply, corporations do not care about others. To that extent, when they adopt measures intended to “appear caring,” a cynical explanation will quickly reveal the true motive.

Applying cynicism, we can easily deconstruct the “family business” ploy. Now, if we assume that all corporations have a legal duty to enrich their shareholders, we can also assume that all their actions will advance that duty. Enriching shareholders requires business success. Business success, in turn, requires loyal and trusting customers who funnel money into the corporation. It is not easy to convince undifferentiated customers to fork over cash, especially when competitors offer the same goods or services. Thus, success requires some gimmick, some special “catch” that convinces customers to choose one business over another. Customers must have some mental connection to the corporation that distinguishes it from the competition. Claiming that a company is a “family business” amid ostensibly “cruel competitors” can forge the necessary “mental connection.” After all, “family” carries a positive, “caring” connotation. An average customer would respect that connotation when choosing between undifferentiated commercial competitors. That extra “zing” might increase the chances that a new customer would choose the “family business,” leading to increased sales, more money and more “shareholder enrichment.” In the end, it does not matter whether the company treats the new customer “like family.” All that matters is that the customer spent his money with the company, not the competition. That fulfills the core corporate mission. The shareholders win. They advance their self-interest by exploiting “family” appeal with average customers.

Does it matter whether the company treats the customer “like family?” Certainly not. From a cynical perspective, it does not matter whether a company means what it says. It does not matter that the method is dishonest or even facetious, because results matter more than methods. When analyzing corporate action, I have learned to expect dishonorable, unethical conduct. After all, corporate action is all about the profit. If an unethical method wins more profit than an ethical one, a corporation must adopt the unethical method in order to please its shareholders (provided, of course, that the unethical method does not generate costs down the road). There is no honor in corporate practice. When results matter, methods become irrelevant. There is no room for principle. Corporations want results, not the psychic satisfaction that flows from vindicating impractical abstractions such as “honesty.” As long as the company appears honest to the extent necessary to maintain customer trust—and keeps healthy profit levels—there is no need to actually be honest. This is dishonorable. But it is also practical. And in corporate life, practicality beats abstraction every time.

From a principled perspective, a private business corporation cannot in good conscience claim that it is a “family.” Private business corporations are not “caring institutions.” They do not show love. They do not raise children. They do not nurture tenderness or show mercy to relatives. Rather, they are legal entities dedicated solely to their shareholders’ private profit interests. To suggest, then, that a company will “treat others like family members” is hypocritical in the extreme. Commerce is war. It is a war for profits, customers, market share and success. Commerce is no place for warmhearted “family feelings.” If a company treated its customers and competitors “like family,” it would fail almost instantaneously. There is no room to be tender or merciful in commerce. A “good corporation” wins accounts and collects its money. By contrast, a “good family” forgives its wayward sons and let them off the hook with a kiss. Families forgive, forget and nurture. Corporations pursue, win and collect—by contract and suit if necessary. These are not consistent ideologies. In that light, it is both misleading and fraudulent to equate “corporate values” with “family values.”

We should expect both deception and fraud from corporations because deception and fraud reveal dishonor. Honor means adhering to principles, no matter the circumstances. Honor means suffering for ideas, even when abandoning those ideas might abrogate the suffering. Corporations, however, cannot be honorable. They must win profits. That means “going with the flow” and breaking principles when necessary. In short, corporations must be “flexible,” not “honorable.” It is honorable to “tell the truth” and “to be honest.” But if honesty and truth endanger results, a corporate leader can be neither honest nor truthful. He has a duty to enrich his shareholders by any cost-effective means necessary. That is why he resorts to misleading characterizations, such as calling his for-profit entity “A Family Business.” If corporate leaders were honorable, they would refuse to equate their quest for private profit with tender family emotions. Yet they do not refuse. They serve their shareholders because they have a duty to make them rich. If calling the business “family-like” wins profits, they have no choice but to be dishonorable.

In the world of corporate morality, deception and fraud are not ethical transgressions. They are “calculated measures intended to win maximum profit for minimal risk.” A good corporation knows how to be unethical without ever arousing suspicion. Conscience and honor play no role in this analysis. It is unfortunate. But it is a jungle out there; and commerce is commerce.

AMERICANS PREFER WORK TO DRINKING, POLL REVEALS

NEWS FLASH

NEW YORK—Contrary to popular belief, Americans actually prefer employment and work to drinking and fun, according to a recent poll conducted by InformationPayz, Inc., a leading survey bureau serving Fortune 100 companies. “It’s true,” said InformationPayz’ senior statistician, Mr. A. Anderson Spotts. “No fewer than 93% of Americans say they like their jobs more than beer, wine, schnapps and malt liquor.” Moreover, according to the study, this is not because Americans need money from their jobs. “All those polled said that income had nothing to do with their opinions about alcohol. We can conclude on that basis that Americans like to work more than drink—whether or not they depend on their jobs for necessary income,” explained Mr. Spotts.

Americans gave detailed reasons for their opinions. Their answers were remarkably consistent across all racial, social and economic lines. Whether wealthy bankers or low-wage janitors, Americans revealed that they enjoy the feeling they experience when they work more than the feeling they experience when they drink alcoholic beverages. According to pollee Mrs. Mary E. Bickford, a Caucasian secretarial assistant at a Newark, New Jersey real estate brokerage house: “Just getting to work every morning makes me feel all tipsy and happy. Being around copy machines, paper clips and bitter women in cubicles who complain about their children gets me all warm inside. When I watch the clock and eat my bologna sandwich in the windowless coffee room for 30 minutes each day, I just want to get up, dance, party and find eligible men. By comparison, booze is a cheap high.” At the same time, Mr. Clarence F. Jackson, an African-American Senior Financial Advisor at a major New York investment bank, said: “Commuting makes me feel great. I love waking up at 5 AM every morning knowing that I will need to sit in traffic for two hours listening to bad talk radio, receive castigation from angry drivers, pay $40 for parking then spend 10 hours in an office speaking to an automated phone system. Who needs whiskey when you have a job? Just being at work—or sitting in traffic getting there—makes me feel like I’m on top of the world.” Finally, Mr. B. Jeff Puttz, Esq., a senior litigator at Puttz, Puttz & Stickett, LLP, said: “Nothing can quite match yelling at legal assistants who don’t file things properly. For me, there is something euphoric about waving papers in people’s faces while telling them they will lose their jobs if they put color-coded dividers in the wrong place again. And what’s better than reviewing financial records? Even if we have a losing month, I don’t have an ulcer when I look at cash flow spreadsheets. I start slurring my words, smiling goofily and getting chatty with the receptionists. By contrast, shots and beer don’t make me feel nearly as good as I feel when I’m in the office.”

Americans said they love to work for its own sake. Although critics may find it easy to dismiss InformationPayz’ findings on the ground that Americans must work to pay their bills, Mr. Spotts explained that: “Our findings are guaranteed accurate. We spoke to a representative sample of Americans employed in every significant field. Statistically speaking, our findings cannot reasonably be debated. They reveal that Americans categorically enjoy work for its own sake, not merely because they need jobs to survive. Over 98% of those polled said that work made them feel alive, free, euphoric, giddy, erotic, frisky and ‘young again.’ By contrast, 99% of those polled said that the emotions they experience at work are far more positive than the emotions they experience while drinking. Although these pollees said that work makes them get up painfully early in the morning, endure gossip, plod through mind-numbingly boring assignments, face angry superiors and customers, ignore family and health, expose themselves to contagion, fight for space on subway trains, rush carelessly down streets to avoid lateness, eat poorly, develop various health problems such as hemorrhoids, indigestion, intestinal polyps and stiff necks, beg for permission to use the rest room, attend emasculating quarterly performance reviews, lie to supervisors concerning work progress, betray acquaintances in order to obtain favorable work credit and miss daytime baseball games, they all would prefer facing these challenges than cracking open an ale and getting drunk. “Work makes me feel alive,” said a bathroom contractor in Florida. “Nothing can match the way I feel when I bicker over an invoice. Even a pina colada can’t give me the feeling I get when my boss calls me an asshole and threatens to fire me for forgetting an envelope. It’s not about the money. It’s about doing what you’re supposed to do. No alcohol gives you the high you get when you do that.”

Many pollees echoed these sentiments. They said that work gave them a “sense of direction and purpose” in life, as well as “identity, camaraderie, cohesion and belonging.” Mr. Spotts analyzed the data as follows: “Americans like being part of a team. Over 99% of those polled said they approached their jobs as they would a sports event. These respondents said they enjoyed ‘helping the company win,’ or ‘playing their position,’ even if they receive poor pay for it. For these respondents, winning the game for the team gave them the best possible feelings.” At the same time, the data indicated that pollees generally considered “healthy team feelings” better than “drunkenness.” According to Ms. Maria B. Lopez, a checkout clerk at a Dallas, Texas supermarket: “Putting on my apron and nametag makes me feel like my life means something. I handle a lot of cash every day for the store but I know it’s not mine. I never think about stealing it; I don’t deserve it. It’s my job to make change, smile at the customers and ask if they are having a good day when they come through the checkout aisle. I only make $6.75 an hour but I love my job. My paycheck does not feed my kids, but I would not give up this job for the world. Does it beat drinking? Absolutely. Sipping a margarita and dancing in a club can’t compare to standing on your feet for 9 hours, suffering back spasms, repeating the same words to 500 customers and counting back change every day. Slamming shots can’t compare to getting screamed at by the assistant manager for talking to the lady who works in Aisle 5, or for coming up 2 cents short at drawer check time. I’m part of a team. I like what I do. I like helping my team win. Customer satisfaction beats drinking every time.”

InformationPayz recognizes that its findings may surprise some readers. After all, many readers may find it strange that Americans actually would rather work than drink. To some eyes, it appears that Americans do not want to be at work. To some eyes, it appears that they would rather be doing anything except working. “We often get that reaction,” said Mr. Spotts. “But appearances can be deceiving.” Mr. Spotts pointed out that InformationPayz never publishes misleading reports. He also explained that InformationPayz uses the most advanced statistical and survey methods, aided by several Yale-educated mathematicians. “The numbers don’t lie. And our polling methods are trademarked. They work. Guaranteed.”

What do the numbers show? Mr. Spotts said they show that Americans love work more than life itself. “Who can dispute that drinking makes you feel good?” queried Mr. Spotts. “If 98% of all Americans say they prefer work to drinking, does that not show that work makes them feel even better than drinking? In our professional judgment, we believe that Americans get a bigger high from service than from stimulating their senses with alcohol. This reflects that Americans enjoy acknowledging their positions in life, as well as their desire to identify themselves through their work. Americans like life the way it is. Drinking, by contrast, distorts reality and makes people momentarily forget their problems. The fact that most Americans prefer work to drinking therefore shows that Americans like their lives. The do not want to distort reality; they want to stay in reality. In reality, they are dutiful servants with a job to do. They feel belonging when they do their jobs. Drinking obscures those emotions. That’s why they prefer work to drinking. Americans like service. They like to listen to their bosses and get projects done. They like being part of a hierarchy and wearing nametags. They like commuting and suppressing their true feelings to avoid censure. The numbers show all these things. In short, Americans like reality. That is why they prefer workplace reality to drunken escape. And money plays no role in their preference.”

If Americans prefer work to drinking, what explains the fact that Americans complain about their jobs all week, then flock to bars, pubs and dance halls as soon as the whistle blows on Friday afternoons? Mr. Spotts reasoned: “Statistically, there is a tiny but vocal minority—less than 2%--who prefer drinking to work. These are the individuals who convey an impression that Americans would rather drink than work. In short, these ‘bad apples’ give all Americans an undeserved reputation for laziness. Additionally, even Americans who love work sometimes say they would like to drink, even though they do not really mean it. Experts from our psychiatric department advise us that this is perfectly natural. They inform us that all Americans are raised to respect their workplace superiors and to feel shame if they do not work. These entrenched values hold firm, even if an American employee may sometimes wish to suppress reality with alcohol. In short, these ‘passing desires’ to get drunk represent statistical aberrations. Even Americans who say they would ‘love to get plastered on Friday’ still love their jobs. If they were asked the question ‘Do you prefer beer to work?’ they would invariably answer ‘No.’ The mere desire to drink once in a while does not mean, in other words, that Americans intrinsically prefer alcohol to employment. In short, employment provides far more joy to Americans than beer, whether compensated or not. In short, employment fulfills the program to which all Americans aspire. Alcohol contradicts that program. That is why Americans reject alcohol for work.”

Americans do not like to drink because drinking induces unjustifiable pleasure. According to InformationPayz’ poll, Americans reject unjustifiable pleasures. Before Americans experience pleasure, 95% said that they must “earn” it through work or merit. Because alcohol produces pleasurable sensations without a “job” or “task” to complete beforehand, most Americans revile it. Respondent Mr. James G. Cork, a senior actuary at a Pittsburgh life insurance company, said: “I cannot feel good about anything unless I work for it. When I complete assigned projects at work, I feel terrific. But when I sit at a bar and drink tequila, what have I achieved? Who told me to drink? Not my boss. Basically, I cannot feel good about anything unless I first receive an order and carry it out properly. If I don’t deserve something, I don’t deserve to feel good. That’s one reason I love my job: I know I deserve everything I get, because I know who’s giving me orders. I know what my boss expects, and I deliver accordingly.” When it comes to pleasure, Americans believe that they must earn pleasure through hard work. InformationPayz’ poll reveals that they recoil from “cheap, unearned pleasures” like alcohol, sex, movies, amusements, games and parties. Mr. Cork put it best: “If I don’t receive an order to do it, I will not feel good about it.”

At Reason, Commerce, Justice & Free Beer, we believe in employment, just like the American people. InformationPayz’ studies provide a refreshing insight into American sensibilities about employment. Put simply, they confirm our abiding conviction that Americans love to work, achieve and win—as a team. Once again, fact contradicts cynics who believe that American workers watch the clock all day and secretly dream that they could be off fishing, drinking, dancing, carousing or just watching television. Fact tells us that Americans enjoy service. It even tells us that they cannot feel good about themselves if they are not serving someone in a superior position. From lawyers all the way down to checkout clerks, all Americans relish their jobs. They relish the spirit of achievement and hard work that makes this country great. Despite every contraindication, we now know that they actually prefer showing up at the office to showing up at the tavern—and money has nothing to do with it.

We salute every American who works for a living. Congratulations on living the dream. We do not live to drink; we live to work. After all, the numbers show one thing: Working makes us feel better than drinking. And who can argue with numbers?

DOING THE NASTY : IS IT REALLY NASTY?

AN ESSAY

Morality complicates Western discourse about sex. In weeks past, I asserted that "sex is stupid" because it really is not very complicated from a purely physical standpoint. After all, the abstract idea of two people in a naked, passionate embrace is almost laughable. Nonetheless, human beings talk about sex, they fantasize about it and they allow it to profoundly influence their lives. I suppose this has to do with biology. Even if the act is stupid, human beings have to do it in order to propagate the species. To that extent, nature made us attach particularly strong importance to sex. Nature even allowed sex to subdue our reason and temporarily allow pure instinct to overwhelm our minds.

But today I do not want to talk about sex from a biological perspective. Rather, I want to focus on the crushing moral baggage that obscures any rational discussion on the subject. Morality is hard to define. I have tried to define it in the past and I have encountered difficulty. For my purposes today, I am content to say that "morality" means all those long-held social beliefs, customs, traditions and judgments passed down within a particular society concerning those things that are "good" or "bad." In this context, I do not intend "good" and "bad" as absolute terms, but rather as dominant social judgments. What is "moral" in one society may not be in another. Even within particular societies, individuals will always fiercely differ on the meaning of "good" and "bad." Morality, then, implies an average. What does the average person consider "good" or "bad?" In moral questions, the key inquiry is whether something is average. Is it "normal?" A true moralist is a quintessentially "normal," "average" person who feels perfectly justified finding deviance and "wrong" in other people. Applying his "average" moral baseline, he labels others "not normal," "bad" "wrong" or "disgusting." Morality requires judgment. It establishes a standard by which to judge others. Good moralists do not hesitate to crucify the "bad." They must; otherwise the whole moral system would collapse.

From a Western moral perspective, what constitutes "bad?" Morality developed over millennia of human experience. Morality, then, draws its strength from tradition. What did our ancestors consider "bad?" And why was it bad? This has nothing to do with metaphysical, rational abstractions concerning "pure good" and "pure evil." No; morality is much more intuitive than theoretical postulation. Morality is for "average men," not "exceptional thinkers." In fact, most moral judgments originated not in reason, but rather in emotion. I believe that, at bottom, moral judgments evolved from strong feelings of disgust. When our ancestors smelled a dead animal or a pile of dung, they did not like the smell. Their faces contorted. They could not breathe. They felt nauseous. Perhaps they vomited. They associated the unpleasant smell with the judgment "bad," and whenever they encountered other bad smells, they labeled them "bad," too. If their fellow man smelled, then he, too, was "disgusting." If he did not clean his waste, he was "disgusting." His smells caused the same, viscerally awful experience they felt when they encountered a rancid dungheap. Over time, those "gut reactions" refined themselves into moral judgments.

Disgust drives these judgments. Morality, then, represents the end result of collected experience involving disgusting things. What began as simple sensory revulsion evolved into a subtle code that judges virtually all human behavior. Not surprisingly, sex found its way into the moral code. In the West, sex became something about which to feel revulsion, disgust and horror. Moralists taught children to feel shame and embarrassment whenever sex entered the discussion. Sex was "dirty," they heard. Sex was "disgusting." Sex was "sinful." Sex was "dreadful" and "smelly." Even today, children learn to think that "sex is nasty." When they hear about people having sex, they say: "They are doing the nasty."

"Nasty" voices a devastating moral judgment. True, modern colloquialisms have weakened its original meaning. But the definition fits perfectly in the moralist's lexicon. According to Dictionary.com, "nasty" means: "1. physically filthy; disgustingly unclean; 2. offensive to taste and smell; nauseating; 3. offensive, objectionable; 7. morally filthy, obscene, indecent." Dictionary.com v. 1.1, "nasty" definition. Here, we see the link between smell, disgust and morality. "Nastiness" first and foremost involves "cleanliness." Things that are "unclean" are "disgusting," "offensive to smell" and hence "immoral." Morality takes these concepts a step further. As the definition shows, once something is "smelly," "filthy" or "unclean," it is also "offensive" and "objectionable." What begins as mere sensory unpleasantness transforms into something "objectionable." In other words, if something smells bad, it is "disgusting" and "immoral." By contrast, if something smells good and is clean, it is "moral" and "good." It is no accident, then, that moralists chose to label sex "nasty." If something is "nasty," it is "dirty" and "disgusting." And if something is disgusting to an average person, it must be "immoral."

There is nothing refined about this analysis. It simply reflects the average man's judgment concerning how something smells, and whether he considers that smell "disgusting." Yet this is the sensory basis of all moral judgments.

Morality judges everything. We can be forgiven for overlooking its profound influence on virtually every human enterprise. Because morality draws its strength from tradition, it can be difficult to appreciate its presence within the deepest grains of our civilization. We must deconstruct human experience and unravel history to truly see morality's origins. When we do, we are surprised to see how basic it is. And we see that morality is also disingenuous, especially when it comes to sex.

Morality deems sex "nasty." Yet most people only say this in order to please the public moralists. Privately, people love sex. They absolutely love it. When they think about sex, they think about things they really, really want. They do not think about bad smells, disgust, horror and sin. Rather, they think about passion, overwhelming pleasure and sensory satisfaction. There is nothing "objectionable" or "dirty" about that. No one would call sex with a dream partner "objectionable" or "bad." Most people want their partners to be cleanly, not dirty. Yet when applied to sex, the word "nasty" implies that sex is "disgustingly unclean," "smelly," "objectionable" and thus "immoral."

Is this judgment not at odds with what almost everyone privately thinks about sex? Here we see how foolish morality can be. Morality not only judges; it also judges dishonestly and hypocritically. How can we teach others to say that sex is "nasty" when we privately think it is the greatest thing since sliced bread? How can we judge others "nasty" for having sex when we would very much like to have sex ourselves? Perhaps we think that others' sex is smelly, disgusting, nauseating and objectionable, but not ours. Why the distinction? After all, sex is the same as an abstract matter, no matter who does it: Mary Jane Poppinsky and her husband Al engage in precisely the same activity as Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Why, then, do we freely condemn others for speaking about sex when we personally think about it almost as much as eating?

Morality leads to these absurd results because morality is not supposed to be consistent. Again, morality does not derive from rational principles; it derives from individual judgments concerning whether something smells bad. That is a subjective appraisal, not a rational assumption. Because morality derives from such subjective impressions, we cannot expect it to be consistent in every case. In fact, we should expect it to vary with time, circumstance and taste. Moral rules are little more than expressions of taste that have solidified into a "common law" governing "decent behavior." At some point in history, someone thought a particular behavior was disgusting. He forced his judgment on others and eventually it became a moral rule. This is not a reasonable process. Rather, moral rules merely reflect the will of the strong over posterity. Only strong men can enshrine their opinions in the moral code. If a strong man thinks a particular behavior is disgusting, history will remember his opinion, not the weak man who had no objections to the same behavior.

I find moral judgments amusing because they are generally petty and hypocritical. After all, it makes no sense to call sex "nasty" when everyone loves sex. If human beings did not love having sex, our species would vanish. In that light, do moralists really believe their own judgments? Have they really convinced people to be ashamed of things that biology programmed them to adore? Sadly, I think they have. Moral judgments carry great weight, especially among those "average" people whose opinions they ostensibly embody. But there is nothing intrinsically "right" or "wrong" about a moral judgment. It merely expresses a traditional opinion concerning whether something smells disgusting. There is nothing rarefied or exceptional about it.

So the next time you say: "Ewwww, they are doing the nasty," consider whether you, too, have ever thought about engaging in the same activity. Can it be smelly for them, but not for you?

You be the moral judge. I'll stay out of it, because morality is for average people.