DOMINIC CARTER, CRIME AND CHANGING PUNISHMENT IN AMERICA

AN ESSAY

A few months ago, I wrote a short article about Dominic Carter, the former New York 1 anchorman who allegedly beat his wife. I used Mr. Carter's story to illustrate how difficult it is to "prove" things in our empirically-based evidence system. Now, a State court in New York has sentenced Mr. Carter to an unusual punishment for attempted assault. This presents compelling new issues.

Just as Mr. Carter's case provided an excellent vehicle to discuss evidence law, his sentence now provides an excellent vehicle to discuss criminal penalties in modern America. Put simply, criminal penalties are changing in America. And they are drifting far from their traditional purposes. In my view, this is not a good thing.

According to the New York Post, Mr. Carter was convicted of attempted assault for pervasively abusing his wife since 1997. See N.Y. Post, Crying shame of jailed NY1 journo, Jan. 15, 2010 at 5. Although his wife denied that Mr. Carter beat her, the trial judge--Arnold Etelson--referenced police reports detailing marital strife in the Carter home for over a decade. Id. He sentenced Mr. Carter to 30 days' imprisonment. Id. He also ordered Mr. Carter to "stay away" from his wife for two years unless "he is prescribed medication by a psychiatrist able to assure the judge that [he] is well enough to see her." Id. Additionally, the judge gave Mr. Carter an article from New York Magazine detailing Matt Damon's views about "honesty and humility." Id. During sentencing, he told Mr. Carter: "Try some humility and honesty--it goes a long way." Id. Finally, the judge gave Mr. Carter's wife a sticker with the words "Attitude Makes the Difference. " Id. He instructed her to affix the sticker to her bathroom mirror so that Mr. Carter can see it when he visits. Id.

This is highly irregular judicial work. As a general rule, the criminal law forbids specifically defined conduct. The criminal justice system decides whether the defendant engaged in that conduct, then neutrally decrees the legal consequences. While morality animates all criminal codes, it is not for judges in the criminal justice system to pontificate about it, let alone publicly scold criminals for sport. This New York judge transformed his courtroom into an entertainment circus. And the spotlight was not on Mr. Carter--it was on the judge.

To start, it is strange that Judge Etelson characterized these facts as "attempted" assault. At common law--and under New York State law--an assault means an intentionally harmful or offensive touching. See, e.g. NYPL § 120.00, et seq. Any intentional crime can be "attempted" if the defendant intends to achieve the bad result envisioned in the criminal code, then takes some action corroborating that intent. But it is no longer "attempt" when the defendant achieves exactly what the law forbids. Here, the judge relied on police reports that detailed Mr. Carter's abuse. They all but verified that he had routinely hit his wife since 1997. If the judge believed those reports, then he should have convicted Mr. Carter of assault, not attempted assault. If Mr. Carter succeeded in harmfully or offensively touching his wife, it was no longer attempted assault. It was just plain old assault--and it's a worse crime than attempted assault.

But Judge Etelson's legal errors pale in comparison with his bizarre approach to criminal penalties. Traditionally, criminal penalties in America--as in all Western countries--target the body and property. The law assumes that people do not want to suffer bodily pain or lose their property, so penalties targeting those things ostensibly dissuade potential criminals from making "bad choices." The death penalty, imprisonment, fines and corporal punishment encompass everything a State can realistically do to penalize crime.

In modern America, imprisonment is the preferred penalty. Fines follow in second place. Most consider corporal punishment an archaic penalty; it really never happens anymore. The death penalty is more common. Still, State-ordered death is quite a rare punishment, too.

Judge Etelson did not give Mr. Carter a traditional punishment. Rather, he theatrically used Mr. Carter as an instrument. The only traditional part about Mr. Carter's sentence was his imprisonment. To some, thirty days in prison for attempted assault might appear harsh. But no one would call it bizarre. People expect either fines or imprisonment for crimes in America. The criminal justice system works in part because the public knows what to expect for certain transgressions. They trust judges to declare penalties that everyone expects. At the same time, they understand that even a convicted criminal is entitled to some dignity before the law. He need not be publicly humiliated, ridiculed or belittled in the courtroom. His prison term and social ostracism accomplish that on their own. It is not the judge's role to morally grandstand or scold. He simply must pronounce sentence. Legislators moralize when they write the laws. Judges should not.

What does a New York Magazine article or a sticker have to do with the law? When did Matt Damon become a legal authority? True, "honesty, humility and a good attitude" are virtues. But it is not the law's role to chastise people for failing to be virtuous. The law's only role is to decree whether a person acted in a defined way. It does not matter whether he was virtuous or not when he did. A defendant suffers enough when a judge declares the penalty for violating the law; he does not need to "rub it in" by acting the moralist. In fact, I argue that judges overstep their bounds when they do.

I understand that people like to see criminals squirm. But their convictions should make them squirm, not a judge's moralizing antics. If every judge took it upon himself to act like Judge Etelson, our criminal justice system would look more like a Catholic school than a neutral forum for just laws. In a word, it is not a judge's job to castigate a convict's moral failings. Moral failings are irrelevant to the law. And the law is the only thing that judges are constitutionally empowered to decide. Anything else they say is unauthorized fluff.

Judge Etelson-style grandstanding is not the only abomination that occurs in our criminal justice system. Now, criminal penalties also increasingly intertwine with psychiatry. Mr. Carter's case is no exception. In his sentence, Judge Etelson conditioned Mr. Carter's future with his wife on his agreement to take psychiatric medications. He also retained discretion whether to permit Mr. Carter to see her, depending on whether a psychiatrist could assure him that he was "well enough."

Are these judicial inquiries? If they are, do they not negate the State's moral outrage against Mr. Carter? After all, if the court believes that Mr. Carter needs psychiatric medication, that means he is mentally ill. If he was mentally ill at the time he struck his wife, that makes him far less morally blameworthy. After all, the criminal law depends upon free, rational choice for its moral strength. It is easy to condemn someone who knowingly makes a bad choice. But it is not easy to condemn someone who lacked the mental composure to make choices, let alone recognize they were wrong.

In this case, Judge Etelson tried to wear too many hats. He wanted to punish Mr. Carter for doing something that violated the law. But then he stepped back and ordered Mr. Carter to take psychiatric medications for his "mental problems." Put simply, judges are not psychiatrists. They are not social workers. It is not their job to monitor people's behavior once they serve their sentences. Nor is it their job to declare whether people are "normal." Rather, they are mere judicial officers, and it's not a complicated job. It is not about management; it is about judgment: Did the defendant do this or not? If he did, he goes to jail. If he didn't, he goes free.

There is undoubtedly a relationship between law and psychiatry. But a judge's only concern with psychiatry is to determine whether a defendant is mentally well enough to be criminally responsible. If he is, that ends the inquiry. In fact, judges must be extremely wary when dealing with psychiatry in criminal cases. After all, the entire rationale for criminal punishment collapses as soon as psychiatry shows that the defendant cannot make rational choices. In that light, judges should tread lightly when tampering with psychiatric issues. They might just discover that the "evil defendant" is really no ogre at all. He might just be "sick." And it is not proper to morally condemn sick people, let alone jail them for choices they could not make. For better or worse, the law only works on sane people.

I doubt that Judge Etelson understood all these issues when he entertained the news media during Dominic Carter's sentencing last week. From his perspective, he was in the spotlight and he was going to relish the moment. He was not content to play the neutral magistrate who calmly decrees the legal consequences of statutory violations. No, he had to play the scolding father, too, as well as the psychiatrist and the actor.

I do not like this. While it may be impossible to separate law from popular morality, judges should consciously try to do so. True, laws enshrine popular morality. But they are not moral weapons. They are technical guidelines. It does not matter whether a law-abiding citizen is moral; he must merely not violate the technical guidelines. Morality is about character. Law is about conduct. It is much easier to control conduct than character. And a judge simply declares whether the individual in question violated the conduct guideline.

Well, at least that's what a judge is supposed to do. American criminal law is changing for the worse because the distinction between morality and law is eroding every day. Just look at the Carter case. It's all right there to see.

IS AMBITION A BAD WORD?

AN ESSAY

I am ambivalent about ambition. In America, people generally think that ambition is a good thing. It reflects the urge to "do better" and to "get ahead" in society, or in any competitive endeavor. It only makes sense that "ambition" finds a cozy home in America. After all, this country perpetuates a myth that "anyone" can succeed here as long as they work hard and persevere through difficulty. Ambition is all they need to force their way to the top.

Or, at least, that's what the myth says. In my experience, I have learned that success in America is not so simple. Many things can go wrong. Ambition alone will not deliver success. Some people are born into the wrong families. Some suffer accidents and mishaps. Others just lose interest. Often, it's not their fault that they fail. Chance and timing have a tremendous influence on success. Ambition alone does not cut it.

Despite this, American mythology extols ambition. In most cases, Americans favorably use the word: "He is so focused and ambitious; he will be successful." Even those who already have achieved success say to others: "I was ambitious. I made it. You can, too." At funerals, eulogists sing hymns to ambition: "As a young man, he was so ambitious. He succeeded and he provided for his family." And some even equate ambition with progress. Abraham Lincoln alluded to ambition when he suggested awarding royalties to patent-seekers: "Patents add the fuel of interest to the fire of genius." Second Lecture on Discoveries and Inventions (1859).

If ambition is so great, why am I ambivalent about it? I'm ambivalent about it because there is a very dark side to ambition that reflects fundamental problems in our society's values. Lincoln's quote provides a good introduction. He uses a "fire" analogy to describe ambition-fueled "genius." Ambition is like a flame that consumes the individual, driving him toward a coveted goal. The goal might not be praiseworthy at all, but the ambitious man will burn until he fulfills it. Ambition is consumptive. It overwhelms the individual. It makes him ruthless, unscrupulous and uncompromising. In short, it possesses him.

But consumptiveness is not the only thing that makes ambition problematic. It is also problematic because it has an exclusively external focus. Grammatically, ambition requires an object. In almost every case, that object is external "success." People are ambitious for fame, wealth, advancement, recognition, praise, influence and power. They want to be seen by others in a particular way, or they want to possess things that give them authority over others. To achieve these things, they must focus their energy outwardly. They need not look within themselves for strength or meaning. They do not even need to be true to themselves. No, their fulfillment comes from external success--and the tangible rewards it brings.

Ambition is about recognition. It is about the audience. After all, only the audience can decide whether to recognize the performer. And only the audience can give the coveted ovation.

Ambition bothers me because I believe that external success frustrates individual virtue. To win recognition, you need to play by others' rules. You even need to be unscrupulous. A truly ambitious person "stops at nothing" to achieve his goal. That makes it difficult for him to adhere to principles that would constrain his actions. Honor requires a person to think as much about how he achieves a goal as the goal itself. But ambition drives a person to disregard everything as long as he achieves the goal. In this sense, ambition and honor exclude each other. Virtue is honor. That is why ambition frustrates individual virtue.

Aristotle supports my position on this point. While analyzing the Spartan Constitution in The Politics, Aristotle strongly criticizes Sparta's legislative body--the Board of Elders--because election to the Board required ambition. See The Politics, Book II, ch. ix ¶1271a9. He writes: "[I]t is all wrong that a person who is going to be deemed worthy of the office should himself solicit it. Whether he wants it or not, the man to hold office is the man who is fit for it." Id. In other words, Aristotle found a flaw in Sparta's decision to entrust politicians with a choice whether to run for office, because only ambitious people would ever make that choice. For Aristotle, personal virtue was much more important than personal ambition. Only personal virtue makes a man "fit" for office--or any other honor in life.

This may seem unreasonable to a modern American reader. After all, we learn that ambitious people are the ones who make all the money and win all the success. To the American mind, it is only natural that the most ambitious man would nominate himself to hold political office. In America, personal virtue is irrelevant next to ambition. Personal virtue does not amass fortunes or start businesses; ambition does. In a strange transmutation, ambition became virtue in America. Ambition makes a man "fit," not adherence to metaphysical principles. The fact that only "really successful" people win high office reveals how strongly commerce has infiltrated American culture. Commerce has drowned all personal virtue. And it has supplanted honor with ambition as the most essential social characteristic.

In commercial America, people want power. It takes money to get power. And it takes ruthless ambition to make money in our brutally competitive free market system. In this environment, honor does not stand a chance. Ambition is the only thing that can steel men enough to survive it.

This is not a good development. When ambition overtakes honor in society, we can expect bad things. Aristotle warned about ambition in strong terms: "Yet the truth is that men's ambition and their desire to make money are among the most frequent causes of deliberate acts of injustice." The Politics, Book II ch. ix ¶1271a9.

Aristotle knew what he was talking about. He correctly equated ambition with "deliberate acts of injustice" because ambition necessarily overshadows honor. Honor imposes limits on the means by which people achieve goals. Ambition lifts those limits. When men no longer observe honor in dealing with others, they gladly commit injustice. Their burning desire to make money overwhelms all other considerations; results are everything. They are not afraid to bend rules, dissemble, exploit and cut corners to achieve the results they seek.

By contrast, an honorable man would refuse to do these things. He would insist on "justice." But in commerce, this places an honorable man at a material disadvantage; an honorable man will always lose to an ambitious one. An ambitious man does not tie his hands with "ethics;" he is not even afraid to fight dirty when he must. In the end, the ambitious man achieves the goal, wins the power and ultimately takes high office. When ambition leads to such tangible rewards, who wouldn't want to be ambitious?

Probably not many. Nonetheless, I venture that honor offers its own rewards. Success can be measured in ways beyond salaries and fame. Some success is purely internal. Some success flows from personal excellence and adherence to personal standards. Put differently, it can be rewarding to be ethical. Although ethics may impede ambition and external success, it leads to virtue. It may be an antiquated sentiment to say that success means being honorable. But I really think it does.

External success is overrated. I leave it to the ambitious to chase external recognition and rewards. For my part, I am content to live according to my own heart and my own principles. I strive to do wrong to no one, not to make a certain salary. I strive to help those who need it, not to win praises from a supervisor. I burn to express my own personality, not to tailor my speech for a money prize. Call me old-fashioned--or even antiquated--but honor is very important to me.

But I can't be ambitious for honor. True honor exists without a need for external recognition or reward. Honor does not bestow career advancement, at least not consciously. No, ambition only works for those who crave external rewards. By contrast, honor is an internal reward. It is inwardly fulfilling. As such, ambition will not help you find honor--or "achieve" it. In fact, while it may be an achievement to live with honor, there's no trophy or plaque to commemorate the day you became honorable.

That's what an ambitious person will never understand.

GETTING THINGS DONE : DOES IT MATTER HOW?

AN ESSAY

As a cynic, I love Niccolo Machiavelli. Writing around 1500, Machiavelli understood that men are deceptive, vainglorious, fickle, petty, violent, manipulable creatures who act solely from self-interest. He bases all his arguments upon this bleak view of humanity. Sadly, common life experience all too often proves him right about men’s motives. Many people recognize his famous maxims from The Prince, namely: “It is better to be feared than loved;” and “The ends justify the means.” In Machiavelli’s world, principle means nothing compared to brute force. It only matters to the extent a ruler seems principled, when in fact he resorts to any means necessary to gain and hold political power. In short, Machiavelli is a cynic. He assumes that men have bad, selfish motives. He admonishes us to plan our interactions with other men with that assumption in mind.

True, we no longer live in Renaissance Italy with its perennial violence and political discord. But Machiavelli’s observations about men and means remain relevant to any human enterprise involving power. I often write about principle and honor. I praise men who adhere to abstract principles, not expediency. Honor refers to a person’s abiding principles. Honor bars men from adopting certain means to accomplish their goals. Machiavelli’s writings, on the other hand, remind me that honorable men rarely achieve or hold power in this world. Instead, only those who espouse honor—yet resort to treachery—win. Powerful men, in other words, live for appearances and results, not principles or conscience.

In The Prince, Machiavelli commonly reaches conclusions after examining historical examples. He typically chooses an example from antiquity, then an analogous example from his time. He draws similarities, analyzes salient elements, then presents conclusions that serve as advice to rulers who find themselves in comparable circumstances. In Chapter 8, Machiavelli examines rulers who achieve power through “crimes.” In the ancient example, he tells us about Agathocles the Sicilian, a “low and abject” military leader. The Prince at p. 36. Agathocles gathered every important Syracusan citizen in one place, telling them he wished to advise them about state affairs. At a signal, he ordered his troops to kill them. With all opposition destroyed at a single blow, Agathocles took over the government. For years afterward, he ruled decisively. Machiavelli even calls his statecraft: “Courageous and perilous effort[].” Id. at p. 37. Still, Machiavelli judges: “Still, it cannot be called virtue to kill one’s fellow-citizens, to betray one’s friends, to be without loyalty, without mercy, without religion; by such methods one can acquire power, but not glory.” Id.

In the modern example, Machiavelli tells us about Oliverotto da Fermo, a fatherless minor nobleman from Fermo. Due to his precarious family situation, Oliverotto’s uncle stepped in to raise him. The Prince at p. 37. At a young age, Oliverotto set out on a military career, during which he demonstrated “intelligence and vigor of body and mind.” Id. That aptitude led him to become the army’s commander. After many years, he decided to return home. He wrote to his uncle and asked that he be given a royal welcome because he had won many honors as a soldier. His uncle agreed. After arriving in Fermo with a whole troupe behind him, Oliverotto told his uncle he wanted to celebrate with a banquet. Every important citizen in Fermo appeared at the banquet. After dinner, Oliverotto advised that he wished to speak with the city governors in private. Along with Oliverotto’s uncle, they followed him into a separate room. Machiavelli describes what happened next: “No sooner were they seated than out from hiding places in the room came soldiers who killed [the uncle] and all the others.” Id. at p. 38. With all opposition crushed, Oliverotto took over the city and ruled it well until he died the following year. During his reign, his neighbors respected him and he withstood every attempt to dislodge him from power.

Machiavelli queries: “How it happened that Agathocles and others like him, after countless treacheries and cruelties, could live secure for so long in their native country…while never being conspired against by their own citizens.” The Prince at pp. 38-39. In answering this question, Machiavelli condemns both Agathocles and Oliverotto for their “wickedness and cruelty.” But he also praises them for effectively seizing power and governing well. On the whole, Machiavelli has more praise than condemnation for these “criminals.” True, they may have acted “dishonorably” to achieve their positions, but what does that matter? For Machiavelli, the real sign of success is whether a ruler keeps order in his State, defends it against foreign enemies and frustrates any attempt to depose him from within. Both Agathocles and Oliverotto fulfilled those criteria. By that standard, then, they were “good rulers.” In short, their results speak louder than the means they used to reach them.

Why be honorable? If criminals win accolades from Machiavelli, does it not make more sense to adopt nefarious, underhanded means to achieve goals than to follow a restrictive honor code? In Machiavelli’s world, an honorable man would never achieve power in the first place because a dishonorable criminal would kill him first. This may seem harsh. After all, in our society we equate the word “honor” with “good people” and “criminals” with incorrigible vagrants who never achieve success. But these generalizations are misleading. And they understate human beings’ remarkable capacity to deceive and hurt each other for personal gain. “Honor” implies that a person refuses to adopt certain means to win success. “Criminals,” on the other hand, are not afraid to trample “honor” in order to win. Criminals are flexible; honorable men are not. In this competition, the criminal will win. Machiavelli may condemn the means, but he would approve the end.

Machiavelli offers one important caveat to those who use “crime” to achieve success. He says: “[Success] depends on whether the cruelties are used well or badly. Those can be called well used (if it is permissible to say “well” about evil) which are done at one stroke, out of the need to make one secure, and which afterward are not persisted in, but are converted into the greatest benefits possible for one’s subjects.” The Prince at p. 39. In this formulation, we sense that Machiavelli does not use the word “crime” as we understand it. For him, “crime” means “violent cruelty,” not any trifling violation of the criminal code. “Violent cruelty,” in turn, represents a means “to secure oneself” and to win “benefits” for one’s people. Machiavelli tells us that violent cruelty works best when it happens “at one stroke” and “is not persisted in.” After all, people do not like cruelty. If a man is repeatedly cruel to enough people, he will be hated. But people forget quickly. If a ruler commits only one sweeping act of violent cruelty that provides long-term benefits to his people, he will not anger anyone.

Again, I ask, what good is honor? A truly honorable man would not commit even one unjust act against anyone, no matter what benefits it might bring. Honorable men do not employ certain means. They would love to bring benefits to themselves and others, but if the end requires unjustifiable means, such as murder or deception, an honorable man would not employ them. “Criminals,” on the other hand, face no such principled qualms. They do not hesitate to use violence if violence brings them long-term success. No moral code binds their behavior, and they actually win praise for dishonorable acts. If human beings are naturally selfish and vain, why would they adopt honor over crime? After all, if crime offers better opportunities to please oneself and others—with little risk of loss—why would anyone adopt the more difficult, honorable path? Who willingly fights a battle with one hand tied behind his back?

Self-interested people think about the most effective means to obtain personal gain. The most effective means are not necessarily the most honorable means. In that light, should it surprise us that there are few honorable men in the world? Sadly, Machiavelli’s political theory squarely answers that question for us: No.

What if long-term economic recovery in this country could only be achieved by murdering 100 paralyzed children? What if economic recovery would permanently secure a political leader’s reputation and power? Would Machiavelli support cruelty to achieve these ends? Would an honorable man?

PATIENCE - VIRTUE OR VICE?

AN ESSAY

In my satires, I enjoy seizing upon virtues that involve “tension points” between principle and practice. Religious belief, for example, is a familiar “tension point:” A person may claim to “love his neighbor,” when in fact he cheats him and steals from him at any convenient opportunity. The gap between principle and practice yields hypocrisy—to laughable effect. Still, satire is not the only way to identify and criticize these “tension points.” Sometimes it is sufficient merely to discuss them. By understanding why tension exists in a concept, we can understand the values to which our society aspires—and fails to reach.

Patience is a “tension point” between principle and practice. Since childhood, we have been told that “patience is a virtue,” and that “good things come to those who are patient.” In commercial settings, people thank us “for being patient,” as if we had done something truly praiseworthy for them. Scripture tells us that “the fruit of the [Christian] Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, gentleness, [and] self-control.” Epistle of Paul to the Galatians 5:22-23 (emphasis added). In other words, “good people” are patient. Conversely, “impatient people” fail to reach the standard.

If patience is a virtue, what does it entail? I always equated the word “patience” with “waiting.” My mother told me to be “patient” before dinner or before I received a gift. I eagerly expected something, yet had to uncomfortably wait for it. In those circumstances, “patience” meant nothing more than the “ability to wait without getting cranky.” After all, if I were impatient in these circumstances, I would have whined and asked: “When do we eat? Why isn’t the food here? How much longer is this going to take? It always takes so long to do this,” and so on and so forth. I would have been scolded for making such remarks, because I would have been “impatient.” If I were “impatient,” I would have refused to “wait without getting cranky.” I would have gotten cranky, and that is unpleasant for everyone involved.

But as time went on, I found out that there is more to patience than merely waiting. Like so many other apparently familiar words in our language, patience has additional dimensions. “Patience” derives from the Latin verb “patiare,” meaning “to suffer or endure.” The original root says nothing about waiting, although waiting in many circumstances implies a kind of suffering and endurance. In its purest sense, however, “patiare” implies physical or emotional pain. Waiting may be unpleasant, but it does not necessarily inflict physical pain.

In English, too, patience means more than “waiting.” The dictionary tells us that “patience” means: “1. Bearing or enduring pain, trouble, etc. without complaining or losing self-control; 2. refusing to be provoked or angered, as by an insult; forbearing; tolerant; and 3. calmly tolerating delay, confusion, inefficiency, etc.” Webster’s New World College Dictionary (4th Ed.). The primary definition involves “pain” and “trouble” without losing “self-control.” “Self-control” roughly corresponds to the unpleasant “crankiness” that used to overcome me as a child, but it could mean much more than that. The second definition lends meaning to “self-control” when it explains that “patience” involves a “refusal to become angered or provoked.” That suggests far more than mere “crankiness.” There are few things as trying as facing insults. They conjure powerfully negative, violent reactions in people. In general, violence is bad, and if a patient man refuses to react violently to unpleasant circumstances, he appears good. Christian theology confirms this when it tells us to “turn the other cheek” to our antagonists. In other words, “patience” is a core Christian ideal, perhaps because it is so tempting to react violently to an antagonist’s goading. Finally, “patience” can mean “calmly tolerating” delay, confusion and inefficiency. These seem to be the most common situations in which people admonish us to be “patient.” For example, waiters ask us for our “patience” when the chef gets “confused,” serves us the wrong dish, then gets it wrong again, leading to “delay” and “inefficiency.” The natural temptation in these circumstances is to get angry, lose self-control and start excoriating people. In fact, the waiter thanks us for not doing these things. He thanks us for being “patient,” or forgoing our naturally negative reactions to “delay,” “inefficiency” and “confusion.”

Patience, then, involves “calm tolerance,” “self-control,” “refusal to become angry,” “forbearance,” and “refusal to complain.” These are strongly positive concepts. A blessed aura surrounds patience; it is no wonder that both common social values and Christian doctrine extol “patience” as a virtue. After all, our world besieges us with maddening inconveniences large and small: irate coworkers, screaming children, long lines, crowds, traffic jams, rude customers, ungrateful friends, inefficient airline workers, delayed mail, forgotten orders, temper tantrums and unrealistic expectations, just to name a few. We face myriad stresses every day and we have limited time to overcome their demands. It is not surprising that we feel an urge to lose “self-control” and to “complain” when contending with such “pain, trouble, delay, inefficiency, provocation and confusion.” Indeed, the natural tendency is to throw up our hands and say: “Screw all of this; I’m out of here.”

Yet that would be a negative reaction. The patient man maintains his self-control throughout all life’s difficulties, even the ones that strike closest to home. For example, a person may profess love for another, yet may walk out after the first argument. That is not patience. Everyone has a limit before they say: “Screw all of this; I’m out of here.” That is the measure of patience. We say that the patient man is good because he controls himself. He does not surrender to the temptation to throw up his hands and run. Like a true Christian, he forgives the “inefficiency, confusion, delay, pain and inconvenience” that torments him. He “endures” it “without complaint.”

But this introduces several conceptual difficulties. After all, we live in an ambitious society. We move quickly. If we do not seize opportunities, we fail. If something goes on longer than planned, we could lose out on a job or an investment. If we are patient in these circumstances, we may be acting “virtuously,” but we will not get the job. Similarly, if we tolerate a person’s insults or poor treatment for too long, we cease to be patient and become “weak.” Where, then, is the line between “patience” and “weakness?” And is it always good to be patient?

Successful business owners thrive on impatience. They do not tolerate inefficiency in any circumstances and move swiftly to eliminate it; they do not “patiently endure it.” Employers do not tolerate delays in production or productivity. They do not “patiently wait” for it to end; they actively step in and complain about it until they achieve the results they seek. And in personal relationships, people rarely “endure” more than one slip-up in their mate before throwing up their hands and saying: “Screw it; I’m out of here.” In all these situations, patience was not the answer. In fact, if the business owner, employer, job-seeker or girlfriend applied patience over impatience, our society would have labeled them “foolish” or “weak.” If that is true, is patience really a virtue?

In my work experience, I observed that patience was actually a vice, not a virtue. In practicing law, it was better to impatiently insist on immediate results rather than to patiently endure inevitable delays. In looking for a job, it was better to impatiently call employers back to ask whether they had seen my resume rather than to patiently wait for them to call me back. Popular phrases such as “You snooze, you lose” exemplify the modern world’s take on patience. If you’re patient, you fail. Go-getters are impatient; that is why they are successful.

At this point, we see the tension point between “theoretical patience” and “practical patience.” At some point, we all have heard that it is good to be patient. We even hope that others will be patient with us when we make mistakes in our own lives. But in practice, how often do we reject patience in order to succeed? There is a vicious double standard at work here: We may pledge ourselves to patience, yet reap nothing but scorn when we observe it. If we give our opponents too much time to answer us in a legal case, people call us “weak cowards” and “do-nothings.” In contrast, if we impatiently bother every single potential customer to win accounts, our employers call us “enterprising.” Similarly, when someone insults us, our society expects us to return the hostility with a fresh barb; we praise people who lose their self-control in these circumstances. Yet if a person patiently refuses to lose self-control, we label him a “weakling.”

To be brief, it is hard to be patient in our world. Sadly, people regularly exploit and manipulate one another, and it would be foolish to be patient with a deceiver. It is extremely easy to lose control when confronting all the frustrating inefficiencies, hardships, delays and injustices that abound in modern life. Nonetheless, there is value in patience. It is possible to acknowledge people as self-interested and egotistic, while remaining patient in principle. Unfortunately, very few people observe patience when their own success is at stake. In our society, it is better to strike hard and fast than to “calmly tolerate” delay and confusion.

If everyone were patient and forbearing in our society, we certainly would live in a better world. But that is not the case. In the endless race for success, pushiness replaces self-control, aggressiveness replaces “turning the other cheek,” and complaint replaces forbearance. In the quest for success, delay is fatal. That is why patience is more vice than virtue in modern life. And that is unfortunate.