An Argument Against Hedonistic Act Utilitarianism

(1) The principles of the Theory of Evolution dictate that a trait is naturally selected for if it increases the likelihood that an organism will survive, either individually or as a species.

(2) Statement (1), when translated into Utilitarian terms, would say: "The principles of the Theory of Evolution dictate that a trait is naturally selected for if it increases or does not decrease utility for an organism, either individually or as a species."

(3) The principles of the Theory of Evolution would support the claim that nocioceptors [a type of pain receptor activated at times of injury or inflammation] are evolutionarily advantageous.
3a: Nocioceptors have been part of human and animal physiology for all of recorded history, indicating that they have not been selected out of most species.

(4) By (3), if nocioceptors are evolutionarily advantageous, their function must be evolutionarily advantageous.

(5) Therefore, the ability to feel pain is evolutionarily advantageous by (3) and (4).

(6) Statement (5), when translated into Utilitarian terms, would say: "Therefore, the ability to feel pain maximizes utility by (3) and (4)."

(7) Hedonistic Act Utilitarianism holds that whatever causes pleasure increases utility, and whatever causes pain decreases utility.

(8) If Hedonistic Act Utilitarianism is true, then the ability to feel pain does not maximize utility.

(9) But the ability to feel pain does maximize utility, by (6).

(10) Therefore, Hedonistic Act Utilitarianism cannot be true [if the Theory of Evolution is correct].

The Spark

The man went forth in eyes of night
And in the darkness sparked delight
A righteous wave of eldritch pow’r
Push’t back the gloom and stayed the hour.

A battle fought ‘tween light and dark;
An evil army ‘gainst the spark,
But then the spark became a fire
And took up Evil in its pyre

‘Till nothing of the dark remained
Except the smoke and space it claimed
And from this smoke came wand’ring souls
Freedom pouring from its holes.

A broken dam of life ill-took
Released the souls of the forsook
And wandered they to heavens air
And tasted grace and beauty there.

The spark, its duty done, withdrew
And time itself began anew
It slipped inside its earthy home;
And watched them roll away the stone.

Tips from a Valet

After spending the whole summer working as a valet for a three-star hotel, I can reflect on a wide variety of experiences good and bad. I have also considered the ways people treat each other and expectations from both the employee and the customer. So here is a valet, giving out tips.

Don't assume the valet is stupid, foolish, and/or willfully incompetent in the operation of your vehicle.
Valets depend on keeping your car safe to earn their wages. Damaged cars and customer complaints reflect badly on the valet, who can be fired if he or she accumulates enough strikes. The only time I have ever seen a valet be careless and stupid with a vehicle is when others (clients or other employees) treated him like he might be.

Being a valet is also quite a lucrative job, if the valet lands a gig with the right people. It's more profitable than working at a Macdonalds', flipping burgers for six dollars an hour. So valets are very rarely valets because they have no other choice, or are too incompetent for everything else. Driving and parking cars sounds simple, but there are hidden complexities.

Don't assume that the valet has never seen or driven your model of vehicle before.
Valets see a lot of cars every day, and people in certain areas tend to buy similar kinds of vehicles. Chances are, the valet has been behind a wheel exactly like yours before. I will say that there are exceptions to this tip, like if there is a special modification to the car to allow access to the "differently able." I drove a van this summer that was outfitted to be conducted with the hands only, since the driver was paralyzed from the waist down, and he had to show me a few tricks.

The valet who parked your car is not necessarily going to be the one who retrieves it.
Just a heads-up.

Tipping:
These are some suggestions for tipping.

• The valet will probably not expect money for taking the car away. However, the more generosity on your part, the more the valet will like you.

• When pulling up to a high-class hotel, several people may approach the car at once. One will be a doorman or bellman, who will open the door for you and handle your baggage. One will be the valet. If you have a large number of bags, another doorman/bellman will probably assist the first. Tip both of them together (i.e.: give one of them enough money to share between them) but tip the valet separately if you wish to tip him or her at all. This avoids confusion. The same applies to when you leave.

• When a valet is a little late with your car, it's probably not the valet's fault. Valets know that the faster they bring the car around, the better the service they provide. They probably won't dawdle on purpose unless you have been nasty to them. Reasons for hang-ups may include misfiled keys, double parking, and understaffing.

• When a valet is exceptionally late with a car, he or she knows it, and if he or she has any sense he or she won't expect a tip. However, your understanding and generosity is never out-of-place.

If you have a choice between driving a large vehicle and driving a smaller, less-extravagant one, please take the smaller one.
Valet garages and parking lots often have very small spaces to economize the use of whatever area is available. There will often be five or six spaces specifically for oversize vehicles like SUV's, pickup trucks, etc. However, it is easiest and safest to maneuver small, deft cars into and out of the spaces. The largest vehicle that a valet can operate comfortably and easily in a small space is probably a minivan, or a mid-size SUV like the Toyota Rav-4. Please leave your F-350 with the modified wheels or your Cadillac Eldorado at home unless you have no other choice.

And finally, the ugly business of:

Theft
Valets, as has been reported in the media and other sources, can be untrustworthy with the contents of your car. I heard of a restaurant that had to fire its entire valet staff after hidden video cameras caught each and every once of them pinching loose change and valuable knick-knacks from the cars they parked. The trick is to treat valets as though they are untrustworthy without actually showing them that you think they're untrustworthy. Take small valuables out of your car when you leave, particularly bills in the space between the seats, cell phones, and detachable GPS screen units. But don't make a show of writing down the mileage and checking the gas gauge. Valets are people too.

Also, don't accuse valets of nonsensical crimes. A woman this summer insisted that the valets had stolen a set of keys from one of her bags, despite the fact that the keys were of no intrinsic value and the doors they operated were on cars several state lines away. There is a human tendency to allocate blame towards those lowest on the social ladder, but try to have reasonable proof--or for that matter, motive--before pointing any fingers.

Virginia Tech and Related Topics

It is not my wish that this post be another painful commentary on the tragedy that took place. Instead, I will focus on some related issues that I have been pondering lately.

Media Sensationalism:
Everywhere I look, I see headlines like "MASSACRE AT VIRGINIA TECH" and "PROFILING A KILLER." I think these are exaggerated for commercial purposes. Of course, this is standard procedure for news agencies, and it is their right to try to advertise their product, but when it is so obviously sensationalized I feel like a line should be drawn.

I am thinking specifically of the words "massacre" and "killer." "Massacre" is a militaristic term, brought out to describe conflicts that are politically, socially, or territorially motivated. The first--and therefore most common--definition of "massacre" provided by searching for the word on www.dictionary.com is as follows: "The unnecessary, indiscriminate killing of a large number of human beings or animals, as in barbarous warfare or persecution or for revenge or plunder."

Some would argue that this fits the V-Tech situation to a T. But this definition illustrates something that is related to war, and blood feuds, and countries battling each other. It may not say it in the definition, but when I hear the word "massacre" my mind jumps to a scene straight out of "Braveheart," with the luckless side being mowed down by the more-determined, better-equipped side. It is violence with a distinct, shared purpose.

I suggest that a better word for what happened at V-Tech: Tragedy. Dictionary.com defines tragedy (after all the literary definitions have been sorted through) as "a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster." "Tragedy" is an emotional word. It is a word that speaks of death foreseen but unavoided. When one is a victim of a tragedy, he or she is the victim of chance combined with the inherent evil of human nature that causes calamity; disaster. Someone who sets out to cause a tragedy does so because he is so empty inside that he does not think anything can fill the void, and he develops a hatred in his heart that fills him up. He may weep while he kills, because none of the deaths fills him like he thought they would. They just cause more emptiness, and the fire burns hotter.

Quite aside from the definitions and senses of the words, there is the matter of the victim's families to consider. If I had a child or a friend who was killed at V-Tech (and thank the Lord I did not, but God be with those who did), I would not want to see the word "massacre." It would remind me of the helplessness of the victims. "Tragedy" is easier to live with every day.

Gun Control
This subject has been debated to death; there is nothing more that I can add. I will say that gun-free zones are a good idea in the same way that Communism sounded great on paper. You have to assume that everyone will comply in order for it to work. I am completely in favor of doing whatever it takes to make sure the psychopaths cannot buy guns. However, this should not mean that the worthy should not be allowed to carry. And there lies the crux of the problem: Who is able to read a man's heart and see what his intentions are? Can anyone actually be sure of what they will do with a gun? I don't think I can be sure. I am afraid to buy a gun because I don't know if I'm responsible enough. But people who are trained in their use for the service of the public, like the police and the Reserve Officers Training Corps, should be allowed to have the option of carrying a weapon.

I have nothing more to say. My heart goes out to the families affected by the V-Tech tragedy. God be with you, and also with the family of the killer.

Perspectives on American Culture from a Resident of Hypothetica

Today--or rather, tonight--I witnessed an event in this culture unlike any other I have seen yet this year. It was a night of passion, of intrigue, of bravery, and I hasten to record the event before it slips from my mind.

The actual proceedings took place in a far-off land, forcing those of us who could not find the time or the expense to travel to observe the event via a remote-signalling device that transmits images in real-time. In anticipation of the event, many families apparently invite their friends to observe the actions with them, in a sort of communal gathering. This is why, when I stepped into the home, I was not surprised to find many people wandering around, priming their palates with small morsels of food. Eventually, though, everyone gravitated towards the room in which the remote signalling device was given a central position, and settled into long, comfortable chairs to watch.

The event opened with a finely-garbed woman, presumably a high priestess, standing on a dais and leading the hosts in song as acrobats in brightly-colored clothes flipped and spun their way through intricate patterns and musicians dressed as warriors marched in formation across the open field, playing military beats on percussion instruments. This went on for some time, until the high priestess took her leave and an elderly man replaced her, seating himself before a musical instrument. He led the spectators in singing a song of obvious significance, probably a call to worship. While he sang, each member of the crowd placed his or her hand over his or her heart, a position of supplication to the gods, I presume. When the song ended the worshippers broke into cheers, waving pennants and smiling joyously.

Then there was a rumble of anticipation as many warriors in full armor burst from the catacombs beneath the place of worship and ran out into the field, waving and jumping up and down. After some time another group of warriors wearing different markings issued from openings on the other side of the field, and milled about on their own sides and discussed with each other the upcoming events. I began to suspect that there would be a re-enactment or representation of some past event, probably to do with a battle between the forces of Good and the forces of Evil, for one phalanx was clad in white and blue, and the other in black and gold, a traditional use of coloration to distinguish between Good and Bad.

Eventually the two sides met in the middle of the field (the acrobats and the priests having vacated the area) and conversed with several subdeacons, each dressed in distinctive black-and-white garments (probably to distinguish their ethereal position as mediators between Good and Evil). Each group of warriors put forward a representative, who met with the subdeacon in the center of the field. The subdeacon produced a coin of little value, muttered a few words over it, and tossed it heavenward, probably an offering to the gods. As it flew through the air, one representative of the warriors uttered a supplication. The response from the gods was obviously favorable, for his team was allowed to begin the conflict by means of propelling a ball as far down the field as possible, from the Good side towards the Bad warriors. I assumed the ball was some sort of weapon, but the Bad side caught it and ran as hard as they could towards the forces of Good, who did their utmost to slow him down but he succeeded in breaking through their ranks and running into an area that clearly represented some sort of stronghold, or fort. The forces of Evil had won, or so I thought, and was wondering what sort of worship this was, when the warriors lined up to repeat the procedure. I then came to understand that this was not a short event, but rather a representation of a series of battles, and--as is so often the case--Evil had shed first blood.

The conflicts went on for some time, occasionally requiring intervention from the subdeacons, presumably when details were left out or introduced in the wrong order. After a while both phalanxes exited the field and a stage was constructed in the shape of an enormous symbol, a symbol that was displeasing to my eyes and made me uneasy at heart. A man emerged onto the stage and began to play an instrument and sing; I was later able to learn that this was the people's Prince, and that it was a priviledge for him to be able to perform at this fuction. His performace lasted a short while and was accompanied by flashes of light and fire that unnerved me. Finally he left to general enthusiasm from the crowd, and I wondered what kind of people this was, who so praised a leader who seemed so affiliated with the Darkness.

The conflicts resumed shortly after this and lasted again for some time, and it was clear that the forces of Evil were losing ground fast. Their warriors made comical mistakes, dropping the ball or throwing it in the wrong direction, and the forces of Good made short work of them in the end. To my surprise there was no closing convocation, no priestly dismissal, although the forces of Good selected two of their members to anoint their general with sweet oil. Clearly the right people had won, for there was great rejoicing, in the home where I was as well as on the field.

I was later told that the fuction was of no religious significance whatsoever; instead it was a sport played for amusement, and this event was called the "Bowl of Superiority," or simply "Super-Bowl". I refuse to believe it. No sport that I know of requires dietary restrictions on the part of its observers, who in this instance ate nothing but bird wings and a flat pie of some fashion, and who drank only drinks which fizzed and made my stomach react unpleasantly. I know a religious observance when I see it.

It Was Probably How He Wanted To Go

For those of you who haven't heard, Steve Irwin passed away on Monday, September 4, while filming a documentary in the Great Barrier Reef. Irwin was 44 years old, married, and the father of a son (8) and a daughter (3). He was best known as "The Crocodile Hunter" and was beloved by thousands of people across the globe.

He died while scuba diving when he cruised too close to a stingray. According to witnesses, the stingray's barb went up into Steve Irwin's chest and punctured his heart, a freakish accident since most stingray attacks are non-lethal. Nonetheless, medical experts agree that death was probably instantaneous with little associated pain.

He will be missed. The world is a slightly darker place without that toothy grin and the absolute confidence that even the most dangerous animals in the world are "beauties."

Crikey.

This Article is Like an Article About Abstract Similes and Metaphors

Many thanks to Kemi for forwarding this to me via e-mail.

Every year, English teachers from across the country can submit their collections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high school essays. These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of teachers across the country. Here are last year's winners...

1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.

9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy! comes on at 7:00 p. m. instead of 7:30.

12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.

16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.