The moral high ground

According to my interpretation of evolution (which I apply to just about everything under the sun, from organisms to organs, and from motion to emotion), there is, or was at some point in the past, a reason for everything that exists. Sometimes the thing continues to exist after its reason disappears (like certain architectural features that used to be necessary but are now merely ornaments) and some responses are exaggerated, but as a general rule, I find it useful to try to figure out why things exist.

Why, for example, is there such a thing as the feeling of "moral superiority"?

The other day, a colleague mentioned that he took the stairs and not the elevator not so much because it was healthy, but mostly because it was better for the environment. I bike to work when I can, always fill the dishwasher to capacity, and regulate the pressure of my morning shower so as not to waste hot water (less pressure means less water, but it can also be less hot, because less water splatters off). (I almost added that I only wash the car a few times a year to save the environment, but that would be less than completely truthful: mostly, I just hate washing the car).

I have been doing these things so long that I no longer really have any feelings about them, but when I first started "saving the environment", in my late teens, I distinctly remember feeling morally superior over those around me who did not. Of course, I did my best to hide this from other people - nobody likes a snooty, smug, self-satisfied do-gooder, but now, many years later, I wonder whether I would have ever done them had I not had that feeling as a reward.

Can it be that we as a society actually need snootiness, smugness, and feeling of being moral superior to help us do things that are better for us in the long term? And if so, should they be reclassified as virtues? If so, is my disdain and dislike for snooty, smug, morally superior self-satisfied people also a virtue? :-}

The same old same old

I spend a lot of timing thinking about the process of habituation, and there are several things that bother me about it. One is the lag time between the stimulus and the reaction, which is usually longer than I would prefer. When my wife and kids go off for a week or so, it usually takes me about three to four days to get used to their absence, for example. Then, just when I am beginning to enjoy my solitude, they come back, and I need another 3-4 days to get used to that. Or take the Luxembourg weather. It usually takes expats from more benign climates 20-30 years to get used to it. By which time they usually retire, and go back to where they came from.

And the second is the fact that, with time, organisms react less even though the strength of the stimulus remains the same (desensitization). Of course, it would be impossible to survive without this, because you would simply be overwhelmed by stimuli. And the process of habituation is also an important survival mechanism, because it allows us to adapt, and adaptability is one of the main criteria for survival at individual, group and species level.

But there are situations where it is better not to adapt. It is all very well for me to get desensitized to the problems I have with my my music software, and just accept the fact that it will usually take 2-4 times to create a final version of a recording. (I have tried to fix it, but without success. Now, I just take a deep breath and try again each time the problem occurs.). But it is not a good idea to get so used to working with dangerous chemicals that you forget the risks (a known problem in laboratories). And on a grander scale, it is not so good to get used to "just accept" injustice, abuse, needless suffering and so on.

Of course, there is another, opposite, risk, namely when the same stimulus evokes ever bigger reactions (over-reactions). For the human race, that is probably just as bad as desensitizing, and for the individual it is definitely worse. What would be best is to stayed somewhere in the middle: aware of the problems, and committed to do something about it, but not overly involved emotionally.

Sounds very Zen, I hope. Now if I could only find that balance in my own life ...

Scarred for life

The first time I read Richard Dawkins' assertion (in "The Selfish Gene") that physical scars help their (male) bearers attract potential mates because they indicate survival skills, I felt quite pleased, because I have lots of scars. At the time, I did not stop to think whether this was a valid conclusion; I just accepted it as unexpected good news. This morning under the shower, however, I realized that almost none of my scars count in the way Dawkins meant.

For one thing, most of them are not very visible, either because they have faded with time (the ones on my chin, from an accident when I was four and the one across my eyebrow, from when my face collided with a toilet door during student party) or because they are usually covered (I have several on my scalp and behind my ear and one on my knee from a car accident, one on my stomach from an operation when I was one) or both (the scratches on my back - long story, better left untold). I even have one that was hidden on purpose, by a well-intentioned surgeon who had obviously not read or believed the scar theory.

For another, my scars do not indicate the type of survival skills Dawkins meant (he was referring to the animal kingdom). There is of course nothing wrong with surviving accidents and operations (as I say in my song "Unfair", the alternative is worse),



but you could also argue that it would be better not to have accidents (who knows, I might be a Bermuda triangle on legs) or need operations. And of course, accidents and illness can leave you worse off (Nietsche's idea that "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger" might be true collectively, on the level of the species, but does not necessarily apply to the individual), if only in the sense that they may also leave mental scars. No, the scars that really count in this context are battle scars.

In the world I live in, however, male survival depends on more than just physical prowess. People might still be impressed by muscles and Heidelberg duelling scars (which apparently are still quite popular!), but that really only counts in the initial stages of a relationship. Very soon after that, most males will have to prove they also have provider skills (either directly - a steady job, or indirectly - the qualities necessary to make money).

Luckily, I no longer need my scars for anything (I have built my nest already, and a very nice nest it is). But it is still a bit sad to have to trash yet another illusion ... as a general rule, I am all for truth and demystification. But sometimes it is nicer not to peek behind the curtain.

Life is a project

These past few weeks I have had several occasions to yet again witness the parallelisms between my personal and professional life. As a project manager, this is not so odd, of course, because projects are all around, even if you are not completely obsessed with project management. One example: one Friday evening a few weeks back, my six-year old (who is very into arts and crafts) announced she wanted to make a pinball machine [expression of the need, in project management terms]. It didn't take long for me to figure out that she was not thinking of the kind that I used to play on as a teenager: she wanted something along the lines of a wooden one she had played with at her after-school activity center [project definition and scope].

I told her that it was much too late to start work, and she ran away to sulk in a corner [negotiation and prioritization]. So I said that although we couldn't start work, we could draw the basic design [drafting of preliminary functional requirements]. The next morning, she [in her capacity of project "owner" or "sponsor"] woke me at seven, insisting that we start work immediately. So we did. I explained [with a view to project planning], however, that we should not start directly on the wooden version, and that it would be better to make a cardboard one [a model or prototype] first. As we worked, she kept a close eye on [monitored] progress, and made several change requests along the way. The most important one was her insistence that the prototype be fully functional (a good case of project creep if I ever saw one). This included mounting the cardboard structure on a plank of wood which was raised at one end (to ensure the proper inclination) and attaching close-pins by way of flippers. The end result, though definitely not a work of art, did in fact pass the factory testing (by me, in my role of developer/implementer) and the preliminary user acceptance tests (my daughter/sponsor). Of course, I was now beginning to get worried that we had used up all our time [resources] on the prototype, and dreaded having to inform my sponsor. She however was not worried; she was happy with the prototype, especially after having shown it to her sister [phase II of the user acceptance testing], who was duly impressed. This also signaled the official end of the project (the sign-off consisting of a "Thank you, daddy" and a kiss and a hug).