In Response to Justice Stevens (and his Atrocious use of Logic)

Former Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens recently penned an op-ed for The New York Times which called for repealing the Second Amendment. He argues that the right to keep and bear arms stopped existing at some point in recent history. Here it is in his own words:

“’Concern that a national standing army might pose a threat to the security of the separate states led to the adoption of the [2nd] amendment, which provides that “a well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.’ Today that concern is a relic of the 18^th century.”

Justice Stevens spent many years analyzing argumentative logic, from Texas vs. Johnson to Hamdan vs. Rumsfeld, so one should hope that he would actually use a bit of academic rigor in his op-ed. Unfortunately, this is not the case. Here are some issues with Justice Stevens’ reasoning:

1. The Second Amendment makes no mention of a “standing army,” the threat it might pose to the states, or the threat that it could pose to the American people. Stevens is not using the letter of the law as a means of critique, but the potential motivations our nation’s founders had in writing the law. The last time I checked, it wasn’t the potential motivations of American legislators in 1787 that make up the Constitution, but the language of the Constitution that make up the Constitution (why does this even need mentioning?). It may be a “living document,” but the document lives in its words, not the motivations of long-dead legislators.
2. Even if we believe that our Founders’ intentions in passing the Constitution are what really matter here, Justice Stevens’ argument still falls apart. Why? Because he provides zero supporting evidence for his claim regarding the concern of a standing army. He cites no speeches, letters, articles, or even drunken ravings of the Constitution’s writers (or from the many legislators who chose to vote in favor of the Second Amendment). A standing army was definitely a great concern for our Founders, but it could hardly be the only tyrannical threat our young nation faced. Without evidence to support his claim, Stevens may as well join Alex Jones on InfoWars.com. Wouldn’t that be a treat?

(inforwars.com, ladies and gentlemen)

3. Even if we go along with Stevens’ claim, that the Second Amendment’s sole purpose is protection from a standing army, his conclusion is still unfounded. That conclusion, calling the threat from a standing army “a relic of the 18^th century,” could not be further from the truth. Not only does America still have a standing army, it is the most powerful active-duty military in the history of the world. Additionally, government reserve forces (Army, Air Force, Naval, and Marine Reserves, along with the National Guard, Air Guard, and Coast Guard), have armories and bases all across the country, and these reserve forces can be federalized at any time. Under the right conditions, this standing army is far more capable of tyranny than the army of 1787.

4. To be fair, I must note that it would be still difficult for today’s army to pose a tyrannical threat. American Soldiers are taught to not obey orders that are “manifestly illegal,” and they swear allegiance to the Constitution, not any singular person. However, we should remind those who agree with Justice Stevens that tyranny is inevitable, even in constitutional republics like ours. Abe Lincoln suspended habeus corpus. Franklin Roosevelt ordered the internment of thousands of Japanese Americans (an executive order upheld by the Supreme Court in Korematsu, because racism, abolishment of private property, and imprisonment without due process are technically OK when done in the name of “military security”). More recently, enemy captives from the war on terror have been tortured, our past three presidents have ordered military operations without the consent of Congress, and the modern police state (think NSA and FBI) gathers intelligence on millions of American citizens without warrants. These tyrannies were and are enforced through the military, or other government agents who, while not soldiers, are armed enforcers from the federal government, and are more than ready to commit violence on the state’s orders (sounds a lot like soldiers). These truths are acknowledged universally by the political left and the political right, but I guess Justice Stevens wasn’t paying attention to the real world over the course of his illustrious judicial career.

To keep the scope of my argument narrow, I will go no further. I am a staunch supporter of the right to bear arms, but my purpose here is only to show a reasoned disagreement with Justice Stevens’ argument, not to explain the many arguments I have in support of the Second Amendment. I hope that this disagreement is seen as (mostly) civil, logical, and true.

 

Sources:

Original Article from The New York Times.

NSA Intelligence Gathering:  https://www.nationalreview.com/2017/05/nsa-illegal-surveillance-americans-obama-administration-abuse-fisa-court-response/.

Japanese Internment/Korematsu Decision:  http://www.uscourts.gov/educational-resources/educational-activities/korematsu-v-us-balancing-liberties-and-safety

Torture of Captives in the War on Terror from Criminal Justice Review:  http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0734016808315585

Habeus Corpus Suspension Act:  http://www.civilwaronthewesternborder.org/timeline/habeas-corpus-suspension-act

Strength of the U.S. Armed Forces:  https://www.globalfirepower.com/country-military-strength-detail.asp?country_id=United-States-of-America

 

Featured Image from Henry Christensen, 2008.

A Friend in the Iron

“The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go, but two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.” – Henry Rollins

If only I had learned such truths in Philosophy class. Instead, these words lurked deep within the textbook for a Strength Training course at West Point. It is the only time I’ve felt thankful to their Department of Physical Education.

I didn’t’ fully appreciate this quote when I first read it. You have to lift heavy weights consistently for a few years to grasp the depth in Rollins’ prose. For those who haven’t spent much time lifting weights, I’m going to share a story that demonstrates the pervading truths in Rollins’ writing, and what the Iron comes to mean in a lifter’s life.

In the fall of 2016, I spent 10 days in a hospital’s psychiatric ward. I admitted myself because of recurring suicidal tendencies that became more than I could bear alone. In the nights leading up to the hospitalization, I would dream that I was carrying out my suicide plan. During the day, I would perform at a high level at work, joke around with my friends, and make plans for the weekend. There were few, if any, outward signs that I was inches from taking my own life.

My time in the hospital was rough. It wasn’t a bad facility, but I had never felt so alone. The one hour of visitation at night was the only intelligent conversation I got all day. There was also a patient with gang tattoos who kept threatening to kick my ass (although part of me wished the motherfucker would try), and another who, during my first three days there, kept attempting to grab my junk when no one else was looking. My nightmares switched from suicide attempts, to this deeply insane patient having her way with me. It was a weird time.

On my first day out of the hospital, things didn’t get much better. I was taken right to the behavioral health doctors on Fort Huachuca. There, they informed me I would face a Medical Evaluation Board. My orders to Fort Drum and the 10^th Mountain Division were rescinded, and I lost the assignment I had been so excited for.

But that wasn’t all. A Medical Board is serious business, and my entire Army career was in jeopardy. I asked what my chances were of being retained by the service. The doctors were hesitant to answer, so I took a direct approach.

“How many times have you seen a soldier with Bipolar disorder be retained after a Medboard?”

Their answer:  never, after more than 20 years in military medicine. It looked like I would be kissing my dream job goodbye.

After that appointment was over, I checked in with my supervisor. He told me to report to work the next day, and that left me with the rest of the afternoon to process everything:  the mental trauma of a rough hospital stay, which included repeated threats of violence and attempts of sexual battery, that I would be stuck in Arizona until the Medical Board was over, and the beginning of the end to my Army career.

It’s a lot to deal with all at once. How does a young man begin to process all this? There were few options.

First, I could have talked it all over with family and friends, especially because I had seen so little of them in the hospital. Even then, the visitations were hardly private, considering the woman who kept trying to grab my junk at dinner was sitting 10 feet away.

Food was another option. The hospital nutrition was atrocious, and I hadn’t had a good meal in 10 days. Although we were 12 miles north of the US-Mexico border, the town had a Culvers, and I would have strangled a kitten for a triple-bacon-cheddar ButterBurger.

And although it was ill-advised, alcohol was a third option. I could have sat down and thought everything over with a whisky or two (or ten). Some say it’s the best medicine on earth.

I chose none of the above. I went straight to the gym, put a bar on my back, and squatted my ass off. When that was done, I took some weight off the bar and pressed it overhead for some heavy sets of five. Then I put the bar on the floor, loaded it up, and deadlifted to the point that I nearly collapsed. I usually record my weights from the day into a meticulous training log, but at the time, I just didn’t give a shit. The only thing in my mind was the Iron.

When done, I drove to a gas station, bought a quart of whole milk, and chugged it in the parking lot. I sat for a moment in my car and took a deep breath. I felt good for the first time in weeks, at peace, like nothing mattered in those seconds. I drove back to my place, cleaned up, and got food with my family

I had a friend in the iron long before these events transpired. I had a friend in the iron in the months following, and I have a friend in the iron today. It is ever-present in a lifter’s life. Whether I was working 12 to 14 hours a day as a soldier, or in my far less-stressful job at the gym, the iron was there. Whether my friends and family were in town, or across the country, the iron was there. Whether I felt on top of the world, or that life had shattered to pieces, the iron was there.

I’m sharing this to demonstrate what the Iron comes to mean in life. Rollins describes it as “the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver.” His words are beyond accurate. The Iron is forever there for you, patiently waiting like an old friend, constant, unchanging, one. For this, and this alone, I will always have a friend in the iron.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

 

Featured image from mantrailuminacao.com.br.

Finding Happiness in a World of Unlimited Wants

Last week’s Poop Scoop made an argument for pursuing your wants. It claimed that in the pursuit of happiness, your wants are just as important as your needs. I stand by my argument. HOWEVER…

The human condition leaves us with potentially unlimited wants. This is problematic. With unlimited wants comes the reality that our universe has limited resources. Many of our wants cannot be filled. It is the classic problem of economics.

But I’m not here to discuss economics. I’m here to discuss happiness, and the danger that unlimited wants poses to its pursuit. If we can’t fulfill our wants, we may never be happy!

For example, the following is an incomplete list stuff I would like to get out of life:

• Share a bottle of 50 year Macallan Scotch with family and close friends
• Go back in time and follow Iron Maiden’s Beast on the Road Tour; get hammered with Steve Harris backstage.
• Arrange a three-way, pay-per-view cage match between Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Clarence Thomas, and the reanimated corpse of Antonin Scalia. Share a beer with Ginsburg after she wins.
• Marry Taylor Swift.
• Successfully hunt a bull elk, caribou, and moose. Bonus: have a beer with the boys after the hunt.
• Total 1700 pounds raw in the Squat, Bench, and Deadlift.
• Make a pilgrimage to the holy land (Scotland) and give homage to the distilleries. This will include a side-trip to Bushmills in Northern Ireland.
• Go to the top of the mountain from Rocky IV and scream “DRAGO!!!!” Record and post it to Instagram.

It should be obvious that some of these are unattainable. Others require participants that may be unwilling to go along. Even the reasonable ones, like marrying Taylor Swift, would still be challenging.

In a world of unlimited wants, what are we to do about the pursuit of happiness? Even if all our wishes come true, newer, bolder desires will be just around the corner.

I am not the first person to think about this problem. It is a theme in Homer’s Iliad. Socrates discusses this, among other things, in his dialogue with Gorgias. Even the eastern traditions discuss it in The Bhagavad Gita and The Dhammapada, albeit with less logical rigor.

Upon both reading these discussions (or using your intuition), we know that limited resources will always be an issue. We also know that humans will never cease in desiring people, places, or things. The only readily available solution is to place reasonable limits on our wants, and take great pleasure in the ones we can obtain. This is how we prevent us from losing ourselves in the pursuit of happiness.

For example, I know that liquidating in my Roth IRA for a 50 year Macallan is completely out of the question. However, I can still take great pleasure in enjoying the lesser whiskies with family and friends. I may also never get the chance to hunt moose, elk, or caribou, but I can still take great pleasure in hunting deer and elephants. Taylor Swift may divorce me in the end, but it would be a great 6 months, and there are more fish in the sea.

In the end, we cannot obtain everything we want. But we can choose a limited number of worthwhile wants and lose ourselves in their pursuit. In the end, we may end up content with life.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Needs, Wants, and the Squandered Genius of Karl Marx

I don’t like admitting it, but Karl Marx was on to something. In his Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, he argued that modern industrial society had estranged workers from both their own work and from other workers. It is surprising that Marx was able to argue this so well in 1844, for the industrial revolution as we know it had only just begun.

This piece of genius aside, Marx screwed the pooch with everything else. One of his solutions to the problems facing the proletarian worker was this:

“From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.”

He popularized this slogan in his 1875 Critique of the Gotha Program. We can go all day debating it, but my critique is that practical applications of this principle do not correctly interpret the term needs.

Under the various Socialist systems of the last hundred years, people’s needs have been viewed as the necessities for survival:  food, water, shelter, some level of education, and a minimal level of healthcare. People’s wants, like a nice house, a big steak, or a hunting trip, are typically viewed as unnecessary extravagances. The resources needed to attain these wants are better-spent tending to the needs of others.

Unfortunately, these needs are only sufficient to keep one’s blood pumping. They are insufficient if the people in society are to find happiness.

Happiness is a complicated thing. Smarter people than I have tried and failed to define it. Without descending into relativism, let’s just say that a happy life looks different to different people.

I may find happiness in teaching people to squat, while another man finds happiness selling cars or trading stocks. Upon acknowledging this fact, one realizes that different people need different things in their respective pursuits of happiness.

If one’s goal in life is to survive, needs are obviously more important than wants. But if one’s goal in life is to be happy, wants are equally important as one’s needs.

You can survive on bread and water. Some people are surprisingly happy on such a diet. Others crave 24-ounce steaks and good whisky. While it is academically easy to critique the latter for its excess, doing so forces arbitrary standards of happiness that, upon practical application, leave everybody miserable. In the pursuit of happiness, wants are redefined into needs, and that’s not a bad thing!

Do you want to survive, or do you want to be happy? If your answer is the latter, it’s perfectly acceptable to chase your wants, provided that doing so doesn’t compromise the life, liberty, and property of others. So go ahead, eat that steak, buy that new computer, take that vacation! Don’t feel guilty for your pursuit of happiness. Instead, just embrace it.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Lessons in Film: Risky Business

My dad asked me a question recently:

“How do you know a great film is a great film?”

Damned if I knew. I can tell you that The Big Lebowski is the greatest comedy of all time, and that Legends of the Fall might objectively be the best film ever made. Millions of Citizen Kane fans just cried blasphemy, but don’t expect me to change my heretical views. That being said, these are strong opinions for a guy who can’t say what makes a film truly great.

Luckily my dad had an answer:

You know a film is a great film, because after viewing it, you walk out of the theatre, and the world looks different to you.

For my father, Gone with the Wind was that film. For me, the list is quite long. The world definitely looked different after Citizen Kane, so I’ll admit that it is a great film. But using this logic as a qualifier, there are a few titles that I put ahead of it:  To Kill a Mockingbird, Paths of Glory, High Noon, Seven Samurai, Caddyshack, and even Animal House significantly affected both how I view the world, and how I view myself.

I can name dozens more of such influential films. But when it comes to films that made the world look different to me, Risky Business tops them all. In fact, it changed my life more than any other film, book, or play.

This should ring alarm bells in anyone who has seen Risky Business. After all, the plot revolves around Tom Cruise sinking his dad’s Porsche in Lake Michigan, turning his parent’s home into a brothel, using prostitutes to earn favors with the Princeton admissions committee, and banging one of said-prostitutes on Chicago’s L-train.

I know what you’re thinking: what is a learned man like Sam learning from such debauchery? How does such a film change a young man’s worldview more than Lawrence of Arabia or Shakespeare’s Henriad trilogy?

I’ll start with the following quote:

“Sometimes, you gotta say, ‘what the fuck,’ make your move…saying ‘what the fuck’ brings freedom. Freedom brings opportunity. Opportunity makes your future.”

At the beginning of Risky Business, an immature teenager says this to 18-year-old Joel Goodson (what a fitting last name), played by Tom Cruise. The plot sees Joel transform from a neurotic, self-conscious, risk-averse teenager into a hot-blooded, cold-hearted, winner-take-all entrepreneur. He says “what the fuck,” makes his move, and learns the joys of unregulated, free-market capitalism.

Watching this at the ripe age of 15 loosened many a gear in my brain. It may not be healthy to take advice from a film with so many vices, but this is America, and I get to choose my path to wisdom. Prior to seeing this film, I was incredibly neurotic and risk-averse. In fact, I still am. But with the words and images of Risky Business stewing in my brain, I started to say “what the fuck” from time to time, leading to many high-payoff risks.

The first big risk was my foray into theatre. I auditioned for a production of Footloose a few months after seeing the film. Despite having not sung a note in four years, and possessing the dancing prowess of a vacuum cleaner, I was optimistic. I ended up playing the part of Reverend Moore, as well as other great roles in the next few years. More importantly, I made some awesome friends and learned quite a bit about myself.

Another big risk I took was West Point. It was the only school to which I sent a completed application. That was a risky move, but I never looked back, and it turned out to be the greatest decision of my life. If I had to do it over again, I would do so without hesitation.

I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I hadn’t seen Risky Business years ago. Although my Catholic mother cringes at this fact, I feel no shame. It is by-far the most influential film I’ve ever seen. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend you do so.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Risky Business. Brickman, Paul. Warner Brothers, 1983.

Obama, Trump, and the Pursuit of Happiness

This post is about happiness, but it uses politics as a means to examine it. If you are a mature and open-minded person, my opinions shouldn’t anger you. But if you choose to get angry with my writing, please take the extra minute to read what I am actually saying. Don’t misquote my argument and call me a fascist, a racist, or God forbid, a Socialist…

When I was in high school, I knew a fair number of Republicans that were unhappy with the Obama presidency. In fact, unhappy is the wrong word. These folks were full-on depressed, anxious, and angry. Their actual well-being was compromised because their preferred candidate lost, and a person they disliked held political office. They also lived in constant fear that their civil liberties were under attack, thinking that an evil-spirited dictator held office.

Unfortunately, I saw the same thing happen after Trump was elected. I know more than one Democrat who actually cried on election night. The fact that Trump is in office continues to make them depressed, anxious, and angry. They now live in fear that their civil liberties are under attack, thinking that an evil-spirited dictator holds office.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. You must be a special kind of stupid to place your happiness and wellbeing in the hands of a politician. I can understand why you didn’t like Obama or his policies. I can understand why you don’t like Trump or his policies. It is also completely reasonable that they made you angry or upset at times. But if these politicians actually compromised your happiness, you are, at best, a foolish, infantile human being.

If this opinion makes you mad, I am truly sorry. Not because I care about your feelings, but because I pity how fragile you are. But before you call me out over the internet, please take a moment to read what I am actually saying.

I am NOT saying that you should be happy when politicians do things that you disagree agree with. Hell, I am beyond proud to live in a country where you can voice your opinion loudly yet peacefully, and where an armed populace holds the means to resist tyranny, should it arise in one of its many forms. And no, Obama and Trump aren’t tyrants (although both might be criminals. Damn it! I just pissed-off more people).

I am also not saying you should never get angry with politicians. Both Obama and Trump have done many things that should rightfully cause anger. I am also not saying that long-term unhappiness would be unreasonable with certain politicians. But believe me, Trump and Obama aren’t those politicians. And if you think that Trump or Obama is a modern-day Hitler or Stalin, you need a reality check that is beyond my ability to give.

What I am saying is that politicians are not responsible for your happiness. You are responsible for your happiness. Unfortunately, this FACT might also cause some people distress, but (you guessed it!) I don’t care. Only you can make you happy. Some people will make it easy for you to be happy, while other people will make it rather difficult. But even if the whole world is stacked against you, is still your responsibility to find happiness. Politicians take enough from us. Don’t let them take your happiness.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Going Beyond the “Brain in a Jar”

 

The holidays are here. Next week, many of you will be stressing-out about all the weight you gained. If I was your basic white girl from Instagram, I’d write a post that sympathizes with you, encouraging you to stay positive, eat healthy, and go for a jog.

Unfortunately, I am a “big-hairy-American-winning-machine” who wants you to gain weight. You probably aren’t eating enough food, or at least enough of the right foods. What does this have to do with a brain in a jar? I’ll get there in a minute.

Prior to writing this, I ate dinner. Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro played in the background while I proceeded to piss-off all the vegans in a 10 mile radius. On the menu was a 17 ounce steak, whole milk, oatmeal, and one big-ass bowl (a highly scientific measurement) of ice cream. This is not some one-off holiday binge. Dinner looks like this every night, with breakfast and lunch looking pretty similar (minus the ice cream). Most Americans are worrying about eating too many calories this week, yet my primary concern is that I’m not eating enough. What gives?

(A photo of my weekly beef-purchase from Walmart. Those tubes are five pounds each. There’s a reason vegans hate me.)

 I’ve been eating like this for over a year, and the results are unimpressive. I’m still more than 30 pounds underweight, tipping the scales at a measly 228 pounds, at a height of 5’ 9″. With all this food I’m eating, I am merely maintaining my bodyweight. It’s going to be a hard year of eating for me to get up to 260.

My thoughts on ideal bodyweight do not conform to conventional wisdom. The poster-child of a “fit” and “healthy” male my age is a lean 155-165 pounds (a good 100 pounds lighter than my goal). This person does moderate-intensity exercise four or five days a week, including some “strength” training. His diet is based on whole grains, low-fat dairy, some fruits and vegetables, and a minimal amount of meat.

What a load of crap. This diet and exercise plan (recommended by the American Heart Association, the American Council on Exercise, and other authorities) merely enables a “brain in a jar” existence. People following this plan are doing just-enough exercise to not die of a heart attack, and eating just enough food to fuel their largely-sedentary job (and largely-sedentary hobbies). They are, for all intents and purposes, living life as a brain in a jar.

(Brain in a jar. Sketch by Jennifer Mathis)

Last I checked, the ideal human existence did not consist of living as a “brain in a jar.” I don’t train because I’m scared of a heart attack. I train because I want to be a savage. I am quite attached to many intellectual and artistic pursuits, but we live in a physical world. As such, our physical existence is far more crucial than merely preventing a cardiac event. If you truly want to “get after it” in life, you will need to transform your physical existence beyond this brain in a jar.

When our physical condition languishes, our intellectual existence (and, if you’re into that sort of thing, our spiritual existence) will suffer. If this idea is offensive to you, feel free to crawl back to your “brain jar” and drift through life as you always have. If you have an open mind, please continue reading.

If our existence is a physical one, we must examine the nature of the physical interactions we have with our environment. Upon doing so, one finds that every physical effort you engage in, whether it is updating your Instagram or carrying an injured friend to safety, is a function of force production. Accordingly, your ability to exert force against resistance (aka strength) is the foundation of your physical existence. If you think I’m wrong, take a listen to Mark Rippetoe (FYI, he is much stronger than the guy in the thumbnail):

If our existence is undeniably physical, and strength is the foundation of our physical existence, we should obviously train our minds and bodies for strength. This beautiful piece of logic is, unfortunately, lost on many people, including most of the fitness community. But, if you are smarter than the fitness community, (trust me, you are), please note the following truth:  you cannot get strong with pushups, lunges, a small bodyweight, and skim (or, God forbid, soy) milk.

You need to lift big, and you need to eat big. This means a steady diet of beef, chicken, whole milk, and whole grains (fish is also acceptable, if you enjoy what Ron Swanson calls the “vegetables of meat”). You must also engage in a disciplined program of  heavy squats, presses, and pulls. This will make a man from any boy, and a woman from any girl. After a few months, when you’re deadlifting double your bodyweight for reps, you will no-longer be a brain in a jar, but a beast. A strong, articulate, intelligent beast.

If you are worried about the weight you gained over the holidays, take a moment to examine your physical existence. Are you living life as a brain in a jar? Are you a fat brain in a jar? That’s ok. It’s pretty common for most Americans. But if you want to take your existence beyond the “brain in a jar,” you need to get bigger and stronger. Quit stressing about the cookies, and start stressing about your squat and deadlift. I promise you’ll love the result.

 

 

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Side-Effects of Discipline, Intensity, and Going for Broke

In this week’s Poop Scoop, we actually discuss poop. Go figure.

If you train with heavy weights long enough, you will eventually crap your pants. In fact, it will probably happen every two or three years. All the gym bros who have never experienced this aren’t actually training heavy. If this bothers you, bite me. If you think this can’t be true, just bear with me for a few paragraphs.

Last winter, two of my NCOs brought me into a conversation about lifting. Both were big guys, and were strong compared to most soldiers (the Army really caters to runners). One of them had lifted with me a few days back, and he was impressed with how much I could squat (which in reality isn’t that much).

The two regaled me with stories of the gyms and food available on Air Force bases during deployment (perks of being intel soldiers). The training facilities were well-designed for their environment, not wasting money or floor space on idiotic machines. There was nothing but black iron, and a lot of it. At the GAINZ FACTORY dining facility, you could have steak, relatively fresh seafood, and bottomless omelets (I promise I’m not a Chair Force recruiter). They worked 85 hours per week, but this was in 12-hour shifts spread over 7 days, giving plenty of time to eat, sleep, and train. All in all, it was a good recipe for getting strong.

As we continued talking, one of the NCOs (we’ll call him Sergeant X) asked me about my workout the night before. Unfortunately for him, I can be painfully honest…

Incidentally, my lunch hadn’t agreed with me the previous day. This caused four or five bouts of diarrhea between sets, but I still set a PR.. I told Sergeant X about this, and I expressed how thankful I was that I hadn’t crapped myself. After all, it had been almost a year since sharting my PT shorts in the bottom of a heavy squat at West Point’s Arvin Gym. As any sane man would do, I did my best to keep that from happening again. Sergeant X, however, was quite taken aback by this comment. He pressed me on it:

“Wait a minute sir…you’ve shit your pants in the gym before?”

“It’s happened once or twice. Has it never happened to you?”

“No! Absolutely not sir! Never! Shitting myself in the gym is a possibility that NEVER even crossed my mind!”

“That is why no one will remember your name,” I joked.

I’m telling this rather embarrassing story to share a disgusting truth about hard, disciplined training. This applies not just to barbell training, but running, hockey, football, cycling, ballet, or any other physical endeavor that is truly hard.

If you are a committed competitor, at some point, you will go so hard that you soil yourself. It will happen despite your best efforts to use the toilet, both before working out and between sets. Training and competing at or near limit exertion for multiple sets, multiple times a week, for multiple years, well…shit happens. For a disciplined competitor, an upset stomach takes a back seat to the day’s tasks, dignity be damned. Hell, if you ask any female powerlifting champion (discreetly and nicely), they WILL share at least one story of urine incontinence during a squat or deadlift in the past year. Don’t believe me? Look it up.

Chasing hard goals is rarely pretty or glamorous. Sharing this truth won’t win you many followers on Instagram. That’s why we have the Poop Scoop. Pissing or shitting yourself is an experience every serious trainee will go through, but the determined ultimately don’t care. You just clean up your mess, and get back to work.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Fortune Favors the Bold

Many of my friends have heard me say “fortune favors the bold.” This quote, attributed to Virgil’s Aeneid, has been my response to many stupid challenges, from killing bottles of bourbon, going all-in on games of poker, or trying to write my honors thesis on senior year’s spring break. Even more ridiculous is the fact that I’ve never read any of Virgil’s work. I just saw the quote on the internet and started using it like the little shit that I am. Below is a great story of its use.

(Although unfamiliar with Virgil, I am well-versed in Homer. 20th Century Fox, 1989)

My yuk (sophomore) year at West Point, everybody had to take two semesters of physics. I did well the first semester, as it was basically calculus with word problems. On the other hand, second semester was an acid trip. It had to do with waves, light, and electromagnetic bullshit that I really don’t understand. The course was mandatory, however, and we had no say in the matter. To quote Mick Jagger, “you can’t always get what you want.”

The course’s capstone project required groups of four or five to plan a renewable energy project. It was for some big city in Arizona that I don’t remember. The prompt provided information about the capabilities and costs of both solar and wind, as well as population-growth information. We had to figure out how big of a solar or wind farm was needed to meet growing demand over the next 30 years. We also had to find a space large enough to build it and plan a power line system. Making this matter more complicated is the resistance in electrical wires. The farther away the power source, the more energy we needed to create. Figuring it out with pen and paper was a real pain in the ass.

Luckily, we had a physics major in our group. We soon found out how many square feet of solar panels, or how many wind turbines, our project required. It was astronomical, costing by our estimate (if memory serves) well over 400 million dollars for either choice. Building the power lines greatly increased the cost of the project, and the amount we needed to charge per kilowatt hour of electricity was ridiculous. We felt like idiotic bureaucrats, and as future Army officers, that wasn’t far from the truth.

Then our physics major brought up an idea:  geothermal. It was a renewable energy source; it didn’t require a massive footprint; and it wasn’t subject to the weather. Yes please. We researched geothermal power plants of the required scale and studied geothermal hot spots in the area. To our delight, there was a big hotspot just outside the city. We could provide all the necessary power, and more, for 30 years of estimated population growth. The project was relatively cheap, too. If I remember correctly, it cost about 85 percent less than a solar or wind farm would. We had our winner.

We hashed out the details, wrote up our plan, and rehearsed the presentation. On the big day, we spoke like experts, being sure to describe the cost differences between solar, wind, and geothermal. At the end, we smugly asked if there were any questions. We had anticipated many, but we did NOT expect the first one. It came from our professor, an Army Major who appreciated discipline. I don’t recall his response word for word, but this is pretty close:

“So…the project prompt explicitly states that you will analyze the costs and benefits of both solar and wind, choose what you think is the better option, and present your findings. Instead, you choose to not follow instructions, picking an energy source outside your scope, without so much as asking approval, and have the gall to present this to both me and your class anyway. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

I was floored. This is what happens when you don’t read the instructions thoroughly. The air was so tense that we were physically choking, and we had officially lost control of the presentation. But when backed in to a corner, the only way out is to double-down and fight through. Without skipping a beat, I shot back confidently:

“Fortune favors the bold, sir.”

When you pull a reply out of your ass, don’t be surprised if the result is shit. Sometimes, however, you strike gold. You won’t know until you get a response. My group members just stared at me. The class kept looking back from me to our professor. The professor just stared at me, trying to process my reply. After an agonizing silence, he chuckled:

“Good response.”

He then proceeded to ask very detailed questions about our project. He actually knew a lot about geothermal, and was even familiar with the land we proposed using. We were all a bit shaken by his initial reply, but managed to stay cool and answer to the best of our knowledge. After finishing the Q/A, we thanked the class and our professor, and took our seats for the next group. A few days later, we got our grade:  A-. Not bad.

Sometimes we make mistakes. Not following instructions in this professor’s course was a big mistake (the project mentioned was worth a big chunk of our grade that semester). But sometimes one must be bold and just talk out of their ass. Military officers do it every day.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

A Character-Defining Moment

“Can you describe for me a character-defining moment?”

Six years ago, a man asked this question in an interview. I was just a 17-year-old kid, and wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. At the time, I felt that I’d never made any big decisions that took exceptional moral character. I was a nice-enough guy with a good work-ethic, but I’d never faced any complex moral dilemmas, or difficult ethical situations that one reads about in books.

Keeping par for the course, I gave a BS answer and moved on. The question, however, lurked in the back of my mind for years. Do I have any character-defining moments? Today, I still can’t answer the question. Instead, I’ve written it off as a stupid question for the following reason:

With the possible exception of committing capital crimes, character cannot be defined by a moment. Character can only be defined by one’s habits.

Most of today’s moral and ethical education misses this point. Instead, it chooses to focus on how to arrive at an ethical decision. It examines thought experiments (like the trolley problem) and explores solutions to complex moral quandaries. The topics are endless:  medical ethics, cyber ethics, the ethics of war, theories of justice, so on and so forth. Hell, my friend has a book about the ethics of The Big Lebowski (finally, a philosophy degree put to good use).

(The Big Lebowski, Ethan and Joel Cohen, Polygram Films International, Gramercy Pictures, 1998.)

Within these various topics, there are theories about how to arrive at ethical decisions. Kantian ethics looks at universal rules, and utilitarianism looks to quantify the good and evil (or pleasure and pain) of potential decisions. In the end, nobody agrees on much. This brings a question: how is a person supposed to define a moment of good moral character when the world’s best philosophers can’t decide on any ethical issue besides the fact that “Hitler was bad”?

I think that the answer lies in virtue. Aristotle is probably the greatest source on this topic, although some Catholic scholars would argue that Augustin or Aquinas earned that title. Oh well. They all agree that one’s character can be defined through their habits of virtue and vice. The virtues they seem to agree on are justice, courage, temperance, and practical wisdom. One’s character develops these virtues by thinking and acting accordingly, all-day-everyday, for life.

Those in utilitarian or Kantian camps often argue that Virtue Ethics cannot tell people how to act courageously or wisely. I’ve been told that that virtue merely tells us to be virtuous, that it can’t tell us how to act in a variety of situations. I think that this rebuttal is bullshit.

Do we really need 20,000 peer-reviewed journal articles to tell us that cheating and stealing are unjust, or that refusing to take responsibility for one’s actions is both unjust and cowardly? Does it really take a calculation of pleasure and pain to figure out that buying hookers and cocaine is neither wise nor temperate? When did ethics and character get so complicated?

Unfortunately, many scholars in the field of ethics would have you believe that it is complicated. However, the truth is that most of us will never face a complex moral dilemma that requires intense scrutiny. Seriously.

When was the last time you were faced with a lever that would kill 50 train passengers but save three kids stuck on the tracks? When was the last time someone put a gun to your head and forced you to choose between murdering either a child or his two parents? These scenarios do not happen every lifetime. A few people out of billions will ever face problems like these, but no amount of ethical education can tell you which decision is less evil. If you don’t believe me, try listening to a room full of utilitarian scholars debating a trolley problem. They will never reach a definitive answer, and your time would be better-spent bowling with Jeffrey Lebowski.

Instead of the complex ethical questions heard nowhere but philosophy class, our lives are largely made up of simple moral dilemmas:

“Should I speak up about my mistake, or let others suffer for it?”

“Should I lie about last quarter’s earnings, protecting our employees and shareholders, or should I tell the more difficult truth?”

“Should I fill out and file 50 pages of paperwork, facing the wrath of upper management, or can I sweep these HR complaints under the rug?”

“Should I get my work done tonight, or should I watch Dancing with the Stars?”

“Is it really necessary to have a beer at breakfast?”

I’ve been known to choose my vices with the last one. Nobody’s perfect, after all. The takeaway is that we don’t need a PHD to define and build good character. Good character comes from aggregating the small, simple-yet-difficult decisions one makes in life. These decisions make our habits, and these habits, not moments, define our character.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.