Death and Taxes…and Tips?: Why Mr. Pink Got It Right

In 1726 in his The Political History of the Devil, Daniel Defoe penned, “Things as certain as death and taxes, can be more firmly believed.”

Benjamin Franklin’s wording, however, in his 1789 letter to Jean-Baptiste Leroy, is the more recognized expression: “…in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.”

In truth, there is literally nothing that can be done about the inevitable certainty of death.

Taxes, however, aren’t as solidly set in stone. They just seem to be, which explains why the humorous proverb has endured all these centuries.

Some, however (Wesley Snipes comes to mind), call into question this enduring adage by simply not paying the revenue collectors. These same upstanding citizens usually end up paying, instead, with jail time (again, Wesley Snipes pops into my head), just not in dollars and cents.

Some pay, but inwardly protest (unlike Wesley Snipes). And others pay, but outwardly protest. (Again, excluding Wesley Snipes here as there’s a conflict with the actual paying part.)

These days, some of these outward protests take the form of the extravagant “tea bagging parties” in commemoration of the famous Boston Tea Party of 1773 (which was neither a party nor did it involve Boston tea).

I’m not terribly thrilled about paying taxes, either. But I pay. Nor am I ecstatic about the prospect of a painful demise—though I look forward to a potentially painless one.

Believe it or not, however, these days there’s something just as inevitably certain as death and taxes, but sticks in my craw far more….

I’m genuinely, wholeheartedly appalled—nay, disgusted—at our commonly accepted culture, the unyielding social pressures, and the near full-throttle coercion of the restaurant industry to pay tips.

Here’s a tip for ya: Expect to get paid what your menu lists your prices for—no less, no more.

My grandfather—when he was alive, bless his soul—hated to pay tips. He got ragged on about that a lot. While there are many things I can rag on my late grandfather over, his objection to tip-ation without representation is not one of them. In fact, that is one of the few—if not perhaps the only—issues he and I really agreed on. Seriously. And who can deny that rare bond between a grandfather and his grandson? What demonic beast dares shatter that one, truly good memory a lone grandson clings to over his deceased grandfather?

Let me tell you a true story. I had a co-worker once who worked part-time for our transportation company and part-time elsewhere waiting tables. He told me he was going to go full-time waiting tables since, in his words, he made four times as much from tips than in the business of which he and I shared. He did go full-time at the other job. And I shortly thereafter visited the restaurant. By chance, he served me. And in light of his previous (and somewhat secretive) divulgence of making four times— four times!—what I did, I almost felt like asking him to pay me the tip. But I guess he already did.

Lest I sound like a monster, though, I in fact did—and do—pay the standard gratuity. (It is still 10%, right?) But when I get home afterwards, I invariably vomit and convulse for several excruciating hours. Usually each hour of writhing in agony on the floor is in direct proportion to each dollar of tip I involuntarily left. It’s almost enough to drive me to a tip teabagging party.

But my usage of “teabagging” here is that of the youngsters. Unlike those who use the tea bag as a symbol of that historical event where actual bags (or chests, technically) of minced herbs were dumped into the harbor of Boston all those centuries ago, I, on the other hand, don’t mean this kind of traditional beverage that you drink. Well, you sort of drink it. But it’s more like a hard, hairy, and sometimes sweaty, swallow. (Here’s a mildly censored live demonstration, if you need one.) Yeah, I know. The thought of it sends a piercing chill down my spine, too.

But then again, so does the thought of paying tips. The difference? The teabagging—whether the kind you drink or the kind you swallow—is, by all intents and purposes, not socially coerced.

Like Defoe and Franklin of old, I’ve come to accept the certainty of death and taxes. So I guess it boils down to the slow but inevitable loss of those social liberties that never used to be so certain.

I think if Mr. Pink and William Wallace had a baby together, they would have spawned something like me. Because when it comes to tipping, damnit, all I want is my…

…FFFRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDUUUUMaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhh!!!

Leap of Faith: My Facebook Conversation with Jim Bennett

I was on Facebook the other day.

I happen to be “Friends” with one Jim Bennett, second son of the junior U.S. Senator from Utah, republican Bob Bennett.

(I’m also “Friends” with the senator himself. I put “Friends” in quotation marks to emphasize this is a Facebook designation, which definition seems to be broader than the traditional one. In reality, I’m merely an acquaintance with the Bennett family. I have not seen or spoken with them in person for years. Having said that, though, to be clear, I have always liked the Bennetts, and still do to this day. Years ago, members of my family were close friends with members of their family, and probably still would be if not for time, distance, and sundry responsibilities. I have no personal animosity towards the Bennetts whatsoever; nor them, as far as I know, towards me. Only fond memories.)

So I saw that Jim Bennett had posted on his Facebook wall a “Life On Gold Plates” book review of his father’s new book Leap of Faith: Confronting the Origins of the Book of Mormon, published this year by Deseret Book. I assumed since Jim had posted the link with no further commentary, that he considered the review at least mostly favorable, if not reasonably accurate. There was, so far, only one “Friend” comment, which said: “Wow, this sounds like a book I would like to read!”

So, I clicked the link myself and read it. This is the first I had heard of this book. I knew nothing more.

I decided to make a comment on Jim’s wall as to what seemed to me a thought worthy of consideration. Believing that Jim is a believing Mormon, portions of my language were intentionally simplified based on an understanding of what I suspect him to already know. My comment went as follows:

According to this reviewer, [Senator Bob] Bennett’s [book] title, “Leap of Faith,” is based on the conclusion that there is no solid empirical evidence for or against the authenticity of the BofM [Book of Mormon]; therefore, [Senator] Bennett claims, it is just as much a leap of faith not to believe as it is to believe. But consider Bertrand Russell’s parable of the celestial teapot: There is no 100% empirical evidence to prove or deny the existence of a teapot floating in orbit around earth. [Russell presented this idea before human space travel, so perhaps it is more appropriate now to say the teapot is in orbit around the solar system.] Is it just as reasonable to believe such an object exists as it does not exist? Is the “leap of faith” a 50/50 equiprobable consideration in either direction? I think not, because in order to believe in such an object one has to reject the more probabilistic and parsimonious evidence that such an object is unlikely. While the celestial teapot’s existence is not impossible, it is, rather, improbable, making the “leap of faith” far greater for the believing side than the non.

Jim shortly thereafter responded as follows:

[Amorphous Intelligence], your analogy is deeply flawed. Unlike the celestial teapot, the Book of Mormon is here, real, and visible to all. The question is not, like the teapot, whether or not the Book of Mormon exists, but how it came into existence.

The book establishes that to believe that it did not come into existence by the means Joseph Smith claimed, you have to ignore a great deal of internal and external evidence that suggests otherwise.

I found it silly that he tried to pin me to such a ludicrous position as denying even the very existence of the Book of Mormon. If I was in his shoes and truly thought my opponent believed such an absurd delusion, I would not have even bothered to respond. I don’t think Jim really believed I thought that, though, but was more going for a laugh at my expense. (He has close to 800 Facebook “Friends” to giggle—or rage—at his joshing.) And what I don’t think he realized is his (possible) jovialness was committing the “straw man” logical fallacy, which is where one argues a much weaker—or in this case, a totally absent—position the opposition is making. (You can read more about the fallacy here, here, and here.)

Nonetheless, the format of Facebook is such that one can only convey so much information per post; i.e., the amount of characters per comment is some finite number. (I’m not sure what it is, but it’s not large.) So, in my limited response space, and rather than try to appear like I was posturing to attack Jim by pointing out his logical fallacy—as what I was really interested in here was an honest, sensible dialogue on this issue—I responded in a positive, common-ground-establishing way that I felt would be conducive to that:

Jim, I agree with you. It’s a good thing I was not arguing whether or not the Book of Mormon exists, as that would be deeply flawed indeed. (I happen to own several copies myself.) My first sentence about the “authenticity of the BofM [Book of Mormon]” was merely another (perhaps, admittedly, oversimplified) way to ask what you said, “how it came into existence,” not whether or not it does exist. I did not intend the parable of the celestial teapot to be analogous to the existence of the Book of Mormon, but [rather] to the “leap of faith” of believing in one claim of how it came to be versus another claim in the absence of solid empirical evidence either way, as the reviewer of Leap of Faith suggested why the book was given that title. Thanks for helping me to clarify.

Jim immediately responded:

I’m not sure if you did clarify, though. I’m now very confused as to your position. With the teapot, disbelieving is easy. With the Book of Mormon, if you consider it on its merits, you have to have faith in some wild coincidences to discount it.

What I had realized from his first response, but was now more convinced of from this second, is that he seemed to be arguing a position different from his father (or at least different from his father’s book, or at least different from the position the book review lead me to believe it was taking). I found this peculiar in light of the fact that as recently as the day before our back-and-forth, Jim’s Facebook status said, “Jim Bennett, according to some random commenter on the Deseret News website, is an attack dog! I’ve never been an attack dog before! You gotta admit, that’s pretty cool.” I read the Deseret News article, and the random commenter specified Jim (who is his father’s campaign chairman) as an attack dog for his father: “[Senator Bob] Bennett must be worried if he is sending out his attack dog son….” Jim’s response to this sounds like he took pride in the designation, which further lead me to surmise that he and his father share quite similar if not near identical positions on issues of this nature (i.e. politics, religion, science, etc.). But perhaps not, as heaven knows that as much as my father and I love each other and get along splendidly and will protect each other to the death, we have many differing views on politics, religion, science, etc. Regardless, my comments were not directed to any claim to any position Jim had made, but really only to the position that I derived from the book review (that Jim positively presented to all 800 of his Facebook “Friends.”) But for the second time, Jim defended a position that was not even being discussed by me; namely, whether or not there is more empirical evidence for or against Joseph Smith’s claim of the ancient and supernatural origins of the Book of Mormon.

Again, I didn’t want to sound negative or appear like I was posturing to attack, because in my mind I was not. I felt I was just amicably chit-chatting. Just considering other possibilities for anyone willing to consider. So I responded in, again, what I thought was a positive and honest tone. At the same time, without overtly saying it (partly because of space restraints, partly to not come across like a douche bag), I subtly tried to impress upon him that he was arguing a position different from what appeared to be his father’s position:

Obviously this is not the format to discuss all possible evidence for and against the [ancient and supernatural] origin of the Book of Mormon. I was merely commenting on the review of the book Leap of Faith, which says: “[Senator Bob Bennett’s] argument is that he can discover no definitive empirical evidence for that claim [of Joseph Smith’s origins of the BofM]. At the same time, he feels that no smoking gun has been discovered showing the Book of Mormon is a fraud. Thus, a decision either way requires a ‘leap of faith,’ hence the title….When [Senator Bennett] uncovers a seeming ‘draw’ he notes the need for critic and believer alike to make a ‘leap of faith.’” I was simply commenting that it seems to me that this “leap of faith” argument is not as equiprobable as this review (and possibly the actual book itself) leads us to believe. The celestial teapot was my reasoning for that. Hopefully that is clearer.

I think by quoting directly from the book review—rather than paraphrasing as I had been, which I assumed was all that was needed since I figured Jim had read it, but maybe he hadn’t, which would be a questionable tactic—Jim was more aware of the distinction between the position he was taking with me versus the position his father was allegedly making and whose position I was actually commenting on. And because I, intentionally, pointed this out as gingerly as I could think at the moment, this allowed Jim to process it better (I think) since he probably did not feel like I was attacking. And it appears he may have, at that point, realized the differences, as his final succinct response to me was:

I suppose it is, although the point of the book is to make the case for equiprobability.

I took from this that he supposed my position was clearer for him. I also took from this that by acknowledging the book’s case for equiprobability, he was—perhaps—acknowledging the distinction of arguing about faith claims versus arguing about empirical-evidence claims.

This experience strikes me as a good example of how easy it is to be misunderstood, especially if the opposition feels he/she is being attacked. I got the impression Jim felt, at first, I was attacking him or his father’s book. So rather than honestly consider what I was saying, he immediately attacked me with jokes and logical fallacies. (Admittedly, not severe attacks by any means. No harm done. No feelings hurt. No financial ruin. Bennetts and Intelligences [pseudonym, obviously] can still be friends—without quotation marks. No worries there, as far as I’m concerned.) While I did point out, what appears to me, to be a flaw with the book’s reasoning on the equiprobable nature of claims of faith, I tried hard to make that clear and I honestly think I was being clear. I think I was being misunderstood not for lack of clarity on my part, but for the initial lack of willingness to understand on Jim’s part. Such is frequently the case when one has a knee-jerk, emotional reaction. It’s human nature to dig in and unfairly argue rather than honestly discuss and understand.

At that end there, though, I think Jim finally may have understood me. If so, I give him credit for fighting beyond the initial knee-jerk reaction of the misperceived attack. I applaud him for ultimately coming to, perhaps, understanding. (I also applaud Senator Bob Bennett for writing a book that allegedly acknowledges no empirical evidence for the ancient and supernatural origin of the Book of Mormon, even if I disagree with his equiprobable faith claim. This is a rare feat of acknowledgment by most believing Mormons, in my experience. Jim Bennett’s position that there is ample scientific evidence for the ancient and supernatural claims of the Book of Mormon is much more the norm among believers, rather than his father’s claim that it should be believed based exclusively on faith since the empirical evidence is not there.) In the end, I doubt Jim agreed with me, but at least I think he finally sort of understood me. And that’s a good start, especially with such highly-charged, emotional matters as faith—or the lack thereof.

(For a more in-depth explanation of the non-equiprobable nature of faith claims, see Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion, particularly chapter 2 “The God Hypothesis,” and more specifically pages 49 to 54 in hardback, 69 to 77 in paperback.)