The Theory of Moral Sentiments
Adam Smith

In many governments the candidates for the highest stations are above the law; and, if they can attain the object of their ambition, they have no fear of being called to account for the means by which they acquired it. They often endeavour, therefore, not only by fraud and falsehood, the ordinary and vulgar arts of intrigue and cabal; but sometimes by the perpetration of the most enormous crimes, by murder and assassination, by rebellion and civil war, to supplant and destroy those who oppose or stand in the way of their greatness. They more frequently miscarry than succeed; and commonly gain nothing but the disgraceful punishment which is due to their crimes. But, though they should be so lucky as to attain that wished-for greatness, they are always most miserably disappointed in the happiness which they expect to enjoy in it. It is not ease or pleasure, but always honour, of one kind or another, though frequently an honour very ill understood, that the ambitious man really pursues. But the honour of his exalted station appears, both in his own eyes and in those of other people, polluted and defiled by the baseness of the means through which he rose to it.

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Chap. II: Of the origin of Ambition and of the distinction of Ranks

It is because mankind are disposed to sympathize more entirely with our joy than with our sorrow, that we make parade of our riches, and conceal our poverty. Nothing is so mortifying as to be obliged to expose our distress to the view of the public, and to feel, that though our situation is open to the eyes of all mankind, no mortal conceives for us the half of what we suffer. Nay, it is chiefly from this regard to the sentiments of mankind, that we pursue riches and avoid poverty. For to what purpose is all the toil and bustle of this world? what is the end of avarice and ambition, of the pursuit of wealth, of power, and preheminence? Is it to supply the necessities of nature? The wages of the meanest labourer can supply them. We see that they afford him food and clothing, the comfort of a house, and of a family. If we examined his oeconomy with rigour, we should find that he spends a great part of them upon conveniencies, which may be regarded as superfluities, and that, upon extraordinary occasions, he can give something even to vanity and distinction. What then is the cause of our aversion to his situation, and why should those who have been educated in the higher ranks of life, regard it as worse than death, to be reduced to live, even without labour, upon the same simple fare with him, to dwell under the same lowly roof, and to be clothed in the same humble attire? Do they imagine that their stomach is better, or their sleep sounder in a palace than in a cottage? The contrary has been so often observed, and, indeed, is so very obvious, though it had never been observed, that there is nobody ignorant of it.

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Though we did not formally introduce ourselves to one another, a woman and I chatted ever so briefly today by the pool. She was sitting in a deck chair facing the sun when I arrived at approximately three o’clock this afternoon. My daily mission of cycling about the compound and lounging by the pool had earlier been interrupted by domestic and personal matters. As late in the day as it was for the performance of my customary régime I nonetheless felt obliged to expiate my simmering guilt for not having exercised or swum.

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It was mani/pedi day at the local Vietnamese-based nail salon where, apart from one enthralling quirk, there were all the customary processes and hardware (including the predictable battle to hear and understand what was being whispered or mumbled by the staff). What distinguished my visit today to the salon located in the mall adjacent Publix was the presence of a small fluffy dog quietly ambling about the salon. At times the tiny creature materialized beneath the chairs of the salon clients or the manicurists. Its variable course was impossible to follow or predict because it was constantly evaporating beneath the larger desks and chairs. Its movement seemed to be ceaseless and purposeless, betraying no doubt its long-standing acquaintance (and possible ennui) with the environment. No one, either staff or clientele, held any sway with the animal. It had an unquestionable paramountcy in the establishment.

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I met two women today. The first was a woman whom I met this afternoon at the pool; the other was a woman whom I met later at the apartment. The woman at the pool (Carol) is a resident of Buttonwood Bay Club; the other (Mercedes or “Mercy” as she is nicknamed) is an employee of our estate agency who was here to change the lightbulbs throughout the unit. As you might justifiably expect for any number of reasons, there were palpable differences between the two women; but there were also a number of noticeable similarities.

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Notwithstanding the allowances afforded people of my advanced age and decrepit condition, one cannot but feel inexcusably languid when bemoaning the effort required to manoeuvre oneself from under the duvet onto the edge of the bed after a prolonged though at times disturbed sleep. Indeed I considered myself entitled to a laurel for having attacked the procedure as early as I did at 8:20 am this morning. Once again last night the overhead Hunter fan had made an almost imperceptible clicking sound on repeated revolutions. In my midnight distress and darkness I had attempted to rationalize the minor annoyance by thinking of what Hemingway might have endured in Cuba on occasion;  or what Oscar Wilde must have felt when complaining, “One of us has to go, me or the wallpaper”.

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At noon I gulped down my usual measure of Tylenol Arthritis and Advil pills. Reality was again overtaking me. My last dose was at 1:20 am this morning. Thus fortified it was onto my tricycle careering along the newly cemented sidewalk to avoid clipping between the two parked cars at the front of the townhouse. Onto the 15 MPH Max laneway, around the shaded corner past the guardhouse at the gate, swinging slowly along the curve, headed southwesterly into the sun blazing across Florida Bay in the direction of the distant Everglades.Then off the laneway across the white stone gravel down to the beach at the edge of which I stationed my tricycle, scrupulously though likely superfluously locking it, attaching it to the sign prohibiting golf carts beyond. From the basket at the back of my tricycle I removed my stick and white and blue striped towel nonchalantly slinging the towel over my left shoulder, emblematically proclaiming my insouciance. I then crippled my way to the picnic table nearby on the beach. I gratefully plopped myself onto the end of one of the heavy wooden benches, removed my boat shoes, putting my iPhone into the left shoe discreetly – though again probably unnecessarily – pushing it into the toe, Apple Watch into the right shoe toe followed by the house key with its totem pole key chain I picked up years ago on a whim at some remote gas station en route south, lip balm and my prescription glasses; shirt off, cast between the bench and the table, towel onto the table. For the first time since our arrival on Key Largo last week I was now ready to wade into the sea.

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Every time we travel we remind ourselves before leaving that we must remember to take less clothing with us.  Invariably we pack far too much, including not only smalls and undergarments, but shirts, pants, socks and shoes.  In other words, everything. Once we arrive at our destination the world of fashion takes a sharp turn in another direction; viz., comfort. This translates to the most rudimentary apparel. I prescribe my commentary by restricting it to the male old fogey routine; and, by the way, we have long ago forsaken the necessity to have anything appropriate for the theatre or upscale dining. Our standard of social convention is strictly confined to waterfront dining where one tends to see motorcycles parked outside; and we have dumped any activity which extends beyond eight o’clock in the evening.

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Although we began the day religiously before 7:00 am (we planned to beat the Saturday morning rush at Publix), what followed was by some standards I am sure less than charitable. I ended picking a fight, well not exactly, more just confronting the obvious, with the estate agency, the condominium property management and the bicycle vendor. Like most people (though certainly there are exceptions) the Parties of the Second Part were initially at least not entirely receptive of my intelligence no doubt in part because it was a Saturday morning and either they hoped to have had more relieving tasks at hand or they were already swamped by other cantankerous customers (such as tourists and paying clients so often behave).

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Everything – excluding perhaps the Universe – has its perimeter; namely, an outermost boundary. At my advanced age nearing three-quarters of a century I most certainly have mine. My training in Freemasonry has cultivated the concept of limitation captured in its iconic symbol of the compasses. Notably the “G” in Freemasonry may refer not only to the “Great Architect of the Universe” (or what commonly refers to god) but also to geometry which identifies a different association entirely; namely, that of parameters, a numerical or other measurable factor forming one of a set that defines a system or sets the conditions of its operation. Perimeters and parameters are not the same thing though they are frequently mistakenly used as such.

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