As my late father bluntly disparaged when I told him of my intention as an 18-year old undergraduate at Glendon Hall to study philosophy rather than economics, “It’s your bed, you sleep in it!” Though his intention may not have been to deflate me (and it didn’t), the remark hardly encouraged fruitful discussion except to relate in demoralizing detail his view of the matter. It heralded the chilled nature of subsequent communications between us for the remainder of our mutual existence.

My father’s derision was especially acute for me at the time as I had not lived with my parents since I was 14 years of age when they were estranged from me while living in Stockholm, Sweden and I took up residence at St. Andrew’s College in Aurora, Ontario. Thereafter I went home twice a year, Christmas and summer, and the congregations had always the predominantly relieving festive or holiday air. Nonetheless the product of the initial aspersion was to alter (read: poison) my native filial instinct with what was to become an evolving bloodymindedness on my part.

As a liberal arts degree my B.A. was in spite of my chosen major in philosophy punctuated by one course in economics. I hated it. Indeed I think I came close to failing it. I never cottoned to the hypotheses of economics. By contrast my ensuing study of Spinoza, Descartes, Hume, Kierkegaard et al. was captivating. Interestingly, goaded by my father’s downplay of philosophy, I had begun to imagine that indeed it was a luckless choice.  As I approached graduation I reckoned that the pursuit of philosophy had but a gloomy horizon. I applied to two law schools, Osgoode Hall and Dalhousie University, and was accepted by both. My first year of study at law school quickly emphasized that deductive reasoning was hugely common to both law and philosophy. Frankly it was an inherent association I had not predicted but one which I believe I safely credit for my superior performance in constitutional law which is the source not only of government authority but also rudimentary contractual relations characterized by the further adage, “Nemo dat quod non habet” (no one gives what he does not have).

If you’re wondering where all this carping is headed, the account crystallizes the guide posts which were to mark my career and private life. My father wasn’t the only person up against whom I butted heads. And in every subsequent instance of similar regard, I opted always in favour of my own decision which I hurry to note was never made whimsically but instead upon due examination and balance. But the theme in every case was that I hadn’t the social imbalance to put up with things or accommodate for mercenary purposes or otherwise. I proved again and again that it was my bed and that I would lie in it even though at times there were patent social or monetary qualifications.

What however distinguishes these pronouncements of bloodymindedness is not “I did it my way” rather “You reap what you sow”.  Obviously I was always aware of the consequences of my choices. Even after the fact, that is after having made my decisions, I encountered those who presumptuously I thought undertook the liberty of enquiring when I intended to resile and re-engage in the alternate proposal. I never once afforded them the courtesy of submission. Nor by the way have I ever regretted any choice I have made. At nearly ¾ century old, I can arrogantly observe that I am happy as a clam, that I relish every detail of my life (both now and upcoming) with the glee of a sated and remorseless indulgence.

But at this juncture it is imperative for me to acknowledge that I have on occasion paid a price for what I did. Though the common upshot of the adage about reaping what you sow is that one must on occasion sustain an error, the lesson for me is somewhat different.  I have learned that the adage applies not only to what I do for myself but also to what I do to others.

It is the latter diffusion which interests me here. In short it amounts to a warning that, while you can do whatever you bloody-well like for yourself, take it easy on others.  The motivation is not merely altruistic though that indeed is part of the inclination. More importantly, I have learned that one’s personal direction is not to be confused with that of others. Where there is a foreseeable influence upon another, the agrarian iteration of the adage is cautionary and salubrious. Never have I contradicted myself in this simple advice, sometime’s manifested by the folksy reminder, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say it at all!” That something as critical as frank encounter should be conjoined with such an artificial assertion is I know disquieting.  But, having myself contradicted the yarn, I can confess that the penalty is uncomfortable.

It is also a pragmatic violation – unless by some extraordinary peculiarity you thrive upon conflict.  My take upon the issue is that being right is a small victory if it taints the fluidity and gentleness of human conversation and association. This isn’t meant to encourage obsequiousness; rather, logic. Clearly my objective isn’t some ethereal or opaque goal. It is sociability in its most arcane construction. In its ground-level filtration it affords the clear seam of cooperation. I trust you’ll spare me the necessity to enlarge upon the virtue of cooperation.