



Peter Singer's persuasive essay strips us bare of our selfish wants as he equates our
tendency to accumulate all the stuff we don’t need with ignoring the
plight of drowning children and as such being responsible for the death
of those children. We are, Singer convincingly argues, products of our
fortunate “social capital”; therefore, we have an obligation to those
who do not have a social capital.
Furthermore, because we patronize and
live in a state of interdependence on international corporations for
our goods and services, we are obliged to help the poor in developing
countries. For after all, these countries, led by despots and other
unsavory characters, make deals with international corporations,
selling raw materials for a higher price than they would by keeping
their resources in their own countries. The result is that people
living in developing countries starve as their resources are leeched by
international corporations.
Now if we follow Singer’s logical moral imperative to its ultimate
conclusion, then we are forced to accept that we must renounce our
worldly desires and achieve a spiritual condition that is so disdainful
of personal comforts and luxuries that we must live only on bare
necessities while giving all else to the poor. Anything short of this
ideal would be, to use Singer’s analogy, equivalent to being
responsible for the deaths of drowning children.
While part of me would like to embrace Singer’s moral imperative and
spread Singer’s gospel of uncompromising charity throughout the world,
the skeptical part of me questions just how realistic Singer’s ideal
is. For what Singer is arguing for is nothing short than a form of
spiritual socialism, that is a condition in which human beings renounce
their selfish desires for the “finer things in life” in order that they
distribute their wealth as evenly as possible. This is a noble, saintly ideal
indeed, but it contradicts our reptilian hard-wiring.
I’m sad to say
this, but without selfish motivation, most of us will not be creative
or innovative. A world in which we all share our things in a communal
potluck and don’t aspire to materialistic excellence is a banal and
dreary and colorless world without creativity and innovation. Only when
we are enticed by technological razzle-dazzle and model dream homes and
exquisite clothing glorified by the silky-tongued fashionistas do we
find the reptilian sparks in our brains’ creative nerve centers
exploding in glorious paroxysms and it is in these nerve explosions
that we create and innovate. Sad as it is, my friends, selfishness is
high-octane rocket fuel for creativity.
I’m not arguing that we should be selfish pigs in order to encourage
our creativity and aspiration. What I am arguing for is a balance. It
was Aristotle who wrote about finding the golden mean. If we error too
much in selfishness, we’re thoughtless imbeciles, moral gnats, and
reptilian subhumans. On the other hand, if we strive to become
spiritual socialists, we will become drab, stagnant and bovine. The
truth lies somewhere in the middle.
Indeed, radio lovers can't be cured.
I'm perilously close to pulling the trigger on an Eton S350DL, even though I'm perfectly satisfied with my Kaito KA2100.
I should be all set. I have the perfect bedside radio, an ideal all-purpose radio, and a good pocket-sized portable. And yet I want the Eton S350DL. Sheez.
Notice the reader writes, "I should be all set." He is wrong. Radio lovers, myself included, are never "all set." There is always a new radio we think we can't pass up. We love to fall in love with radios. Sometimes we'll fall out of love with a radio only to fall in love with it, inexplicably, all over again.
I don't even know why I love radios so much. I'm not an engineer. I didn't grow up collecting radios. It's a mystery. One Fall day in 2004 at the age of 43 I walked into Circuit City on a whim. I didn't really want to buy anything with any urgency, but there it was, a blue Tivoli PAL for $130. I told my wife I wanted it and she approved. The incident seemed innocuous, but I had no idea that I had just entered the Gates of Radio-Philia for which there is no return. Two months later, I walked into Circuit City intent on buying a digital radio with presets. I was less than impressed with the speaker sound on the little Grundig radios, so I instead bought a Grundig S350. The S350's pseudo-military design ignited sparks in the reptilian centers of my brain. After that, I started reading radio reviews on RadioIntel and soon I had to get all the radios featured on the site including the Kaito 1101, 1102, and 1103. I'm sure I purchased over 50 radios and have spent around $5,000 during the last four years. I've sold many of them. I keep buying new ones.
The good news: I don't collect super expensive items like espresso machines, tailored suits, titanium watches, sport cars.
A possible explanation: I sometimes think radio lovers are looking for escape. Like everyone else, we get frustrated with all sorts of things and we feel helpless as we watch the news about our world going to hell in a hand basket. The radio is a refuge, an escape, and gives us a sense of control. I'll say to myself, "Yeah, the world is going to hell, but, wow, doesn't my Eton S350 really grab 89.3 FM with boldness and clarity!"
An annoying thing about being a radio lover: One thing that I find laughable about myself is that I see myself as having superior radio knowledge to the average person and stupidly I feel that this knowledge gives me a significant "advantage." I'll go to someone's house and sniff with contempt at their crappy Teac radio and think to myself, "What a poor lost soul. This is definitely someone who needs my help." So in fact being a radio lover has turned me into a supercilious know-it-all. How very annoying.
To conclude, I will continue to pursue my radio passion on this website, as my radio virus remains strong and there is not a vaccine or antidote on the horizon. At the same time, I laugh at myself as I am surely not blind to the absurdities of my obsession.