Full of It: Building Moral Frameworks from the Throne

My dog is banned from indoor plumbing. It’s a strict household rule, mostly because his aim is atrocious and he refuses to lift the seat. However, I’ve realized I’m sending mixed signals. See, in our home, my wife and I strictly poop indoors.

I know it sounds silly, but when I’m on the porcelain throne and Milo stands in the doorway with those big, doting eyes, I find myself asking mid-log: “Am I a hypocrite?”

It’s the ultimate human dilemma. We spend our lives building rigid walls of "rules" for others, only to realize we’re standing on the other side of them. I’m starting to think we shouldn't be building walls at all—we need frameworks. Walls are designed to keep things out; frameworks are just there to keep the roof from caving in while we figure out why we're full of it.

It’s easy to feel like a hypocrite when you view your beliefs as a wall—solid, unmoving, and defensive. But walls are brittle. Historically, we’ve seen what happens when we refuse to let them move. Take the fork, for example. There was a time when using a utensil was considered a literal act of heresy. The logic was simple: God gave you fingers, so use them. Try pulling that "originalist" move at a Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse today. You aren't being pious; you're just the guy getting escorted out for eating a $60 ribeye with your bare hands.

We cling to these rigid "walls" of belief until the environment changes, and suddenly, the wall we built to protect our integrity is just the thing making us look like an idiot.

So, what’s the move? Do we abandon all hope and admit we’re just making it up as we go? Not quite. It’s not about losing your moral compass; it’s about acknowledging that time makes fools of us all if we remain rigid. If you build a wall of beliefs, eventually some new invention—like a fork—is going to knock it down. But if you build a framework, you can swap out the outdated parts without the whole structure collapsing.

I have boundaries. I have perceptions. But I also have to accept that today’s "truth" might just be tomorrow’s "eating steak with your hands."

I looked back at Milo. He was still there, judging me for my indoor privileges. I didn't change the house rules, but I did offer him acknowledgment. I’m a hypocrite, sure—but at least I’m a hypocrite with a framework. And as long as he keeps his "heresy" on the lawn, we’ll both get along just fine.

• Word Count: ~440 words

• Approximate Read Time: 1 minute, 45 seconds