Posted by The Dean of Cincinnati

A friend of mine has a degree in philosophy, and every once in a while we we talk philosophically with one another—sometimes for fun, sometimes with total seriousness.  Then there are times when, upon first examination, the subject seems absurd, but then it grows on me—and in fact one conversation with this philosopher has stuck with me for some time.  The topic is on the one hand crude, and on the other an insight into human habit.  It will challenge you to consider the manner with which you approach your lifestyle, and the degree to which you succeed (or fail) at improving in a general sense from the experience of living.

My friend, the philosopher, asked me if I thought people would improve at something if they did it regularly for their entire lives. 

My first instinct was to think the question a trick—one cannot, for example, improve at breathing or beating one’s heart, though we all do that regularly throughout life.  However, this philosopher’s question was no trick.  He clarified that he meant conscious actions over which we have total control, and even those for which we may develop some technique.

So I answered this philosopher; I told him I believed people would improve if they practiced a certain activity over the course of a lifetime.

And then the philosopher asked me about an activity I had never really considered before—the wiping of one’s ass.

“You’ve been wiping your ass for decades,” he told me.  “But have you really gotten any better at it, especially in the last ten years?  Have you, in the last decade, developed any new techniques or new styles, which you find more effective at getting the job completed?”

I realized, almost immediately, that I have not improved in the last ten years at wiping my own ass.  Day after day, I engage this crude activity with regular mindlessness, totally oblivious as to how one might improve at the task. 

As I pondered the philosopher’s question further, a quick insight hit me:  I remembered, a couple years ago, running out of toilet paper and using one of my baby’s wet-wipes to do the deed.  I found the wet-wipe to be delightfully refreshing, though part of me was embarrassed to have used it.

I offered my experience with the wet-wipe to the philosopher, who quickly indicated that was an improvement in material, but not in technique.

So I was forced to conclude that decades of ass-wiping have not garnished a single insight in how to improve my overall approach.  I am not better at wiping my ass at 32 years of age, than I was at 22 years, and maybe even no better than at 12 years.

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