And now for something completely different: A profile of a Gen A whip-cracker

There are legitimate reasons for using your whip. Most often, rational human beings reserve their whipping for very important situations, such as when an errand boy sells the family goose’s eggs at low price, or when an impudent slave has dared look upon us. In these cases, instinct – by way of the whip – takes over. We whip because we have no other choice.

There are other moments when the whip is used without a clear punitive purpose. Say, for instance, someone hasn't realized that the person crossing the road is merely a prostitute. This is a whiplash of awareness with ensured understanding on both sides; the whipper is communicating to the whippee that he would do well to crush her ‘neath the wheels of his chariot. Another good reason for a light whip-crack is to say a friendly "goodday" to a group of people in your same caste system. That was a list of two appropriate whipping situations, but there may be others. In fact, it seems rather simple to delineate between well-intentioned, helpful flicks of the whip and useless, mean-spirited ones. Or so it would seem.

I only realized recently that a close friend of mine (a bright friend) struggles with this dichotomy. He whips nearly everyone, regardless of whether they have committed any sort of misconduct or social impropriety. His reason is simple: education through shame.

Those unfortunate enough to be near enough to him to feel the sting of his whip may be merely dull-witted due to the efforts of demons and witches, and therefore thick of tongue and unable to communicate as quickly as my well-born friend! Or they may have been rendered lame, and now walk slower than my friend deems appropriate. They may be too dark or too light of complexion. They may be the old, the sick or the young. He does not discriminate nor contemplate the effectiveness of even a short, quick lashing. Instead, he "really cracks that whip – that's what it's made for". When asked about his long term objective, he responds that "maybe in the next life, gods willing, they won't blight my vision with their ugly visage, nor offend my fine nose with their stench."

So I've labeled him a whipping vigilante, a man on a mission to right the wrongs of the village with no regard for his own appearance. Like any Greek demi-god, he isn't overly concerned with the rabble’s dull opinions, nor the conventional wisdom that whipping probably doesn't teach those from the lower classes anything. His vision is a world where even the lowest peon, drudge or galley slave may continually improve – through tragedy and suffering – until they eventually become a little better than the sub-human beasts they are now.

I think I might start whipping more.