redictable, but he has found a way to surprise me from time to time. For instance he had no problem with smuggling food into a movie theatre. He is OK with letting a friend use your address to register her children in your better schools, since it is the government's responsibility to provide good schools and it is not the friend's fault that the city didn't do that in her district. He follows these statements with, frankly, impeccable logic.

And there is one that has really amazed me. Cohen actually makes a convincing case for purchasing cheap seats at the ballpark, but sneaking into unoccupied box seats when the usher is not looking. Readers sent him mail debating this declaration and each argument is shot down with crystal-clear, convincing logic. Now I am not going to recount Mr. Cohen's argument here; I couldn't paraphrase his words in a manner that would do justice to his skilful logic. And Cohen's analysis is indeed flawless.

I am a big fan of logical thinking. But I am certain that Cohen is absolutely wrong in his assertion that it is ethical to move into seats you didn't pay for. How can I be so sure I am right and this celebrated New York Times writer is dead wrong? Because his position just doesn't

Use Your Body Parts To Stay Ethical

We all want to make the ethical choice, but sometimes it's tough knowing what the right choice is. Colleges teach courses on ethics, preachers shout guidance from the pulpit, and Momma did her best to bring us up right, but still we wrestle with choosing the right path.

So, how can you navigate this stormy course? Here is how. God made you in His own image and there's a good chance that includes some of the body parts. You can use those parts for direction. What parts? Use your brain, nose, heart, and guts.

Use your brain Your brain is your first line of defense against unethical behavior. Asking: Does this make sense? will usually solve the problem for you. Good things, right choices, and correct actions make sense. Bad choices are associated with confusion.

Sometimes ethical lines are crossed when we do stupid things. I once helped a man secure a nice position with a major restaurant chain. His qualifications were powerful. For instance, he had two bachelor degrees to offer, when the position didn't even require one. Then, during a routine verification of his resume, it was discovered that he did not have two degrees. He only had one. He was fired because he lied on his application. The company rationalized that if he was unethical enough to lie about something that didn't matter, what would he do when faced with an issue where it did matter? This executive's actions were both unethical and stupid. Routine use of basic brain cells would have avoided the problem.

Use your nose A supplier, who has been doing business with your firm for ten years, begins offering you gifts of increasing value. An employee, who you have given a lot of well-deserved time off so he could help his sick wife, hands you tickets to a football game, just to say "thanks." Your boss casually mentions that if his wife should ask, you should tell her that you and he had worked late at the office last Thursday night.

Some situations carry an aroma. No matter how well rationalized, some options must be rejected because they flunk the smell test.

Use your heart My first act upon appointment as Benevolent Dictator will be to require all my subjects to watch an episode of The Andy Griffith Show each day. Here is one scene they will witness.

As Andy sat around the dinner table with Aunt Bee and Barney, his son Opie amused him with stories about a new friend, a magical man by the name of Mr. McBeevee. This amazing character walked in the treetops, had a shiny metal hat, and made a jingling sound as he walked. At first the family laughed at this imaginary friend but his Pa became worried as his stories grew more outrageous. After one evening of McBeevee stories, Barney and Aunt Bee confronted Andy and convinced him that he needed to put an end to the nonsense. Andy threatened Opie with a whippin’ unless he declared that Mr. McBeevee was a work of fiction. Opie would not and was willing to accept the punishment. “I ain’t lyin’, Pa, promise,” Opie told his father.

Andy retreated downstairs and stared into space. “Did you punish him?” Aunt Bee asks. “No,” Andy quietly said. Barney was shocked at Andy’s failure to act, “Don’t tell me you believe in Mr. McBeevee!” “No,” Andy replied. “But I do believe in Opie.”

Andy’s trust in Opie was rewarded the next day, when he meets Mr. McBeevee, who turns out to be a hard-hatted telephone lineman with a belt full of jingling tools. Sometimes you have to toss all logic aside and let your heart declare the truth.

Frank was an excellent employee for many years, but began having attendance problems. He would arrive late several times a week, sometimes calling in sick (he was always "just feeling a bit under the weather".) Warnings and counseling attempts would only have a temporary effect; after a few weeks the problem would return. I eventually fired him.

Frank's wife came to see me the next day, dragging Frank beside her. "Tell him!" she demanded. "Tell him your problem." Frank hesitated and then blurted it out. He was an alcoholic. He wanted his job back and wanted help.

I was under no legal obligation to do that. Also, all company rules had been followed, proper warning had been given, and all the right people had signed off on the termination. I had made the right decision and there was no legal or logical reason to reverse myself. But I did anyway. I chose to follow my heart. I had the power to change the man's life as well as retain an employee who could once again be a valuable company asset. Frank returned to employment, successfully fought his alcoholism, and became a symbol of hope for other employees with addictions.

Use your gut Randy Cohen writes an ethics column for The New York Times Magazine. (No, I'm not setting up an oxymoron here.) His column fields ethical dilemmas from the readers and dissects their problem. Most of the responses are predictable, but he has found a way to surprise me from time to time. For instance he had no problem with smuggling food into a movie theatre. He is OK with letting a friend use your address to register her children in your better schools, since it is the government's responsibility to provide good schools and it is not the friend's fault that the city didn't do that in her district. He follows these statements with, frankly, impeccable logic.

And there is one that has really amazed me. Cohen actually makes a convincing case for purchasing cheap seats at the ballpark, but sneaking into unoccupied box seats when the usher is not looking. Readers sent him mail debating this declaration and each argument is shot down with crystal-clear, convincing logic. Now I am not going to recount Mr. Cohen's argument here; I couldn't paraphrase his words in a manner that would do justice to his skilful logic. And Cohen's analysis is indeed flawless.

I am a big fan of logical thinking. But I am certain that Cohen is absolutely wrong in his assertion that it is ethical to move into seats you didn't pay for. How can I be so sure I am right and this celebrated New York Times writer is dead wrong? Because his position just doesn't

lied on his application. The company rationalized that if he was unethical enough to lie about something that didn't matter, what would he do when faced with an issue where it did matter? This executive's actions were both unethical and stupid. Routine use of basic brain cells would have avoided the problem.

Use your nose A supplier, who has been doing business with your firm for ten years, begins offering you gifts of increasing value. An employee, who you have given a lot of well-deserved time off so he could help his sick wife, hands you tickets to a football game, just to say "thanks." Your boss casually mentions that if his wife should ask, you should tell her that you and he had worked late at the office last Thursday night.

Some situations carry an aroma. No matter how well rationalized, some options must be rejected because they flunk the smell test.

Use your heart My first act upon appointment as Benevolent Dictator will be to require all my subjects to watch an episode of The Andy Griffith Show each day. Here is one scene they will witness.

As Andy sat around the dinner table with Aunt Bee and Barney, his son Opie amused him with stories about a new friend, a magical man by the name of Mr. McBeevee. This amazing character walked in the treetops, had a shiny metal hat, and made a jingling sound as he walked. At first the family laughed at this imaginary friend but his Pa became worried as his stories grew more outrageous. After one evening of McBeevee stories, Barney and Aunt Bee confronted Andy and convinced him that he needed to put an end to the nonsense. Andy threatened Opie with a whippin’ unless he declared that Mr. McBeevee was a work of fiction. Opie would not and was willing to accept the punishment. “I ain’t lyin’, Pa, promise,” Opie told his father.

Andy retreated downstairs and stared into space. “Did you punish him?” Aunt Bee asks. “No,” Andy quietly said. Barney was shocked at Andy’s failure to act, “Don’t tell me you believe in Mr. McBeevee!” “No,” Andy replied. “But I do believe in Opie.”

Andy’s trust in Opie was rewarded the next day, when he meets Mr. McBeevee, who turns out to be a hard-hatted telephone lineman with a belt full of jingling tools. Sometimes you have to toss all logic aside and let your heart declare the truth.

Frank was an excellent employee for many years, but began having attendance problems. He would arrive late several times a week, sometimes calling in sick (he was always "just feeling a bit under the weather".) Warnings and counseling attempts would only have a temporary effect; after a few weeks the problem would return. I eventually fired him.

Frank's wife came to see me the next day, dragging Frank beside her. "Tell him!" she demanded. "Tell him your problem." Frank hesitated and then blurted it out. He was an alcoholic. He wanted his job back and wanted help.

I was under no legal obligation to do that. Also, all company rules had been followed, proper warning had been given, and all the right people had signed off on the termination. I had made the right decision and there was no legal or logical reason to reverse myself. But I did anyway. I chose to follow my heart. I had the power to change the man's life as well as retain an employee who could once again be a valuable company asset. Frank returned to employment, successfully fought his alcoholism, and became a symbol of hope for other employees with addictions.

Use your gut Randy Cohen writes an ethics column for The New York Times Magazine. (No, I'm not setting up an oxymoron here.) His column fields ethical dilemmas from the readers and dissects their problem. Most of the responses are predictable, but he has found a way to surprise me from time to time. For instance he had no problem with smuggling food into a movie theatre. He is OK with letting a friend use your address to register her children in your better schools, since it is the government's responsibility to provide good schools and it is not the friend's fault that the city didn't do that in her district. He follows these statements with, frankly, impeccable logic.

And there is one that has really amazed me. Cohen actually makes a convincing case for purchasing cheap seats at the ballpark, but sneaking into unoccupied box seats when the usher is not looking. Readers sent him mail debating this declaration and each argument is shot down with crystal-clear, convincing logic. Now I am not going to recount Mr. Cohen's argument here; I couldn't paraphrase his words in a manner that would do justice to his skilful logic. And Cohen's analysis is indeed flawless.

I am a big fan of logical thinking. But I am certain that Cohen is absolutely wrong in his assertion that it is ethical to move into seats you didn't pay for. How can I be so sure I am right and this celebrated New York Times writer is dead wrong? Because his position just doesn't

Mr. McBeevee. This amazing character walked in the treetops, had a shiny metal hat, and made a jingling sound as he walked. At first the family laughed at this imaginary friend but his Pa became worried as his stories grew more outrageous. After one evening of McBeevee stories, Barney and Aunt Bee confronted Andy and convinced him that he needed to put an end to the nonsense. Andy threatened Opie with a whippin’ unless he declared that Mr. McBeevee was a work of fiction. Opie would not and was willing to accept the punishment. “I ain’t lyin’, Pa, promise,” Opie told his father.

Andy retreated downstairs and stared into space. “Did you punish him?” Aunt Bee asks. “No,” Andy quietly said. Barney was shocked at Andy’s failure to act, “Don’t tell me you believe in Mr. McBeevee!” “No,” Andy replied. “But I do believe in Opie.”

Andy’s trust in Opie was rewarded the next day, when he meets Mr. McBeevee, who turns out to be a hard-hatted telephone lineman with a belt full of jingling tools. Sometimes you have to toss all logic aside and let your heart declare the truth.

Frank was an excellent employee for many years, but began having attendance problems. He would arrive late several times a week, sometimes calling in sick (he was always "just feeling a bit under the weather".) Warnings and counseling attempts would only have a temporary effect; after a few weeks the problem would return. I eventually fired him.

Frank's wife came to see me the next day, dragging Frank beside her. "Tell him!" she demanded. "Tell him your problem." Frank hesitated and then blurted it out. He was an alcoholic. He wanted his job back and wanted help.

I was under no legal obligation to do that. Also, all company rules had been followed, proper warning had been given, and all the right people had signed off on the termination. I had made the right decision and there was no legal or logical reason to reverse myself. But I did anyway. I chose to follow my heart. I had the power to change the man's life as well as retain an employee who could once again be a valuable company asset. Frank returned to employment, successfully fought his alcoholism, and became a symbol of hope for other employees with addictions.

Use your gut Randy Cohen writes an ethics column for The New York Times Magazine. (No, I'm not setting up an oxymoron here.) His column fields ethical dilemmas from the readers and dissects their problem. Most of the responses are predictable, but he has found a way to surprise me from time to time. For instance he had no problem with smuggling food into a movie theatre. He is OK with letting a friend use your address to register her children in your better schools, since it is the government's responsibility to provide good schools and it is not the friend's fault that the city didn't do that in her district. He follows these statements with, frankly, impeccable logic.

And there is one that has really amazed me. Cohen actually makes a convincing case for purchasing cheap seats at the ballpark, but sneaking into unoccupied box seats when the usher is not looking. Readers sent him mail debating this declaration and each argument is shot down with crystal-clear, convincing logic. Now I am not going to recount Mr. Cohen's argument here; I couldn't paraphrase his words in a manner that would do justice to his skilful logic. And Cohen's analysis is indeed flawless.

I am a big fan of logical thinking. But I am certain that Cohen is absolutely wrong in his assertion that it is ethical to move into seats you didn't pay for. How can I be so sure I am right and this celebrated New York Times writer is dead wrong? Because his position just doesn't

g in sick (he was always "just feeling a bit under the weather".) Warnings and counseling attempts would only have a temporary effect; after a few weeks the problem would return. I eventually fired him.

Frank's wife came to see me the next day, dragging Frank beside her. "Tell him!" she demanded. "Tell him your problem." Frank hesitated and then blurted it out. He was an alcoholic. He wanted his job back and wanted help.

I was under no legal obligation to do that. Also, all company rules had been followed, proper warning had been given, and all the right people had signed off on the termination. I had made the right decision and there was no legal or logical reason to reverse myself. But I did anyway. I chose to follow my heart. I had the power to change the man's life as well as retain an employee who could once again be a valuable company asset. Frank returned to employment, successfully fought his alcoholism, and became a symbol of hope for other employees with addictions.

Use your gut Randy Cohen writes an ethics column for The New York Times Magazine. (No, I'm not setting up an oxymoron here.) His column fields ethical dilemmas from the readers and dissects their problem. Most of the responses are predictable, but he has found a way to surprise me from time to time. For instance he had no problem with smuggling food into a movie theatre. He is OK with letting a friend use your address to register her children in your better schools, since it is the government's responsibility to provide good schools and it is not the friend's fault that the city didn't do that in her district. He follows these statements with, frankly, impeccable logic.

And there is one that has really amazed me. Cohen actually makes a convincing case for purchasing cheap seats at the ballpark, but sneaking into unoccupied box seats when the usher is not looking. Readers sent him mail debating this declaration and each argument is shot down with crystal-clear, convincing logic. Now I am not going to recount Mr. Cohen's argument here; I couldn't paraphrase his words in a manner that would do justice to his skilful logic. And Cohen's analysis is indeed flawless.

I am a big fan of logical thinking. But I am certain that Cohen is absolutely wrong in his assertion that it is ethical to move into seats you didn't pay for. How can I be so sure I am right and this celebrated New York Times writer is dead wrong? Because his position just doesn't

redictable, but he has found a way to surprise me from time to time. For instance he had no problem with smuggling food into a movie theatre. He is OK with letting a friend use your address to register her children in your better schools, since it is the government's responsibility to provide good schools and it is not the friend's fault that the city didn't do that in her district. He follows these statements with, frankly, impeccable logic.

And there is one that has really amazed me. Cohen actually makes a convincing case for purchasing cheap seats at the ballpark, but sneaking into unoccupied box seats when the usher is not looking. Readers sent him mail debating this declaration and each argument is shot down with crystal-clear, convincing logic. Now I am not going to recount Mr. Cohen's argument here; I couldn't paraphrase his words in a manner that would do justice to his skilful logic. And Cohen's analysis is indeed flawless.

I am a big fan of logical thinking. But I am certain that Cohen is absolutely wrong in his assertion that it is ethical to move into seats you didn't pay for. How can I be so sure I am right and this celebrated New York Times writer is dead wrong? Because his position just doesn't feel right. I know it in my gut.

As former New York governor Mario Cuomo recalls: Every time I've done some-thing that doesn't feel right, it's ended up not being right. He is right. Your gut will tell you when it's the right decision. Good choices create a sense of peace. Choose that path.

Some ethical decisions really are tough. But most are not. You can make immeasurable progress towards living an integrity-driven life by simply grabbing the obvious decisions and following your brain, nose, heart, and guts on the rest. Get the simple, routine daily decisions right and the complex ones will fall right into place.