Tumble Those Trees?

I have a neighbor who decided to take action against some of his trees years ago—an action that I could never bring myself to do. I'm sure he disapproves of my not following suit. His action? Cutting down a dozen or more mature trees that surrounded his house. In contrast, I love the dozen or so trees that surround and lean over my house; I'd never cut them down!

Why the difference? Don does not dislike trees; his motivation was to avoid ever having them blow down and damage his home. He lives in the woods as I do, and enjoys his trees. He just doesn't want to risk one toppling onto his roof. Don is also a guy who likes a tidy yard. Each fall he assiduously sucks up dead leaves with a big machine and deposits them off in the woods. He definitely doesn't like dead leaves carpeting his lawn. By cutting down his trees, he has no falling trees or their leaves to deal with.

So by leaving my trees to stand tall, I am taking an unacceptable risk in Don's eyes. I like the pleasure that trees bring me: their beauty and their shade. I have written on this blog before about sitting in the outdoor tub, looking up and revering the trees, while fully aware that if one takes a notion to fall on me, I'm dead.

This contrasting approach to handling trees reminds me of the teachings of many past and present philosophers, who pondered the propensity of humans (and all critters, for that matter) to maximize pleasure and avoid pain. We constantly make choices that are aimed at enjoying things, while evading suffering. Don doesn't get immense pleasure from his trees, and he is certainly determined to avoid the pain of the expense of roof repairs. His choice is to clear out the trees. I take great pleasure in my trees, and recognize the pain that they could cause me, but choose to take the risk.

One of the crucial factors going on here is one's assessment of the probability of risk. Both Don and I enjoy and get pleasure from trees. But while he is not willing to chance a fallen tree, I am. I regard the probability of a falling tree as low enough that I need not worry about it. So it's a case of how we read the probabilities and how we weigh that against our pleasure/pain. We each make our personal decision.

As I pondered this contrast between Don and me, it occurred to me that a central reason why insurance companies exist is to allow us to take pleasure in those things we enjoy, while the companies step in to decrease the pain we get when bad things happen. We willingly pay a small amount of money each month to an insurance account, to build up a sort of savings. When disaster strikes we are covered. It's a way to game the system: keep enjoying our pleasures, while we don't have to fret the possible pain. Insurance companies are accomplished at computing the probabilities of catastrophes, as they average the costs over many participants.

The function of insurance works to benefit those who can afford to pay for it. A small payment each month is lost in the noise. A downside of this situation is that it allows advantaged people to take otherwise unreasonable risks (for example, building their house on a hillside that is prone to mudslides) and still be covered for losses. Disadvantaged people, however, (who can't afford insurance) lose everything when disaster strikes. It's just another unfortunate example of the differences between the “haves” and the “have-nots.”