As useless as the appendix or the gall bladder is, the conscience, is it not, for all the good it does one.  It certainly keeps one from being happy, quite often, nagging at the heels until one ultimately heeds the call.  But it was Faulkner anyway who said the best stories, the stories he wanted to write, was where the heart was in tension with itself, as if providing two distinctive and contradictory course of action.

The baptist or the catholic, that little concept from the back of the mind that destroys happiness and reminds of moral obligations and other strange foreign concepts that have no bearing on one’s real state of happiness, it has a tidal pull.

“Is that little Mr Cricket again, trying to discourage me?”

why, is it even good to have one’s cake and eat it too?

And Soren Kierkegaard saying we inherited Adam’s sin and sin guilt, as if that put a sort of dread on us all the time.  But rather, I tell you this: as children, how do we learn?  From people tell us “no”, telling us not to do things, we learn conduct from our elders, and thusly the even a tyke is perpetually in a negative mindset, only happy when he is toilet training, proud of himself.