When you hear the word slave or servant, what image comes to mind? Do you see one of the 100 million conquered humans who were seized and sold across the Mediterranean during the millennium of Rome’s dominance? Or a chained African on a ship crossing the Atlantic toward U.S. shores and a life of hard labor for the benefit of others?
My wife and I once toured the legendary Waterford crystal factory in Ireland, where furnaces roar 24 hours a day, powered by gas piped in from miles away. Sixteen hundred employees take turns at three shifts daily. Their training takes years, especially for the glass etchers, the smallest group among the staff.
"Do not touch.” “Do not taste.” “Don’t walk on the grass.” What is it about me that wants to do exactly what signs instruct me not to do? The warnings are probably for my benefit. The signs are not evil. So why do they bring out the worst in me?