That last post will serve as an illustration of the problem with blogging (at least for me).

For the umpteenth time, I devoted my time to disagreeing with the Philadelphia Inquirer about guns. And once again, I endeavored to show editorial bias (hardly a tough thing when dealing with an editorial . . .)

Y-A-W-N

I contributed nothing new to the discussion, and I said nothing that hasn't been said (or will be said) by plenty of people. Paid lobbyists for the NRA, paid radio talk show hosts, web sites like Keep and Bear Arms, and lots of unpaid bloggers. Not one mind was changed, including my own. The people who agree with me already agreed with me and still will, and the people who disagreed with me already disagreed with me and still will.

And no one is paying me to do this. I feel about as useful and as valuable as another styrofoam cup in the middle of a long stack of styrofoam cups.

Hey, isn't that me somewhere in that picture?

Sometimes it helps me to remind myself that for the most part, blogging is an entirely voluntary activity. The things that might be considered a blogger's "obligations" (or "blogligations") are not obligatory in any way. True, a blogger who doesn't get hits and traffic will not be as widely read or well known as one who does, and to the extent that the sense of obligation fuel that process it might help the blogger. But then, what is help? This is an entirely voluntary process of free speech, of promulgating one's opinions without pay for the world to see. But if in the end, no money results from the activity, even the world's greatest blogger cannot be said to be the equal of the lowliest paid reporter.

And why is that? It is because by its nature, blogging is voluntary, and we live in a world in which worth is defined in economic terms. Volunteers are inherently less worthy than people who are paid to do the same thing, and this is apparently because it is a given that if someone is good at doing something, he will -- or should -- be paid for it.

This is just as true if he wants to do it as it would be if he didn't want to do it. Many of us are annoyed by unpaid activists, also known as "do-gooders." Paid activists, however (like anything paid for) are more accountable, and therefore worth more.

Aren't they? Actually, in blogging they wouldn't be, because they'd be vulnerable to criticism that they're "lobbyists" for the cause of whoever is paying them, and thus without "real" credibility. What that means is that had the NRA offered me $500.00 to write a blog post slamming the Inquirer editorial, it wouldn't be as believable, enlightening, or valuable.

(Again, whether this is true is open to debate, but it's the way people think about these things.)

If we turn from political writing to creative writing, it becomes more analogous to sports. Paid golfers and paid basketball players are by their nature better than their unpaid counterparts, because in athletics there is an inherent meritocracy in which superiority can be easily measured based on mathematics. Athlete A can either run faster than Athlete B or he cannot. There is no such meritocracy in art, because public judgments are subjective and change over time. (Thus, a van Gogh might never see success in his own lifetime.)

Like athletes, artists and and musicians will traditionally begin their careers as volunteers, but the difference lies in whether and how their merit becomes recognized.

As I say this, I recognize that "volunteer" is a poor word, because not all that is voluntary constitutes volunteerism. How does one measure the innate worth of a volunteer? Did Mother Theresa scrub more bedpans than anyone else, or did she do it longer? Was her work more valuable than the work of a paid nurse or orderly? If so, then why?

And was her volunteer work more valuable than volunteer work involving animals? A zoo volunteer might do a better job than a keeper, but unions would never allow zoos to be staffed or run by volunteers.

Should zoo volunteers sit in judgment on keepers?

Should hospital volunteers sit in judgment on nurses?

Should volunteer reporters sit in judgment on paid reporters?

Is that what we bloggers do? (The reporters certainly see it that way, and like it or not, there is no Mother Theresa of blogging. No, not even the saintly Glenn Reynolds.)

Is the profit motive wrong then, or is it merely suspect? And if it is suspect, then why is it only suspect in the case of reporters and not athletes or nurses?

Are these things defined by economics? By who pays, and how much?

In life, what we might like to do does not define us as well as what we are paid to do, and I am having trouble knowing where to go with this essay, because I'm running aground in that quagmire where the free market (what people want) meets morality (what is right, fair, just).

Let's switch gears and move to an inherently less moralistic profession (but one which sees itself as highly "moral"): that of the trial lawyer. Trial lawyers obtain huge fees (usually 33%) which come directly out of their clients' settlements or judgments. Unlike basketball players, these people think of themselves as altruists who are "helping people obtain justice" and in their minds that entitles them to respect. Whether a volunteer would be more entitled to respect (or whether he'd do a better job) for doing the same work is irrelevant. Few if any lawyers would take a personal injury case of any worth and not take his cut.

Why should value be defined in terms of who is helped, anyway? What is help? A doctor helps patients get health, a lawyer helps them gets wealth, and a basketball player or musician entertains. The cancer-ridden patient might derive a benefit from all four. How is importance rated?

And what about selfless devotion and running the risk of danger? Does there have to be a cause? A police officer risks his life to protect society, while a cab driver risks his life to ferry citizens from place to place, yet the murder of a police officer in line of duty is considered far worse than the murder of a cab driver (who isn't even said to have been killed "in the line of duty.") There are few volunteer police and no volunteer cab drivers, either, as unlike playing basketball or golf, these activities are not seen as involving pleasure. But is someone who volunteers to help with nursing deriving actual pleasure from the task? Certainly not in the same way that an unpaid golfer loves to play golf, or in the way an unpaid reporter/blogger might love editing (or fisking) the reports of paid reporters.

Right there, I realize I made an inapt comparison. Unpaid golfers are not there to criticize or show up professional golfers. If they were that good, they'd simply enter the tournaments, as golf is a meritocracy, like most sports. No education or license of any kind is required, and many an amateur has made it from being a lowly caddy all the way to the U.S. Open by simply playing golf. (Lee Trevino is a perfect example.) On the other hand, you could have the best surgical skills in the world, but if you can't get past the chemistry and physics with straight A's, the only way you'll ever stick a knife into anyone is in a barroom fight.

Like it or not, there's no First Amendment right to practice medicine, so amateurs are not allowed to volunteer as surgeons.

The problem with bloggers and journalists is that there's no clear line. In practice, there is a line, but it's defined by blogging's voluntary nature. Bloggers are in the business of saying what they think is right, and as such they are in the morality business. Because morality cannot be measured in economic terms, bloggers have (and will continue to have) a valuation problem. They are unpaid volunteers, saying what they think not because it has commercial value, but because they think it is right.

While some bloggers are better than others, any blogger who has been at the task for years will find his skills improving, but without any commensurate reward. He might even be so good at blogging that he could be considered a "professional blogger." But bloggers are amateurs, are they not?

This begs the question of whether there such a thing as a professional amateur, but as to "professional bloggers," isn't that "commercial" blogging? Doesn't that mean that their opinions should be for sale? It's one thing to be paid to say what you think, but if you're being paid to say what others think, it wouldn't seem, well, professional.

Never would I undertake such a thing voluntarily. Unless you're a paid professional volunteer, it's better to remain an involuntary amateur.

Being an unpaid volunteer sucks, and if it doesn't feel voluntary, it will drive you crazy.

I suspect that the more time bloggers devote to unpaid volunteerism, the better they get at doing it. This in turn attracts more bloggers, which over time drives up not only overall quantity but overall quality -- all without any commensurate reward. Not even in the form of increased traffic! No wonder there's blogger burnout.

I realize I have reached few conclusions, but I hope I have identified a few contradictions. I think there's unresolved tension out there, and I think some of it may come from not recognizing the nature of the problem. Humans are not machines. Yet the blogosphere is becoming a machine consisting of humans who are not machines, but who are forced to (more properly, force themselves to) try to be machines.

I'll end with a question I can't answer: might there be an overlap between what is being called "conservative fatigue syndrome" and simple blogger burnout? I'm wondering whether putting the word "conservative" in front of front of "fatigue" only compunds the fatigue by adding confusion.

Glenn Reynolds points to this comment, which broadens the issue, and supplies appropriate historical context:

The Roman Legion was organized to fight in lines, averaging maybe 6 to 8 men deep. In battle the man at the front would fight for about 8 minutes, then move to the back of the line and the person behind him would take his place at the front. After another interval he too would then move to the back and the person behind him would take the front position. Organized in this way each man fought for about 8 minutes out of every 48 to 64. The enemies of the Romans often succomed to fatigue long before the Legionaires did.

It's ok to get fatigued, and it's ok to take a step back. There is a person behind you who will fill the gap. And when you are refreshed you can rejoin the battle.

Or even whether they were volunteers? The Roman Army consisted of both:

The imperial army was a standing professional army. It contained both conscripts and volunteers serving a minimum term of sixteen years, though most had to serve for 25 years or more before they were up for retirement. To preserve the loyalty of the soldiers on which their position of power rested, the emperors looked well after their interests. Pay was regular and comparatively generous and on occasion supplemented by donativa, special bonuses of up to five years pay. On completion of their term of service soldiers received a large retirement grant of thirteen to seventeen years' worth of pay. In addition to these monetary rewards serving soldiers and retired veterans were also granted numerous legal privileges.

I hate to say this, but vacation can mean demotion.

Fair or not, intentional or not, being a blogger means being an unpaid professional volunteer moralizer, whose output creates a demand for more output, and who is punished for taking breaks.

Hmmmm.....

On the bright side, doesn't this mean that blogger burnout is purely voluntary?

Yes. I think it's as voluntary as blogging.

(No one made me write this post. They couldn't pay me enough.)

AFTERTHOUGHT: It's probably worth adding that I don't feel burned out right now. That's because I'm having fun writing about it.