As we enact the ritual of the snake and the apple our role is to wonder if we haven’t been told. We haven’t been kept like a poodle. We must decide for ourselves how to get our next meal. If there were an ultimate good, everyone wouldn’t want it, although I’d like it to be offered to see if I would refuse. We not only tolerate a certain amount of pain, we go out of our way to ensure we get our share. Starved rats live longer; that’s poetic justice.