Shame is a painful emotion we do our best to avoid. And yet it is universal among cultures. Why would we evolve something that makes us lie, evade and worse? One prominent theory holds it's a malfunction, an ugly pathology we'd be better off without.

Calling shame "ugly," however, may be a case of blaming the messenger for bad news, according to researchers at UC Santa Barbara's Center for Evolutionary Psychology (CEP). Based on studies in the U.S., India and Israel, they argue that shame—like pain—evolved as a defense. "The function of pain is to prevent us from damaging our own tissue," said Daniel Sznycer, lead author of the paper published this week in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. "The function of shame is to prevent us from damaging our social relationships, or to motivate us to repair them."

"Our ancestors lived in small, cooperative social groups that lived by hunting and gathering," said John Tooby, a professor of anthropology, co-director of CEP and a co-author of the paper. "In this world, your life depended on others valuing you enough to give you and your children food, protection and care. The more you are valued by the individuals with whom you live—as a cooperative partner, potential mate, skilled hunter, formidable ally, trustworthy friend, helpful relative, dangerous enemy—the more weight they will put on your welfare in making decisions. You will be helped more and harmed less."

The flip side of this dynamic is being devalued by others. "When people devalue you, they put less weight on your welfare. They help you less and harm you more," said Leda Cosmides, a professor of psychology, co-director of CEP and also an author of the paper. "This makes any information that would lead others to devalue you a threat to your welfare." The authors call this theory, which brings together the views of a number of evolutionary researchers, "the information threat theory of shame."

Where does the belief in moral responsibility come from? Some philosophers, myself included, maintain that there is a strange disconnect between the strength of philosophical arguments in support of moral responsibility and the strength of philosophical belief in moral responsibility. While the many arguments in favor of moral responsibility are inventive, subtle, and fascinating, even the most ardent supporters of moral responsibility acknowledge that the arguments in its favor are far from conclusive; and some of the least confident concerning the arguments for moral responsibility—such as philosopher Peter Van Inwagen who believes free will must "remain a mystery," but since it is needed for moral responsibility we must have it nonetheless—are most confident of the truth of moral responsibility. It would seem, then, that whatever the verdict on the strength of philosophical arguments for moral responsibility, it is clear that belief in moral responsibility—whether among ordinary folk or philosophers—is based on something other than philosophical reasons.

One likely source of the strong belief in moral responsibility is the strike back emotion we share with other animals. I do not contend that this is the only source—in fact, I believe there are several sources of the strong belief in moral responsibility, including the deep rooted belief in a just world, the pervasiveness of the moral responsibility system that makes the truth of moral responsibility seem obvious, and our overconfidence in the powers of reason (see Waller 2015). But it is important to acknowledge that human beings share a powerful strike back emotion with other animals. When we are wronged, and when we observe another being wronged, we feel a strong and immediate urge to strike back. According to philosopher Bruce Waller at Youngstown State University, this strike back emotion is one of the main sources of our strong belief in moral responsibility:

There's a lot to be said for the old saying, "One bad apple can spoil the whole barrel." Not only is that true for fruit, but it holds a lot of merit in the workplace.

Just one malicious employee among the ranks can wreak havoc on your company culture. Toxic employees have an unhealthy ripple effect that harms co-workers, managers and subordinates alike.

Although many research studies show the destructive effects of a workplace bully, new research highlights the adverse effects of incivility. While a bully may yell or call someone names, a mean co-worker's rude behavior may be less obvious.

How many friends do you have? Are they really your friends? Is it possible that your friends are using you for utility or pleasure? If you have never thought about these questions, then you really should. Aristotle certainly did.

Aristotle addresses the question of friendship in Nicomachean Ethics, Book VIII. Friendship, Aristotle tells us, is of supreme importance. Moreover, it is essential to our happiness. As the philosopher says,

"No one would choose to live a friendless existence, even on the condition of having all other good things." - Aristotle (Nicomachean Ethics, Book VIII)

We all know anger, that fiery tornado that stirs up the belly or the base, storming through the heart and throat, demanding a voice... but what do you do with your anger? What is your relationship with anger? Is it the disowned and dishevelled mad relative you lock in the attic; the itinerant toddler you bundle out of sight, or the problematic and difficult person you patronizingly and with lying snow calm, ignore?

Perhaps you are so disconnected from anger, you have no idea the rumbling of the volcano in your tummy is even happening. You may be floating around in a disembodied sea of fake smiles and jittery mental dreaminess.

The word "heart" is an anagram for the word "earth". Hence, the phrase "home is where the heart is".

Did you know that the human heart is the organ that generates the strongest electromagnetic field of any organ of the human body? In fact, the electromagnetic field of your heart can be measured up to a few feet away from your body. Furthermore, this energy field changes in relation to your emotions. One thing you should know about electromagnetic field is that every organ and cell in your body generate an energy field.

Because the heart generates the strongest electromagnetic field, the information stored in its electromagnetic field affects every organ and cell in your body. Could this be why the heart is the first organ to function in a fetus? Besides generating the strongest electromagnetic field, the heart has an intelligence of its own, which is why certain neurocardiologists refer to it as the heart-brain or the fifth brain.

"Anyone with any degree of mental toughness," artist Georgia O'Keeffe wrote in contemplating life and the art of setting priorities, "ought to be able to exist without the things they like most for a few months at least." It's a beautiful thought, and yet a strange and discomfiting one as we grow increasingly accustomed and even entitled to the simple, miraculous conveniences of modern life. I think of O'Keeffe each time I catch myself, mortified, on the brink of fury over a wifi outage aboard an airplane — centuries of physics and privilege converging into a superhuman capability we've come to take for granted — and then I quickly reach for Seneca as the ultimate vaccine against this humiliating hubris.

Two millennia before O'Keeffe, the great Roman philosopher — a man of timeless wisdom on how to stretch life's shortness by living wide rather than long — took this point to its exquisite extreme in a letter to his friend Lucilius Junior, found in the altogether indispensable Letters from a Stoic (public library).

Understanding the root causes of addiction can help us to better treat it.

What causes drug addiction? One Canadian physician argues that the problem isn't the drugs themselves.

Dr. Gabor Maté believes - based on research and his own experience working at harm reduction clinics in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside, a poor area that has one of the worst drug problems in North America - that the root of addictive behaviors can be traced all the way back to childhood.

Norman Garmezy, a developmental psychologist and clinician at the University of Minnesota, met thousands of children in his four decades of research. But one boy in particular stuck with him. He was nine years old, with an alcoholic mother and an absent father. Each day, he would arrive at school with the exact same sandwich: two slices of bread with nothing in between. At home, there was no other food available, and no one to make any. Even so, Garmezy would later recall, the boy wanted to make sure that "no one would feel pity for him and no one would know the ineptitude of his mother." Each day, without fail, he would walk in with a smile on his face and a "bread sandwich" tucked into his bag.

In light of the upcoming presidential race and the increase in narcissism among our youth, I think it's safe to say that, as a society, we could use a little more humility.

Our culture places so much value on external accomplishments, appearance, and self-aggrandizement—all things that are ephemeral at best—that even a small display of this quiet virtue can make one feel like a drowning man coming up for air.

Yet why can it be so challenging for us to express humility? Is it because we often misinterpret its active demonstration to be a sign of weakness, when in actuality it is an indication of tremendous inner strength?