You shall not steal.

—EXODUS 20:15

Day 111. When I’m jotting down tips on how to land a second wife, it’s clear that the pendulum has swung too far into the Bible’s crazy territory. I need to refocus. Get back to basics. The Ten Commandments. So I’m going to delve into the Eighth again: Thou shalt not steal.

Actually, many modern biblical scholars think that the word steal is a mistranslation. A closer word would be kidnap. You should not kidnap people and force them into slavery. This would be easier to follow. I could do that for a year. But it also feels like a cop-out.

So I’m going to stick with the traditional on this one, especially since there are plenty of other “do not steal” commands in the Bible (such as Leviticus 19:11).

I informed Julie that I can no longer raid the Esquire supply closet for manila folders for personal use. I’ve also stopped with the wireless piggybacking—we’ve seen what that can lead to.

And today I clamp down on some attempted theft at Starbucks. We are out for a walk: Julie, Jasper, and Julie’s stepdad, who looks and acts exactly like George Burns. We stop for a coffee at Starbucks, and Jasper grabs a handful of straws from the counter. He’s got a straw fetish. He loves to unwrap a dozen or so at a shot, perhaps thinking that the next one will have a special surprise, maybe a Willy Wonka–like invitation to tour the straw factory.

“No, Jasper. Just one.”

Starbucks doesn’t have a strict straw policy. But I think there’s an implicit contract—you are supposed to take one straw for every beverage.

Does Starbucks need my money? Not so much. But the Bible’s command is absolute. It doesn’t say “Thou shalt not steal except for small things from multinational corporations with a faux Italian name for medium.” It says, “Thou shalt not steal.” There’s no such thing as “petty theft.”

“Just one,” I repeat.

“Let him take ’em,” says Julie’s stepdad.

“No, we’re supposed to take only one. Otherwise it’s stealing.”

“Let him take a few. It’s not stealing.”

“What if I took five thousand straws in a Starbucks every day?” I say. “Would that be stealing?”

“Well, there’s got to be a relative—”

“Why? Why should it be relative?”

“Well, look,” says Julie’s stepdad. “One murder is OK. But fifty murders isn’t OK.”

I’m stopped short.

“Got you there, huh?” he says.

I’m not sure how to answer a man who has stolen my argument.

Jasper screams and grunts and points for about forty-five seconds. I stand my ground; I’ve got to ratchet up that justice-to-mercy ratio. Finally, I give him a napkin to rip up, which calms him down.

I could have rationalized the straws. That’s one thing I’ve noticed this year. I can rationalize almost anything. For instance, I could take the utilitarian approach: The amount of pleasure it gives Jasper outweighs the couple of cents it’ll cost Starbucks. Or I could argue to myself that, in the end, it helps out the struggling straw industry.

Same with when I stole the internet connection in my apartment building; I could have rationalized it by saying that I was using the internet to learn about God and make myself a better person.

I have a tendency toward ends-justify-the-means thinking. But this year isn’t about that. It’s about following the rules. Strictly. To the letter. And seeing what happens.

I know of only one other person who follows the “no stealing” commandment to the letter. My dad. Whenever we’re on a road trip, he refuses to pull over at any old Holiday Inn or McDonald’s to use the bathroom. Not unless we buy something. Otherwise, he says, we’d be stealing their soap and paper towels. So I feel like I’m honoring my father here as well.

Exerpt from A. J. Jacobs's "The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible"