Reader Paul Davis writes: “You’re right, it is all about the money. I used to be a die-hard conservative, but people like you and those making the ‘morally neutral’ decision have pushed me to the left, hard left … Since it is all about the money … raise taxes on offshoring firms by 50%.”

Many readers mistook my description of the strategic logic behind offshoring for a public policy prescription.

For the record: I don’t like the trend toward offshoring any more than most IT professionals. I see few alternatives, though, for companies that compete on price, given the potential cost reduction that offshoring provides. (The good news about the bad news: For the time being, at least, offshoring isn’t a complete solution to IT service delivery. Thus far it’s best-suited to legacy systems maintenance.)

Mr. Davis’ “hard turn to the left” is, I think, less a change in political orientation than a recognition that good public policy isn’t a matter of the government always doing whatever big companies want it to do. Especially in an age when large corporations are global concerns, governments … which aren’t … have an obligation to protect the best interests of their electorates from those corporations which, by definition, have no motivation to look after the interests of the citizens of any country.

Should the U.S. tax the income of offshore IT services providers? Just taxing them, or imposing a tax penalty on companies that engage them, is simple protectionism. I think we’ve found that protectionism doesn’t work — in the long run its net impact is to reduce the incentive for U.S. providers to be globally competitive.

Here’s what might work: Charge a trade tariff on offshore services pegged to the import tariffs their governments charge on our exports. Companies located in nations that create no barriers to selling U.S. goods and services within their borders would find no barriers to their selling labor in ours. Countries that make it artificially expensive for their citizens to buy our products would find their offshoring companies suddenly uncompetitive in the U.S. marketplace.

It’s good economics. It’s also a win for the citizens of both countries. Increasing exports of our goods and services creates employment here; increased employment of citizens in less-wealthy nations increases their wealth, thereby increasing the size of the market able to buy our goods and services.

This isn’t a particularly subtle, brilliant, or original idea. In fact, it’s pretty obvious. Which brings up the question of why nobody has proposed it yet.

Sadly, the answer to that question is almost as obvious as the idea itself. But what the heck — if you like it, write your senators and congressional representatives, even if doing so is like giving chicken soup to a corpse.

You might argue that doing so won’t revive the dead. They are, after all, demised. No matter how efficacious chicken soup might be for a wide variety of ills (which brings up the question of why we don’t find chicken soup in stores purveying less-tried-and-true herbal remedies … but that’s another subject for another time) … no matter how many diseases chicken soup cures, death isn’t one of them. Why waste your time feeding it to a corpse?

Why write the Senate and Congress?

It can’t hurt.

“Trust your feelings.”

This phrase perfectly expresses the philosophy of many Americans, even those not named Luke. You’d have thought Jar Jar Binks would have discredited all things Star Wars, but apparently not.

So if you trust your feelings, consult them and figure out the right thing to do. It’s a time of weak profitability for your company and you have to choose between two individuals. Steven is a marginal performer but a great guy. If you fire him, his chances of finding another job are dismal.

Wendy is a superb producer, but is evil. She gets along with her co-workers, but she yells at her kids, kicks stray puppies, and talks to friends on her cell phone in the movie theater.

Who do you fire — Steven or Wendy? Most of us run meritocracies and would keep Wendy. But what makes meritocracy right?

Nothing, that’s what. Meritocracies are efficient, but efficiency doesn’t measure right and wrong.

Corporations (or at least publicly held corporations, where the owners don’t run the company) are amoral entities. That’s amoral, not immoral, by the way. To be immoral you have to subscribe to a moral code and then violate it. The sole corporate standards of behavior are the maximization of shareholder value and the legal and regulatory frameworks within which the corporation must operate. None of these are moral propositions.

You’re a moral agent working for an amoral one. As we asked last week, what are your moral obligations?

One school of thought says that as an employee and a leader, you’ve signed an implied contract. The company pays you; the right thing to do is to act in its best interests. So long as the company doesn’t ask you to break the law, this obligation takes precedence over how you’d act on your own. You fire Steven and promote Wendy.

Another school of thought insists that you obey your own moral compass at all times. “I was just obeying orders,” isn’t, after all, a compelling defense. Promoting demon spawn from Hell just isn’t a choice you can live with, nor is putting a perfectly nice guy on the street when you can prevent it. Steven stays and you squash Wendy like a bug to keep her from ruining any more movies.

Neither the follow-your-own-moral-code-at-all-times perspective nor the act-as-your-company’s-agent viewpoint provides perfect guidance. When it comes to morality, context is everything. While it would be lovely if you could choose just one of these perspectives and go with it, you can’t. They’re both perfectly valid. You have to balance them against each other.

Under most circumstances your employer’s decision (so long as it’s legal) should supercede your own preferences. The alternative is a my-way-or-the-highway attitude which accepts no ambiguity, nor the possibility that someone else might have a valid point of view. If everyone acted this way, no company could exist for more than about a week, because every time the company made a decision with moral overtones, it would lose every employee who disagreed with it.

You can’t, on the other hand, always defer to the company’s judgment: What’s best for the corporation, while legal (or at least winnable in court, which is indistinguishable from legality) can be just too disgusting to be a party to.

As a corporate leader you face few clear-cut choices. Is it any wonder that, faced with this level of ambiguity, so many leaders shrug and just do what’s best for themselves? Looking out for yourself isn’t immoral. In fact, our entire economic system assumes you’ll do exactly that. While it isn’t what you’d call an ethical code, it is a social imperative. Your employer certainly won’t do it for you. It’s looking out for its shareholders. If you don’t protect yourself, you’re unprotected.

Assessing your moral obligations when you’re acting as your employer’s agent, isn’t a matter of simple, clear-cut choices, which shouldn’t surprise anyone. Ethics is a complicated discipline.

If you think trusting your feelings does the job, here’s a question to ponder: Socrates was a very bright guy and spent his life pondering the subject. He was neither the first nor the last very bright person to do so over the past several millennia.

If ethics is so simple, what do you think they’ve been pondering about?