Anthropomorphism. Not clever. More of a determined wimp who lives in a universe governed by physics that, luckily, resulted in the frisbee moving towards him as a result of his repeated demonstration of his cognitive disconnect between his perceived distance to the frisbee and the length of his leg.

I'm not advocating Egyptian style slavery and I don't bring this up because he's black (you spiteful ignorant fuck -- yes YOU), but don't we have awesome shit to build? Awesome shit that ANY man or woman can contribute to in order to live in decency?!?!

People = biological machines
People working = human productivity
People not working = lack of human productivity

Think about the ACTUAL, very simple to behold, long term number game the next time you justify your worship of an economic system that leaves this potential human machine purposeless.

PURPOSELESS.

I'm not a bleeding heart, just a fanatic of the causation of the universe. From a strategic perspective of human progression, leaving free units to roam around your base of operations without a task is dumb, and any justification you have for the system in place is invalidated by this inherent flaw. Poor people do not necessarily equate to lazy people. And laziness is a reversible symptom, if approached properly. So you're dumb to say work ethic makes you succeed and that those without work ethic inevitably fail, but that's alright because that's how it works. DUMB. You are literally dumb for thinking that. Dumb being the inability to speak, you thusly cannot speak of that logic and only parrot the natural (oft unreasonable) logic of your mind's cognitive basis. If you think you aren't dumb for thinking this, tell me the positive long term plan for this demographic.

People who are smart and have high work ethic succeed. Those who succeed make money. Those who make money make law. Those who make law judge by their view of law. (Gets a little messy here.) Their view of law judges those who do not see their perspective, and yet many of those being judged remain moral beings in a rotating system of judgement based in appropriating offender's money. Their constant state of low income makes them less likely to expend the energy (based in scientifically proven limited willpower) to meet the challenges presented by law makers. A challenge which becomes impossible if you have no job and no home. Insert the problem of mental illness that modern man has yet to conquer and you realize how ignorant we really are as a species. How advanced and yet how wasteful.

WASTEFUL. Purposeless and wasteful. PURPOSE IS MAKE MONEY LIVE COMFORT. FUCK YOU DUDE.

Sure, you can say things like "So-and-so was at rock bottom and he formed a tale of fighting all odds, etc. etc." Good for him. That's a statistical probability. VERY SMALL percentages of people will succeed despite all odds, but it still remains statistically improbable that any "market value" can be generated from this demographic.

Kardeshev Level -1,000,000
GAME OVER

The cognitive dissonance at 4:02

If the old man is telling the truth then I think I'd include cognitive decline in the no go list for firearms ownership. Yes there are tests. Yes they work.

Respectfully, I think this reply illustrates our collective efforts to rationalize the gun culture in an attempt to relieve the cognitive dissonance we feel.
Guns are fun to shoot. They also are designed to kill.
"It's fun to play with the tools of death" is a hard thing for us to say out loud.
So, we layer on the excuses: "The second amendment", "shooting is a sport", "hunting is quality time with the family", "It is irresponsible not to be prepared to defend one's family."
With every pop at a target on the range, the truth smacks us in the face, and each time we bury it away below the sham we have built.

I love how the argument could swing both ways:

Oh? So it only increases your shooting time by .5 seconds? Then there isn't a reason NOT to do it either. If it isn't going to put you out, why the fuss? What do you care? There's no discernible difference, right?
So where's the real argument?

Cognitive dissonance is fun.

It's interesting to hear them talk about the duty of teachers, parents and society to help foster diversity, fairness, cooperation, kindness and acceptance of others in kids. It doesn't seem coincidental that conservative politics specifically target academia, social democracy, science, the cultural arts, public institutions, social welfare programs, healthcare, "collectivism" and even parents in the case of one bizzarre anarcho-capitalist faction.

They see cognitive development as an enemy.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/20/magazine/20pacemaker-t.html?pagewanted=all

One October afternoon three years ago while I was visiting my parents, my mother made a request I dreaded and longed to fulfill. She had just poured me a cup of Earl Grey from her Japanese iron teapot, shaped like a little pumpkin; outside, two cardinals splashed in the birdbath in the weak Connecticut sunlight. Her white hair was gathered at the nape of her neck, and her voice was low. “Please help me get Jeff’s pacemaker turned off,” she said, using my father’s first name. I nodded, and my heart knocked.
Related

Upstairs, my 85-year-old father, Jeffrey, a retired Wesleyan University professor who suffered from dementia, lay napping in what was once their shared bedroom. Sewn into a hump of skin and muscle below his right clavicle was the pacemaker that helped his heart outlive his brain. The size of a pocket watch, it had kept his heart beating rhythmically for nearly five years. Its battery was expected to last five more.

After tea, I knew, my mother would help him from his narrow bed with its mattress encased in waterproof plastic. She would take him to the toilet, change his diaper and lead him tottering to the couch, where he would sit mutely for hours, pretending to read Joyce Carol Oates, the book falling in his lap as he stared out the window.

I don’t like describing what dementia did to my father — and indirectly to my mother — without telling you first that my parents loved each other, and I loved them. That my mother, Valerie, could stain a deck and sew an evening dress from a photo in Vogue and thought of my father as her best friend. That my father had never given up easily on anything.

Born in South Africa, he lost his left arm in World War II, but built floor-to-ceiling bookcases for our living room; earned a Ph.D. from Oxford; coached rugby; and with my two brothers as crew, sailed his beloved Rhodes 19 on Long Island Sound. When I was a child, he woke me, chortling, with his gloss on a verse from “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam”: “Awake, my little one! Before life’s liquor in its cup be dry!” At bedtime he tucked me in, quoting “Hamlet” : “May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!”

Now I would look at him and think of Anton Chekhov, who died of tuberculosis in 1904. “Whenever there is someone in a family who has long been ill, and hopelessly ill,” he wrote, “there come painful moments when all timidly, secretly, at the bottom of their hearts long for his death.” A century later, my mother and I had come to long for the machine in my father’s chest to fail.

Until 2001, my two brothers and I — all living in California — assumed that our parents would enjoy long, robust old ages capped by some brief, undefined final illness. Thanks to their own healthful habits and a panoply of medical advances — vaccines, antibiotics, airport defibrillators, 911 networks and the like — they weren’t likely to die prematurely of the pneumonias, influenzas and heart attacks that decimated previous generations. They walked every day. My mother practiced yoga. My father was writing a history of his birthplace, a small South African town.

In short, they were seemingly among the lucky ones for whom the American medical system, despite its fragmentation, inequity and waste, works quite well. Medicare and supplemental insurance paid for their specialists and their trusted Middletown internist, the lean, bespectacled Robert Fales, who, like them, was skeptical of medical overdoing. “I bonded with your parents, and you don’t bond with everybody,” he once told me. “It’s easier to understand someone if they just tell it like it is from their heart and their soul.”

They were also stoics and religious agnostics. They signed living wills and durable power-of-attorney documents for health care. My mother, who watched friends die slowly of cancer, had an underlined copy of the Hemlock Society’s “Final Exit” in her bookcase. Even so, I watched them lose control of their lives to a set of perverse financial incentives — for cardiologists, hospitals and especially the manufacturers of advanced medical devices — skewed to promote maximum treatment. At a point hard to precisely define, they stopped being beneficiaries of the war on sudden death and became its victims.

Things took their first unexpected turn on Nov. 13, 2001, when my father — then 79, pacemakerless and seemingly healthy — collapsed on my parents’ kitchen floor in Middletown, making burbling sounds. He had suffered a stroke.

He came home six weeks later permanently incapable of completing a sentence. But as I’ve said, he didn’t give up easily, and he doggedly learned again how to fasten his belt; to peck out sentences on his computer; to walk alone, one foot dragging, to the university pool for water aerobics. He never again put on a shirt without help or looked at the book he had been writing. One day he haltingly told my mother, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

His stroke devastated two lives. The day before, my mother was an upper-middle-class housewife who practiced calligraphy in her spare time. Afterward, she was one of tens of millions of people in America, most of them women, who help care for an older family member.

Their numbers grow each day. Thanks to advanced medical technologies, elderly people now survive repeated health crises that once killed them, and so the “oldest old” have become the nation’s most rapidly growing age group. Nearly a third of Americans over 85 have dementia (a condition whose prevalence rises in direct relationship to longevity). Half need help with at least one practical, life-sustaining activity, like getting dressed or making breakfast. Even though a capable woman was hired to give my dad showers, my 77-year-old mother found herself on duty more than 80 hours a week. Her blood pressure rose and her weight fell. On a routine visit to Dr. Fales, she burst into tears. She was put on sleeping pills and antidepressants.

My father said he came to believe that she would have been better off if he had died. “She’d have weeped the weep of a widow,” he told me in his garbled, poststroke speech, on a walk we took together in the fall of 2002. “And then she would have been all right.” It was hard to tell which of them was suffering more.

As we shuffled through the fallen leaves that day, I thought of my father’s father, Ernest Butler. He was 79 when he died in 1965, before pacemakers, implanted cardiac defibrillators, stents and replacement heart valves routinely staved off death among the very old. After completing some long-unfinished chairs, he cleaned his woodshop, had a heart attack and died two days later in a plain hospital bed. As I held my dad’s soft, mottled hand, I vainly wished him a similar merciful death.

A few days before Christmas that year, after a vigorous session of water exercises, my father developed a painful inguinal (intestinal) hernia. My mother took him to Fales, who sent them to a local surgeon, who sent them to a cardiologist for a preoperative clearance. After an electrocardiogram recorded my father’s slow heartbeat — a longstanding and symptomless condition not uncommon in the very old — the cardiologist, John Rogan, refused to clear my dad for surgery unless he received a pacemaker.

Without the device, Dr. Rogan told me later, my father could have died from cardiac arrest during surgery or perhaps within a few months. It was the second time Rogan had seen my father. The first time, about a year before, he recommended the device for the same slow heartbeat. That time, my then-competent and prestroke father expressed extreme reluctance, on the advice of Fales, who considered it overtreatment.

My father’s medical conservatism, I have since learned, is not unusual. According to an analysis by the Dartmouth Atlas medical-research group, patients are far more likely than their doctors to reject aggressive treatments when fully informed of pros, cons and alternatives — information, one study suggests, that nearly half of patients say they don’t get. And although many doctors assume that people want to extend their lives, many do not. In a 1997 study in The Journal of the American Geriatrics Society, 30 percent of seriously ill people surveyed in a hospital said they would “rather die” than live permanently in a nursing home. In a 2008 study in The Journal of the American College of Cardiology, 28 percent of patients with advanced heart failure said they would trade one day of excellent health for another two years in their current state.

When Rogan suggested the pacemaker for the second time, my father was too stroke-damaged to discuss, and perhaps even to weigh, his trade­offs. The decision fell to my mother — anxious to relieve my father’s pain, exhausted with caregiving, deferential to doctors and no expert on high-tech medicine. She said yes. One of the most important medical decisions of my father’s life was over in minutes. Dr. Fales was notified by fax.

Fales loved my parents, knew their suffering close at hand, continued to oppose a pacemaker and wasn’t alarmed by death. If he had had the chance to sit down with my parents, he could have explained that the pacemaker’s battery would last 10 years and asked whether my father wanted to live to be 89 in his nearly mute and dependent state. He could have discussed the option of using a temporary external pacemaker that, I later learned, could have seen my dad safely through surgery. But my mother never consulted Fales. And the system would have effectively penalized him if she had. Medicare would have paid him a standard office-visit rate of $54 for what would undoubtedly have been a long meeting — and nothing for phone calls to work out a plan with Rogan and the surgeon.

Medicare has made minor improvements since then, and in the House version of the health care reform bill debated last year, much better payments for such conversations were included. But after the provision was distorted as reimbursement for “death panels,” it was dropped. In my father’s case, there was only a brief informed-consent process, covering the boilerplate risks of minor surgery, handled by the general surgeon.

I believe that my father’s doctors did their best within a compartmentalized and time-pressured medical system. But in the absence of any other guiding hand, there is no doubt that economics helped shape the wider context in which doctors made decisions. Had we been at the Mayo Clinic — where doctors are salaried, medical records are electronically organized and care is coordinated by a single doctor — things might have turned out differently. But Middletown is part of the fee-for-service medical economy. Doctors peddle their wares on a piecework basis; communication among them is haphazard; thinking is often short term; nobody makes money when medical interventions are declined; and nobody is in charge except the marketplace.

And so on Jan. 2, 2003, at Middlesex Hospital, the surgeon implanted my father’s pacemaker using local anesthetic. Medicare paid him $461 and the hospital a flat fee of about $12,000, of which an estimated $7,500 went to St. Jude Medical, the maker of the device. The hernia was fixed a few days later.

It was a case study in what primary-care doctors have long bemoaned: that Medicare rewards doctors far better for doing procedures than for assessing whether they should be done at all. The incentives for overtreatment continue, said Dr. Ted Epperly, the board chairman of the American Academy of Family Physicians, because those who profit from them — specialists, hospitals, drug companies and the medical-device manufacturers — spend money lobbying Congress and the public to keep it that way.

Last year, doctors, hospitals, drug companies, medical-equipment manufacturers and other medical professionals spent $545 million on lobbying, according to the Center for Responsive Politics. This may help explain why researchers estimate that 20 to 30 percent of Medicare’s $510 billion budget goes for unnecessary tests and treatment. Why cost-containment received short shrift in health care reform. Why physicians like Fales net an average of $173,000 a year, while noninvasive cardiologists like Rogan net about $419,000.

The system rewarded nobody for saying “no” or even “wait” — not even my frugal, intelligent, Consumer-Reports-reading mother. Medicare and supplemental insurance covered almost every penny of my father’s pacemaker. My mother was given more government-mandated consumer information when she bought a new Camry a year later.

And so my father’s electronically managed heart — now requiring frequent monitoring, paid by Medicare — became part of the $24 billion worldwide cardiac-device industry and an indirect subsidizer of the fiscal health of American hospitals. The profit margins that manufacturers earn on cardiac devices is close to 30 percent. Cardiac procedures and diagnostics generate about 20 percent of hospital revenues and 30 percent of profits.

Shortly after New Year’s 2003, my mother belatedly called and told me about the operations, which went off without a hitch. She didn’t call earlier, she said, because she didn’t want to worry me. My heart sank, but I said nothing. It is one thing to silently hope that your beloved father’s heart might fail. It is another to actively abet his death.

The pacemaker bought my parents two years of limbo, two of purgatory and two of hell. At first they soldiered on, with my father no better and no worse. My mother reread Jon Kabat-Zinn’s “Full Catastrophe Living,” bought a self-help book on patience and rose each morning to meditate.

In 2005, the age-related degeneration that had slowed my father’s heart attacked his eyes, lungs, bladder and bowels. Clots as narrow as a single human hair lodged in tiny blood vessels in his brain, killing clusters of neurons by depriving them of oxygen. Long partly deaf, he began losing his sight to wet macular degeneration, requiring ocular injections that cost nearly $2,000 each. A few months later, he forgot his way home from the university pool. He grew incontinent. He was collapsing physically, like an ancient, shored-up house.

In the summer of 2006, he fell in the driveway and suffered a brain hemorrhage. Not long afterward, he spent a full weekend compulsively brushing and rebrushing his teeth. “The Jeff I married . . . is no longer the same person,” my mother wrote in the journal a social worker had suggested she keep. “My life is in ruins. This is horrible, and I have lasted for five years.” His pacemaker kept on ticking.

When bioethicists debate life-extending technologies, the effects on people like my mother rarely enter the calculus. But a 2007 Ohio State University study of the DNA of family caregivers of people with Alzheimer’s disease showed that the ends of their chromosomes, called telomeres, had degraded enough to reflect a four-to-eight-year shortening of lifespan. By that reckoning, every year that the pacemaker gave my irreparably damaged father took from my then-vigorous mother an equal year.

When my mother was upset, she meditated or cleaned house. When I was upset, I Googled. In 2006, I discovered that pacemakers could be deactivated without surgery. Nurses, doctors and even device salesmen had done so, usually at deathbeds. A white ceramic device, like a TV remote and shaped like the wands that children use to blow bubbles, could be placed around the hump on my father’s chest. Press a few buttons and the electrical pulses that ran down the leads to his heart would slow until they were no longer effective. My father’s heart, I learned, would probably not stop. It would just return to its old, slow rhythm. If he was lucky, he might suffer cardiac arrest and die within weeks, perhaps in his sleep. If he was unlucky, he might linger painfully for months while his lagging heart failed to suffuse his vital organs with sufficient oxygenated blood.

If we did nothing, his pacemaker would not stop for years. Like the tireless charmed brooms in Disney’s “Fantasia,” it would prompt my father’s heart to beat after he became too demented to speak, sit up or eat. It would keep his heart pulsing after he drew his last breath. If he was buried, it would send signals to his dead heart in the coffin. If he was cremated, it would have to be cut from his chest first, to prevent it from exploding and damaging the walls or hurting an attendant.

On the Internet, I discovered that the pacemaker — somewhat like the ventilator, defibrillator and feeding tube — was first an exotic, stopgap device, used to carry a handful of patients through a brief medical crisis. Then it morphed into a battery-powered, implantable and routine treatment. When Medicare approved the pacemaker for reimbursement in 1966, the market exploded. Today pacemakers are implanted annually in more than 400,000 Americans, about 80 percent of whom are over 65. According to calculations by the Dartmouth Atlas research group using Medicare data, nearly a fifth of new recipients who receive pacemakers annually — 76,000 — are over 80. The typical patient with a cardiac device today is an elderly person suffering from at least one other severe chronic illness.

Over the years, as technology has improved, the battery life of these devices lengthened. The list of heart conditions for which they are recommended has grown. In 1984, the treatment guidelines from the American College of Cardiology declared that pacemakers were strongly recommended as “indicated” or mildly approved as “reasonable” for 56 heart conditions and “not indicated” for 31 more. By 2008, the list for which they were strongly or mildly recommended expanded to 88, with most of the increase in the lukewarm “reasonable” category.

The research backing the expansion of diagnoses was weak. Over all, only 5 percent of the positive recommendations were supported by research from multiple double-blind randomized studies, the gold standard of evidence-based medicine. And 58 percent were based on no studies at all, only a “consensus of expert opinion.” Of the 17 cardiologists who wrote the 2008 guidelines, 11 received financing from cardiac-device makers or worked at institutions receiving it. Seven, due to the extent of their financial connections, were recused from voting on the guidelines they helped write.

This pattern — a paucity of scientific support and a plethora of industry connections — holds across almost all cardiac treatments, according to the cardiologist Pierluigi Tricoci of Duke University’s Clinical Research Institute. Last year in The Journal of the American Medical Association, Tricoci and his co-authors wrote that only 11 percent of 2,700 widely used cardiac-treatment guidelines were based on that gold standard. Most were based only on expert opinion.

Experts are as vulnerable to conflicts of interest as researchers are, the authors warned, because “expert clinicians are also those who are likely to receive honoraria, speakers bureau [fees], consulting fees or research support from industry.” They called the current cardiac-research agenda “strongly influenced by industry’s natural desire to introduce new products.”

Perhaps it’s no surprise that I also discovered others puzzling over cardiologists who recommended pacemakers for relatives with advanced dementia. “78-year-old mother-in-law has dementia; severe short-term memory issues,” read an Internet post by “soninlaw” on Elderhope.com, a caregivers’ site, in 2007. “On a routine trip to her cardiologist, doctor decides she needs a pacemaker. . . . Anyone have a similar encounter?”

By the summer of 2007, my dad had forgotten the purpose of a dinner napkin and had to be coached to remove his slippers before he tried to put on his shoes. After a lifetime of promoting my father’s health, my mother reversed course. On a routine visit, she asked Rogan to deactivate the pacemaker. “It was hard,” she later told me. “I was doing for Jeff what I would have wanted Jeff to do for me.” Rogan soon made it clear he was morally opposed. “It would have been like putting a pillow over your father’s head,” he later told me.

Not long afterward, my mother declined additional medical tests and refused to put my father on a new anti-dementia drug and a blood thinner with troublesome side effects. “I take responsibility for whatever,” she wrote in her journal that summer. “Enough of all this overkill! It’s killing me! Talk about quality of life — what about mine?”

Then came the autumn day when she asked for my help, and I said yes. I told myself that we were simply trying to undo a terrible medical mistake. I reminded myself that my dad had rejected a pacemaker when his faculties were intact. I imagined, as a bioethicist had suggested, having a 15-minute conversation with my independent, predementia father in which I saw him shaking his head in horror over any further extension of what was not a “life,” but a prolonged and attenuated dying. None of it helped. I knew that once he died, I would dream of him and miss his mute, loving smiles. I wanted to melt into the arms of the father I once had and ask him to handle this. Instead, I felt as if I were signing on as his executioner and that I had no choice.

Over the next five months, my mother and I learned many things. We were told, by the Hemlock Society’s successor, Compassion and Choices, that as my father’s medical proxy, my mother had the legal right to ask for the withdrawal of any treatment and that the pacemaker was, in theory at least, a form of medical treatment. We learned that although my father’s living will requested no life support if he were comatose or dying, it said nothing about dementia and did not define a pacemaker as life support. We learned that if we called 911, emergency medical technicians would not honor my father’s do-not-resuscitate order unless he wore a state-issued orange hospital bracelet. We also learned that no cardiology association had given its members clear guidance on when, or whether, deactivating pacemakers was ethical.

(Last month that changed. The Heart Rhythm Society and the American Heart Association issued guidelines declaring that patients or their legal surrogates have the moral and legal right to request the withdrawal of any medical treatment, including an implanted cardiac device. It said that deactivating a pacemaker was neither euthanasia nor assisted suicide, and that a doctor could not be compelled to do so in violation of his moral values. In such cases, it continued, doctors “cannot abandon the patient but should involve a colleague who is willing to carry out the procedure.” This came, of course, too late for us.)

In the spring of 2008, things got even worse. My father took to roaring like a lion at his caregivers. At home in California, I searched the Internet for a sympathetic cardiologist and a caregiver to put my Dad to bed at night. My frayed mother began to shout at him, and their nighttime scenes were heartbreaking and frightening. An Alzheimer’s Association support-group leader suggested that my brothers and I fly out together and institutionalize my father. This leader did not know my mother’s formidable will and had never heard her speak about her wedding vows or her love.

Meanwhile my father drifted into what nurses call “the dwindles”: not sick enough to qualify for hospice care, but sick enough to never get better. He fell repeatedly at night and my mother could not pick him up. Finally, he was weak enough to qualify for palliative care, and a team of nurses and social workers visited the house. His chest grew wheezy. My mother did not request antibiotics. In mid-April 2008, he was taken by ambulance to Middlesex Hospital’s hospice wing, suffering from pneumonia.

Pneumonia was once called “the old man’s friend” for its promise of an easy death. That’s not what I saw when I flew in. On morphine, unreachable, his eyes shut, my beloved father was breathing as hard and regularly as a machine.

My mother sat holding his hand, weeping and begging for forgiveness for her impatience. She sat by him in agony. She beseeched his doctors and nurses to increase his morphine dose and to turn off the pacemaker. It was a weekend, and the doctor on call at Rogan’s cardiology practice refused authorization, saying that my father “might die immediately.” And so came five days of hard labor. My mother and I stayed by him in shifts, while his breathing became increasingly ragged and his feet slowly started to turn blue. I began drafting an appeal to the hospital ethics committee. My brothers flew in.

On a Tuesday afternoon, with my mother at his side, my father stopped breathing. A hospice nurse hung a blue light on the outside of his hospital door. Inside his chest, his pacemaker was still quietly pulsing.

After his memorial service in the Wesleyan University chapel, I carried a box from the crematory into the woods of an old convent where he and I often walked. It was late April, overcast and cold. By the side of a stream, I opened the box, scooped out a handful of ashes and threw them into the swirling water. There were some curious spiraled metal wires, perhaps the leads of his pacemaker, mixed with the white dust and pieces of bone.

A year later, I took my mother to meet a heart surgeon in a windowless treatment room at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston. She was 84, with two leaking heart valves. Her cardiologist had recommended open-heart surgery, and I was hoping to find a less invasive approach. When the surgeon asked us why we were there, my mother said, “To ask questions.” She was no longer a trusting and deferential patient. Like me, she no longer saw doctors — perhaps with the exception of Fales — as healers or her fiduciaries. They were now skilled technicians with their own agendas. But I couldn’t help feeling that something precious — our old faith in a doctor’s calling, perhaps, or in a healing that is more than a financial transaction or a reflexive fixing of broken parts — had been lost.

The surgeon was forthright: without open-heart surgery, there was a 50-50 chance my mother would die within two years. If she survived the operation, she would probably live to be 90. And the risks? He shrugged. Months of recovery. A 5 percent chance of stroke. Some possibility, he acknowledged at my prompting, of postoperative cognitive decline. (More than half of heart-bypass patients suffer at least a 20 percent reduction in mental function.) My mother lifted her trouser leg to reveal an anklet of orange plastic: her do-not-resuscitate bracelet. The doctor recoiled. No, he would not operate with that bracelet in place. It would not be fair to his team. She would be revived if she collapsed. “If I have a stroke,” my mother said, nearly in tears, “I want you to let me go.” What about a minor stroke, he said — a little weakness on one side?

I kept my mouth shut. I was there to get her the information she needed and to support whatever decision she made. If she emerged from surgery intellectually damaged, I would bring her to a nursing home in California and try to care for her the way she had cared for my father at such cost to her own health. The thought terrified me.

The doctor sent her up a floor for an echocardiogram. A half-hour later, my mother came back to the waiting room and put on her black coat. “No,” she said brightly, with the clarity of purpose she had shown when she asked me to have the pacemaker deactivated. “I will not do it.”

She spent the spring and summer arranging house repairs, thinning out my father’s bookcases and throwing out the files he collected so lovingly for the book he never finished writing. She told someone that she didn’t want to leave a mess for her kids. Her chest pain worsened, and her breathlessness grew severe. “I’m aching to garden,” she wrote in her journal. “But so it goes. ACCEPT ACCEPT ACCEPT.”

Last August, she had a heart attack and returned home under hospice care. One evening a month later, another heart attack. One of my brothers followed her ambulance to the hospice wing where we had sat for days by my father’s bed. The next morning, she took off her silver earrings and told the nurses she wanted to stop eating and drinking, that she wanted to die and never go home. Death came to her an hour later, while my brother was on the phone to me in California — almost as mercifully as it had come to my paternal grandfather. She was continent and lucid to her end.

A week later, at the same crematory near Long Island Sound, my brothers and I watched through a plate-glass window as a cardboard box containing her body, dressed in a scarlet silk ao dai she had sewn herself, slid into the flames. The next day, the undertaker delivered a plastic box to the house where, for 45 of their 61 years together, my parents had loved and looked after each other, humanly and imperfectly. There were no bits of metal mixed with the fine white powder and the small pieces of her bones.

Katy Butler lives in Mill Valley, Calif., and teaches memoir writing at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur.

A relative of mine owns a small business, and recognizes that an increase in purchasing power in the bottom 90% of Americans would drive more purchasing in the US, and more buying would drive more investment by him in terms of labor and non-liquid assets in his business. However a bit of cognitive dissonance leads him to "feel" that increasing taxes on large corporations and the very wealthy to lock in lower taxes on the middle class is not 'leveling the playing field', and "feels wrong".

Basically he optimistically feels that he may one day be in the top 1% of earners, and this weird selfishness that he may one day be incredibly wealthy and thus affected by a higher tax burden is leading him to vote against his own goddamn interest. This, and he "feels" that once taxes have been raised on the wealthy, there will be blood in the water and it will eventually slide down to those making $~100k. Its hard to argue with feelings about the future.


>> ^TheFreak:

Thank you QM for that thoughtful reply.
It just seems that the imbalance right now is in demand, not the availability of capitol to invest.

This is a really weird juxtaposition -- Andrew Napolitano engaging in one of his usual right-wing fearmongering rants about the evils of "government", played over protesters getting the shit beaten out of them for protesting...spending cuts to government programs.

This is the kind of video blankfist would post, and then leave me a personal comment saying something about how this video demonstrates that all of my political beliefs are wrong, when all it really demonstrates is the level of cognitive dissonance inherent in the entire conservative worldview.

If you let the concept of cutting government budgets get conflated with the idea of protecting your rights as an individual, then your perceptions have become so skewed you're no longer able to make rational sense out of the world you live in.

But then, I guess modern conservatives don't really believe in individual rights anymore. Not really.

Well... not really.

First off, this isn't a specifically religious line of argument. Sure, the philosophers that he's quoting are indeed well known Christian philosophers. But one doesn't need to be Christian, or to be religious, or even broadly theistic in order to recognize the strength of some arguments for dualism.

So let's start with QualiaSoup's repeated comments about what would constitute a coherent account of dualism. His constant question is what an account of dualism would even look like without a physical account. For example, "How would an agent with no physical manifestation differ from no agent at all?"But this borders on circularity--if the only kind of coherent account that exists is a physical account, then there clearly cannot be a coherent account of dualism. Which is to say that QualiaSoup appears to be rejecting dualist accounts because they are dualist. Which is circular reasoning. If QualiaSoup wishes to advance such an objection, then it demonstrates nothing but the state of his beliefs about dualism, and says nothing about the truth or falsehood of the substance dualist theory of mind.


Moreover, he consistently conflates consciousness with cognition. Cognition pertains to the processing of data. An entity that is not conscious could certainly go through processes we would recognize as cognitive. Consciousness pertains to the awareness or the internal experience of, among other things, the objects of cognition. Even if cognition were largely handled by a physical brain, one could still assert a non-physical consciousness without any contradictions.

QualiaSoup does not seem to realize that substance dualism all but requires that damage to the brain result in bizarre functioning. One of the most consistent elements of dualist theories since the 17th century has been an understanding that the mind and the brain have causal relationships with each other. Pointing out the bizarre effects of brain damage on mental functioning no more disproves dualism than pointing out that drinking too much alcohol gets you drunk--the dualist already understands that these kinds of relationships must hold, and there are already the broad outlines of an account in place in dualism.

In his discussions of Swinburne's modal argument for dualism, QualiaSoup fundamentally misunderstands possibility and "apparent conceivability." Let's quote from the revised edition of Swinburne's Evolution of the Soul:

"The only arguments which can be given to show some supposition to be logically possible are arguments which spell it out, which tell in detail a story of what it would be like for it to be true and do not seem to involve any contradictions, i.e. arguments from apparent conceivability. Apparent conceivability
is evidence (though not of course conclusive evidence) of logical possibility." (pp. 324-325)

QualiaSoup's objection is clearly a straw-man argument when you look at the full passage. The counter-example of the time-traveler fails the "apparent conceivability" test immediately because it involves an obvious contradiction. Which is to say that, by Swinburne's definition, QS's example is NOT apparently conceivable. Moreover, QualiaSoup clearly misunderstands the notion of "logical possibility." A statement can be logically possible without being physically possible. It is logically possible that the moon is made out of cheese--there are no logical contradictions that would follow--despite its being a physical impossibility. Swinburne's argument has nothing to do with physical possibility--only logical possibility.

tl;dr
QualiaSoup needs to take some more philosophy classes. Philosophy is totally badass.

>> ^hpqp:

Once again QualiaSoup delivers a quality take-down of religious sophistry.

Good luck to you! Hope that does good things for you =).

>> ^criticalthud:

>> ^draak13:
Apologies for the fiery comment earlier; I do prefer an actual discussion as you're marching on with. No beef against physicists, either...I'm an electical/biomedical engineer turned analytical chemist/physicist =).
Sorry to hear about your scoliosis. Apart from a shoulder issue, I don't really have too much that separates me from ideal at this point. Nonetheless, as humans, the good many of us fall within the portion of the distribution that this stuff matters. This is clearly indicated by her results, which are supported by the foundations of countless other experiments many learn about even in introductory psychology courses.
Your comment about us choosing to act differently from our body language is extremely valid on all levels of neurophysiology. For example, a person can lift their arm, or a person can imagine lifting their arm while keeping it still. In both cases, the primary motor cortex lights up the same way, though in the case where the person keep their arm still, the signal is inhibited further down the pathway. That's an example rooted in the old brain, and there are certainly examples within the higher level cognitive portions of the brain. Smiling makes us feel happy, and we often feel happier simply by smiling, but we can choose to be happy while not smiling, or choose to be sad while smiling.
In this case, what was described was a method in which we can bring out dominant behaviors in ourselves through our body language feedback. For those who are do not have a naturally dominant personality, this is an excellent way to step into the shoes of a slightly more dominant self. Continuing with your comment, her 'make it until you become it' conclusion is very much a person choosing to act in a more dominant way, without the need for the postures to make it so. Once those neural pathways are better understood within ourselves, it's much easier to call upon them and make that conscious decision as necessary. Until then, many less dominant people have an easily accessible means to explore themselves with a slightly more dominant attitude.
>> ^criticalthud:
i grew up with a pretty gnarly scoliosis. Body language that wasn't strained or uncomfortable was nearly impossible.
Most of us have distortion in our spines that effects who we are, how we move, and how we present. Perhaps you do not, but ignoring the physical realities of the species to pretend that how we are perceived is mostly a conscious choice, is understating the matter.

and sorry if i came off as a snot.
as to the vid, honestly i find a presentation of "ease" in a person to be the most attractive, rather than dominance.
as for the scoliosis, been working hard at it for 12 yrs and we're over some big practical hurdles. By understanding neurology this way (in terms of pressure and compression), we're quickly gaining on being able to dynamically change the spine.
to explain, in short:
i imagine you are familiar with thoracic outlet syndrome? - basically a compression of the brachial plexus at the clavicle and rib 1, which results in an interruption and weakening of the nervous signal, weakness in the hand, pain etc. To solve it, doctors cut a hole for it. From that, we can take an understanding that compression of neurology is a fairly bad thing.
But if you look at the main branches of neurology, what you'll note is that the nervous system at some point in the body always runs through a bone space (interosseous space). Between vertebrae, between ribs, etc. Over time and trauma these spaces compress, resulting in variances in compression all throughout the body, thus varying neurological feed all throughout the body. The neurological system is a fluid system. As you vary compression, you vary the pressure within the fluid system. These variances in pressure and fluid transfer start dictating our tendencies. How we move, how we look, who we are.
anyway, here's some of it
www.ncrtheory.org
so far, the practical end (manual therapy) is proving the theoretical. I'm just balancing neurological space. pretty unbelievable. today is a big day. wish me luck.

>> ^draak13:

Apologies for the fiery comment earlier; I do prefer an actual discussion as you're marching on with. No beef against physicists, either...I'm an electical/biomedical engineer turned analytical chemist/physicist =).
Sorry to hear about your scoliosis. Apart from a shoulder issue, I don't really have too much that separates me from ideal at this point. Nonetheless, as humans, the good many of us fall within the portion of the distribution that this stuff matters. This is clearly indicated by her results, which are supported by the foundations of countless other experiments many learn about even in introductory psychology courses.
Your comment about us choosing to act differently from our body language is extremely valid on all levels of neurophysiology. For example, a person can lift their arm, or a person can imagine lifting their arm while keeping it still. In both cases, the primary motor cortex lights up the same way, though in the case where the person keep their arm still, the signal is inhibited further down the pathway. That's an example rooted in the old brain, and there are certainly examples within the higher level cognitive portions of the brain. Smiling makes us feel happy, and we often feel happier simply by smiling, but we can choose to be happy while not smiling, or choose to be sad while smiling.
In this case, what was described was a method in which we can bring out dominant behaviors in ourselves through our body language feedback. For those who are do not have a naturally dominant personality, this is an excellent way to step into the shoes of a slightly more dominant self. Continuing with your comment, her 'make it until you become it' conclusion is very much a person choosing to act in a more dominant way, without the need for the postures to make it so. Once those neural pathways are better understood within ourselves, it's much easier to call upon them and make that conscious decision as necessary. Until then, many less dominant people have an easily accessible means to explore themselves with a slightly more dominant attitude.
>> ^criticalthud:
i grew up with a pretty gnarly scoliosis. Body language that wasn't strained or uncomfortable was nearly impossible.
Most of us have distortion in our spines that effects who we are, how we move, and how we present. Perhaps you do not, but ignoring the physical realities of the species to pretend that how we are perceived is mostly a conscious choice, is understating the matter.


and sorry if i came off as a snot.
as to the vid, honestly i find a presentation of "ease" in a person to be the most attractive, rather than dominance.
as for the scoliosis, been working hard at it for 12 yrs and we're over some big practical hurdles. By understanding neurology this way (in terms of pressure and compression), we're quickly gaining on being able to dynamically change the spine.
to explain, in short:
i imagine you are familiar with thoracic outlet syndrome? - basically a compression of the brachial plexus at the clavicle and rib 1, which results in an interruption and weakening of the nervous signal, weakness in the hand, pain etc. To solve it, doctors cut a hole for it. From that, we can take an understanding that compression of neurology is a fairly bad thing.

But if you look at the main branches of neurology, what you'll note is that the nervous system at some point in the body always runs through a bone space (interosseous space). Between vertebrae, between ribs, etc. Over time and trauma these spaces compress, resulting in variances in compression all throughout the body, thus varying neurological feed all throughout the body. The neurological system is a fluid system. As you vary compression, you vary the pressure within the fluid system. These variances in pressure and fluid transfer start dictating our tendencies. How we move, how we look, who we are.
anyway, here's some of it
www.ncrtheory.org
so far, the practical end (manual therapy) is proving the theoretical. I'm just balancing neurological space. pretty unbelievable. today is a big day. wish me luck.

Apologies for the fiery comment earlier; I do prefer an actual discussion as you're marching on with. No beef against physicists, either...I'm an electical/biomedical engineer turned analytical chemist/physicist =).

Sorry to hear about your scoliosis. Apart from a shoulder issue, I don't really have too much that separates me from ideal at this point. Nonetheless, as humans, the good many of us fall within the portion of the distribution that this stuff matters. This is clearly indicated by her results, which are supported by the foundations of countless other experiments many learn about even in introductory psychology courses.

Your comment about us choosing to act differently from our body language is extremely valid on all levels of neurophysiology. For example, a person can lift their arm, or a person can imagine lifting their arm while keeping it still. In both cases, the primary motor cortex lights up the same way, though in the case where the person keep their arm still, the signal is inhibited further down the pathway. That's an example rooted in the old brain, and there are certainly examples within the higher level cognitive portions of the brain. Smiling makes us feel happy, and we often feel happier simply by smiling, but we can choose to be happy while not smiling, or choose to be sad while smiling.

In this case, what was described was a method in which we can bring out dominant behaviors in ourselves through our body language feedback. For those who are do not have a naturally dominant personality, this is an excellent way to step into the shoes of a slightly more dominant self. Continuing with your comment, her 'make it until you become it' conclusion is very much a person choosing to act in a more dominant way, without the need for the postures to make it so. Once those neural pathways are better understood within ourselves, it's much easier to call upon them and make that conscious decision as necessary. Until then, many less dominant people have an easily accessible means to explore themselves with a slightly more dominant attitude.

>> ^criticalthud:

i grew up with a pretty gnarly scoliosis. Body language that wasn't strained or uncomfortable was nearly impossible.
Most of us have distortion in our spines that effects who we are, how we move, and how we present. Perhaps you do not, but ignoring the physical realities of the species to pretend that how we are perceived is mostly a conscious choice, is understating the matter.

@shinyblurry

The facts are simple: the existence of God explains everything that you feel about wanting to do good, and the love that you have for people and life, and your atheism denies it. Yet you embrace what is contrary to your own experience.

AND from farther down

… your atheistic presuppositions about reality. You say no one has come back but one man has, but of course you dismiss the account as fantasy (again because of your atheistic presuppositions).

Those aren't facts though. Those are your opinions and conjectures. Your theory of God may explain a greater number of things around me than science, but it also raises more questions than it answers, which makes it a horrible theory. "My atheism" doesn't exist as a concept. I don't subscribe to any belief about Gods any more than a monkey does. Are monkeys atheistic? I'm like a monkey. I have no "-ism" that "denies" anything. I happen to lack belief in any supernatural deity. *This lack of belief defines my atheism, rather than atheism defining my lack of beliefs.* I can't believe you still don't understand my position (or lack thereof). I have no idea what you mean by embrace. Nothing about my experience with "meaningfulness" requires me to believe in any gods, particularly not Yahweh.

So if it makes you feel good its okay to be a slave? You don't mind being enslaved to a mindless irrational process because you get rewarded for it like a rat activating a feeder?

Chemicals in my brain cause me to feel hunger and crave food. I follow them because doing so makes me feel good. I don't consider myself weak for being driven by those chemicals in my brain. To really feel like a slave, I'd have to be compelled to follow the commands of a sentient being, like a plantation owner with a whip, or a god of love threatening me with eternal torture, for instance, not chemicals in my own brain. Can there be shame in being a slave to yourself?

So I will modify this and say that you're living like a theist does but denying it with your atheism.

You changed one word, but missed the point of mine, so I've changed the same word: So I would turn it around and say instead that it's Christians *theists* who go about their lives living like normal humans, but thinking they're being good because their religion tells them to.

Now what?

Therefore what you're talking about is a herd morality.

Yep. Pretty much.

The entire point of my example was to show that if we simply have a herd morality where the majority tells us what is good and evil, then if the majority ever said child rape is good it would be.

If your whole final end goal is to prove your child rape hypothetical is internally consistent, and not to extend it into the real world, then yep, that's logically quite true. However, if you want to use it make any point about proving my beliefs to be somehow wrong, then you'll have to give me reason to believe it could ever possibly happen in a sustainable way.

My point was that we all come pre-programmed with a need for worship, which you apparently agree with. That is what is natural to us … It is actually more natural for us to rebel against God because of our corrupt nature.

Are we programmed to worship, or to rebel against God? Which is it? I propose that we're genetically designed to do exactly what makes us happy. Being good to others makes us (non-psychos) happy. Worship also makes many of us happy. Cognitive dissonance does not. I don't believe in any god, so I can't possibly worship one with a straight face. That would be cognitively dissonant and make me unhappy. I see no need to introduce the concept of "corruption".

The sense we agreed upon and have been discussing is that that life without God is meaningless … Therefore the meaning you derive from your feelings is only an illusion created by chemical reactions in your brain.

All cognition, from self-awareness, to thought, to the senses, to desires, to emotions, to numinous experiences, all of it is 100% chemical reactions. It's only fair to call my conscience an "illusion" if I also consider everything else that I perceive to be an illusion created by the chemicals in my mind. My feelings are as subjectively real as my senses.

There are other causes of depression but you see my point. Hope is the solution to depression.

That can be true. It's human nature to want to worship, and worshipping something can give hope. So for some people, if they can convince themselves to believe it, worshipping a god can lift them out of depression.

On what basis do you say your belief is more likely?

Occam's razor.

You say there is no reason to speculate (ever); now that is an interesting statement from someone who believes in open inquiry. What you've said is actually the death of inquiry. And let's be clear about this; you have speculated.

If there's no way to establish the truth of something, then there's no sense in trying to do so. There are no reliable records of the afterlife, so hoping to reach a conclusion is a vain pursuit. You can imagine hypotheticals, but you can't give any rationale for preferring one over another. Except by Occam's razor. What you consider "speculation" is just me saying, "nothing disproves anything about the afterlife".

Of course anything is possible when you summon your magic genie of evolution. "Time itself performs the miracles for you."

It's scientific fact, not mine, not anyone's. It's yours too, if you want it. You just have to go and learn about it from an unbiased source, not from uninformed people with pre-conceived ideas about what it is and isn't.

So no one is really bad?

In the relative non-objective morality sense, no, nobody is inherently bad or "evil" apart from our judgement of their actions. We often call people "bad", but that's just shorthand for what I said, or for having difficulty accepting that another person can do something so contrary to our concept of good.

Well, I'm fairly sure you've told me before that you hate the idea of God telling you what to do.

True, I would resent anybody giving me free will, then giving me a choice of doing what they say or accepting the worst conceivable torture for eternity. Did I misunderstand something?

[me:]Does the bible that say that rape is wrong? Does it say you cannot marry a child?

[you:]I've covered this above, but I will also add that if we had evolved differently, then in your worldview, all of this would be moot. We are only in this particular configuration because of circumstance, and not design. It could just as easily be 1000 different other ways. There could easily be scenarios where we evolved to exploit children instead of nuture them.

For a species to evolve to exploit children rather than nurture them is nearly impossible. That gene would get weeded out of the gene pool very quickly. Maybe I'm missing your point, and what you're really trying to say is that according to me, human feelings about right and wrong are, at their essence, random, because humans could have developed different feelings about right and wrong. I agree.

Back to my question: Does the Bible say that rape is wrong? Does it say that you cannot marry a child? To save time, could you point me to a neat summary of all the biblical rules that still stand? The Commandments were given in the Old Testament. I thought that law was struck down and there was a new covenant now, no? No sex before marriage is one, I'm assuming. Do you have to attend mass on Sundays? What are the others? I'm surprised to hear that you don't think the Bible suggests any position on condom usage. Is that just a Catholic hang-up then?

[me:]In both cases, you didn't address my point. 1) I'm stating that Yahweh's laws are far, far more complex than secular morality. You countered that Yahweh's laws were as simple as Jesus' two rules.

[you:]Romans 13:9-10

I agree that the rules in that verse are clearly derived from "love your neighbour", except maybe coveting, but that's not the point. Once I see the summary of biblical edicts, I'm sure I'll be able to point out that "Love your neighbour" isn't enough, that there are rules you would only follow because they're stated in the Bible, not because they obviously flow from the concept of neighbourly love.

So, when we think about doing unto others, we would think about it in the context of how Jesus taught us to behave.

So you're saying that we have to adjust our conscience first to align with the Bible, and then follow it. I'm saying we can just follow it according to what is bad for people.

abortion statistics

Good point. Foetal rights/women's rights is the moral debate of our times, IMO, maybe of all history. I haven't found any solid position on that issue. I've thought a lot about it, but this isn't the place to debate it. Suffice it to say I don't see abortion as a good thing, but not equal to infanticide either.

So your answer is yes? You think that without religion, society may decide torturing babies is good because it decided that killing Jews was good?

Yes, I think an entire society could end up agreeing on something that depraved, just like the ancient Greek society approved of paedophilia.

You know Germans were 94% Christian during WWII, right? And that the Greeks had those relations consensually? I'm against legalizing sex with children because it would be abused and children would be victimized, not because I think it's impossible for a child to enjoy and benefit from sex. I did it when I was underage and it was nothing but good.

You also act as if I am trying to defend all religion, which I'm not.

The thing is, you regularly invoke the 85% of humans who are theist when having a large number bolsters your argument, yet you disassociate yourself from most of them when their behaviour weakens your argument. I can never tell who you're talking about. Clearly identify the people you're talking about at all times, and we won't have this problem.

In any case, there are many examples of non-believing societies doing sick and depraved things to their populations.

And many Christian societies too, but I'm sure you'll disassociate yourselves from *those* Christians.

Tortured for Christ

According to Jesus, the Romanian government was appointed by God, so those Christians must have been doing something wrong, perhaps rebelling:

Romans 13:1-5

Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. 2 Consequently, whoever rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves. 3 For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and you will be commended.

That passage, BTW, makes my stomach turn for all the people (Christian or otherwise) who have been tortured and killed at the hands of immoral rulers. And Jesus says might makes right. Go Jesus go. Prick.

[you:]… logic, rationality, morality, uniformity in nature …

[me:]You're slipping back into solipsism. We agreed not to go there. I'm not going to answer any of those things.

[you:]Now you're just trying to duck the issue, and perhaps you don't understand what solipsism is, because this is not solipsism. Solipsism is the belief that only your mind is sure to exist.

What I am talking about is right in line with the video. Without God you don't have any ultimate justification not just for any kind of value, but even for your own reasoning. It is a direct implication of a meaningless existence. This is what I mean about a justifies b justifies c justifies d into infinity. You have nowhere to stake a claim which can justify anything which you experience, or even your own rationality. If you feel you do, please demonstrate why you believe your reasoning is actually valid.

Then you've entirely missed the point of me making those rules back at Qualiasoup v. Craig.

We agreed not to question the validity of our senses. If I can trust my senses, then I am self-aware. I must assume I'm a rational agent, since it was my own rational awareness that defined my self. If I'm a rational agent, then I can trust logic, which Craig tells us in the same video is a rational thing to do.

If your whole argument is, "a god must exist for you to be able to use logic" then I put it to you to show me logically (and not tautologically) why that must be true. To me, there's no connection.

I still don't see the infinite regression. Give me a real example of it in the form a justifies b which justifies c....

Also, what's "uniformity in nature" and when do I ever appeal to it?