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.
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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.

Evidence for its existence would have to be logically derived, because it is by nature not physically provable. This is similar to how our mathematical models are the new tools of science because we no longer have the proper sense to make since of the world. In that same way, having physical evidence of something non-physical isn't giving dualism its proper shake. At a certain point in epistemology, you run out of ways to "show" things empirically. Investigation can only be in the realm of thought and logical deduction and as a result will provide the range of possibilities instead of the actual details, this is the proper setting for dualism...a logical possibility that would resist any internal investigation.

He swindles us a bit on the thinking computer bit, because it still doesn't address that main problem of thinking not being representing in pure physical interactions. Atoms bouncing around doesn't always cause thinking, so what is thinking if it can't be explained by sets of atoms bouncing around? How do disjointed sets of brain activations result in a single consciousness? This kind of spooky "thinking at a distance" effect is still one of the more baffling parts of the mind and where thinking arises. If this spooky thinking at a distance is happening, why is it limited to just the spooky motion of neurons within your own brain, why not the motion of atoms in the sun? If your brain can be thinking and disjointed, what is thinking...or more importantly...where is thinking happening!?

It also doesn't explain if thinking is a result of brains like we have them. Could a machine ever be made to think? What is thinking? Computers process information in a very similar respect to our own, but they aren't thinking when they are, are they? I don't think so! A study on how humans think isn't a study on thinking itself, just a kind of thinking...if other things than brains can think and there isn't a really good way to probe thinking itself because you are always going to be thinking like a human and not thinking like all the possible types of thinking that could exist. He makes this exact point with robotic technology advancing, we don't understand the limit of physical reality to know the limits of this end. To that end, you can't EVER know ALL the physical properties via empirical investigation so you can never know the ends of robotic technology, and perhaps the same could be said of thinking, you never will know if there isn't another way that thoughts could be formed with a physical understanding any more than you could with a duelist. Logical investigation can give you the range, just not the specificity he demands of dualism, and the same goes for materialism.

What are you going to do with the rest of the melted gold? Thatt was a really odd tangent, about the medals, and the gold. I don't really get it. The chimp makes more sense.
>> ^Lolthien:

>> ^budzos:
Honestly.. the wide-spread perception of this video is an illustration of why it's impossible to reason with some people. Almost all people are seriously prone to attach non-existent narrative to completely neutral events when it suits their agenda.

Good thing you're here to show us the error of our ways. After all, our complete unfamiliarity with primate behavior is no excuse to believe what the title of the video, and the people in the video suggest. We should all take up a collection, and purchase a medal. Then melt down that metal and each of us should drop a single drip of molten gold into our pitiful eyesockets and hope that the gold reaches our brains and somehow fuses with our neurons and makes us as perceptive as you. The only other possibility is death, and that is much preferable to remaining as stupid as well all are.
Thank you sir, thank you for showing me the error of my ways.

My faith in the American (republican) people from this point on will forever be tarnished beyond repair.
(last straw factor)

Those that are not Republicans, I sympathies with your malaise and lack of fight to expel this monolith of tyranny that strives to push the average man down and subjugate you for their own benefit. I urge you to rise up and fight that power that enslaves you, laughs at you and sucks you dry.

You are the only ones who can rise up against this virus of humanity that has taken hold. It's your rights, your country. If you want to be a patriot, then fight for your country. Fight from within and fight to cleanse your own system before looking outside your borders for a fight.

You owe it to yourselves - you own it to all of us.

Edit: Sorry to have ranted - the neurons fired and I just went with it.

>> ^VoodooV:

gee, shiny resorts to harassment? color me shocked!
I'm sorry, but ill say it again, people like shiny need to be kicked out of here. It has nothing to do with conservatism or religion, these people simply don't contribute to civil discourse. I know plenty of conservative/religious people who are capable of engaging in civil debate and discourse, Shiny or QM, and others aren't among these people
They drop their talking points and move on to the next sift. That's not debate, that's not discourse. And you certainly can't have rational discussions with someone who no matter what, thinks you need to be saved and doesn't view you as an equal human being and him and his god are always correct and you're always wrong. It's not conducive to rational discussion and quite frankly, it's simply not healthy, period.
And yes, it is trolling.
Remember that even though they seem to be an endangered species, there are actual rational right wingers out there. You may disagree with them, but they can actually debate civilly without regurgitating Fox News or Theistic propaganda.


This is such an old response and thread, but I thought I'd say it anyway as I really want it said in here.

I've met, actually, a great many people that are very set in their theistic mindset, but like you said they also don't think I'm going to burn in a pit of fire come the end of time; in fact quite a few of them would be morally outraged if such a thing occurred--as they literally know, like me, that the difference between believing in God and not, is merely a thought away (or you could say, one neuron connection/pathway away).

There are a few that believe in fire and brimstone type things, but they only--typically--reserve it for the greatest of crimes (like an Adolf Hitler or Pol Pot). Even fewer still that believe that there is a harsh judgment remaining for a lot of people, but they tend to believe that there is a way to "return" or to repent there--in the "lake of fire" and come back a new person.

BUT, the ones that think there IS a hell, absolute and horrifying in all it's glory, these are ALSO the very same people that cannot have a rational discussion with you. It's very strange. It's as though their ability to actively decide whether actions in play are moral or not are by definition an unanswerable question until they have been told by someone ELSE what that answer is: either the Bible, other religious members, or talk show hosts, and you get my picture. THESE are the dangerous people.

It reminds me of the story in the Old Testament, in Numbers 15:32-36 (for those that wish to read it). Now I know many *newer* religions, get around this stuff by saying they use the New Testament (it has it's fun stuff too, but for now, let's just do this one) due to Christ's Salvation and his, yada yada yada yada yada--I heard this for a long time myself as a Mormon and in some Catholic services I went to.

This guy collects what is essentially firewood on the Sabbath (this was back in the day when not having a fire active in your house/hut/tent/whatever at night could literally mean death--in case you've never been out camping/hiking, fires are VERY important and are a DAMNED LUXURY with our matches, steel wool, sleeping bags made to hold in heat, and other items that make a night in the wilderness go by--gently and one could say comfortably fun).

Instead of just collecting this firewood, making a meal and going to bed, this guy gets caught for working on the Sabbath and is taken to Moses and Aaron. So we all know what that little commandment this is, the one EVERYONE disobeys now (It goes by either of these two definitions and there are more versions--trust me: Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. -OR- Keep the sabbath day to sanctify it, as the LORD thy God hath commanded thee.). So God buzzes Moses on the iGodphone™ and tells Moses the bad news, or well the good news and the bad news. The bad news is that "unnamed villager" will be taken outside the encampment, with what sounds like most of the people and then stoned to death. The good news, is they get to stone someone (sorry, but back then and with the regularity of which stoning happened I really think people enjoyed it when these edicts came on down...)!

SO, I've seen this tale said many a time and I CANNOT believe the amount of heads I see move up and down while this is repeated. They LITERALLY agree with cold-blooded murder in the first-degree, for GATHERING FIREWOOD!!! In the damned ages BEFORE the Dark Ages-life SUCKED! You NEEDED FIRE!!! It wasn't a question of maybe I'll skip it tonight it was a matter of when do I start it up--every night! So you can see why people like this can be dangerous as someone from on high that they think is their leader gives them what essentially is a crime, they don't think to long about it--they act, and carry out whatever truly horrifying act it was.

This has been abused by many Cult leaders, like the "Alien Comet riders" or also known as Heaven's Gate in California or something even MORE horrifying like Jonestown (something that was horrific--there are some GREAT documentaries on this to watch,; I suggest looking for them) or something semi-recent like (straight from wiki), "The 778 deaths of members of the Ugandan group Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments of God, on March 17, 2000, is considered to be a mass murder and suicide orchestrated by leaders of the group.", so you can see while large religions don't do these WILD events they DO slowly in fact do smaller and incrementally increase their crimes.

You might ask what crimes, but it is literally crimes that we can point to that are AGAINST the VERY FABRIC of your own teachings. Use the Golden Rule in your life and get rid of the authority driven craziness, it will only lead you to sadness, if you're a zealot--fight it within yourself.
--------

So, anyway, what I'm saying is that I very much agree that there ARE many people that are theistic believers (not just Christan ones mind you) that are GREAT to talk to and many times you don't even have to argue with them you can have laid back conversations with them--it's amazing who you run into.

BUT, for the people I mentioned they are nearly lost causes. I don't know exactly what their problem is but it does have something to do with the fact that they MUST be told a "truth" by a "high-ranking-official" for them to change a stance. They are TRUE believers, ZEALOTS to their cause and dangerous.

A little bit the same as you said @VoodooV, but I thought I'd add a few more nails into that coffin.

FEAR.

It is amazing to me how undeniable in every-way if you systematically take apart his masterpiece of nothing and throw it into tiered columns and subject matters via science and psychology, setup a little like a tree you will always find that the source component of everything you've just heard is FEAR. It is the literal trunk of the tree with the neurons and chemical impulses that make us being the roots. Everything above the trunk in the canopy is DRIVEN by that fear meaning that if it happens to be a large amount of information then you MAY NEED TO discredit it.

Everything this man has ever said may be a result of fear, we don't know for sure, but in this situation EVERYTHING was. But, if you look at his other shows or speeches I bet he has a lot of anger driven (anger is fear, BTW) pieces, but they probably all come from one source and that is FEAR.

This is why so many religion speakers and believers fail. They don't understand themselves. They don't do enough self-introspection except to get past the front door. If you kept looking you TOO would also realize the same things scientists say, these things all stem from one primary system in our body: the fight or flight basically. For many of us WE ARE fighting, but oh so many are just running--trampling and killing anything in their path in irrational escape to nowhere, nowhere.

Samwise lives in your neurons; your physical brain has created pathways just for him. I'm not a neurologist or anything, but that much is clear to me. He's around in you and everyone who formed a memory of him.

>> ^kceaton1:

Neil is asserting the old question of whether something of sufficient intelligence beyond ours; and not just intelligence it will also cover anything that intelligence has manifested for us: languages (although as others have pointed out languages are special and in fact may be a foundational aspect of intelligence; then we create other forms of language over the instinctive setup, like math, or coding), culture, politics, civilization, and I believe those basically cover almost everything really as anything will be a group, sub-group, or "ultra"-sub-group of one of these parent categories.
The 1% that he spoke of was of course the exact genes and DNA that allow humans to complete all of their FULL "sentience". That was the key thing. We ALREADY know of animals in the past that most likely had baseline IQs of 150 or so; I'm not kidding (they were called the Boskops and unfortunately they went extinct; they lived in 'Southern' Africa, I know it was Africa just not sure it was the southern end). They most likely did not have one thing we have, making their extremely high intelligence very limited in its usefulness: they were missing LANGUAGE. Language IS --THE-- foundational stone for civilization, increasing potential, building, constructing, or making anything on the LARGE scale--for all of these you need cooperation and for that you need understanding and for THAT you need language. Language is so simple, but it is letting me right now explain to you some very straight forward ideas and a few abstract ones and it's the ability that our language and intelligence can convey these abstract notions to one and another that makes our brains SO stupendous!
Unfortunately for the Boskops they came into being at a very bad time in history. They had VERY low numbers when whatever nearly wiped out the human species hit the planet also hit them, but it decimated them into extinction. Too bad as they would have been our closest kin to having another "kind" to talk with, if we could find a way to communicate past the barrier that we surpass so easily with language and then as we get older we use different advanced forms of "language" to explain abstract things: art, math, music, etc... I think the 1% in intelligence and the barrier we may come across with other alien species is much like this scenario here. It's nice and hopeful to have faith that we WILL persevere and always be able to understand and to be needed (not to be the ants on the sidewalk...). BUT, if their biological and perhaps technological changes make us so inferior that only their babies seem to get along with us, we may have a problem. We can hope due to their intellect that they will realize that they may be able to "raise us" to their level, as we may be able to do as well--which I will say below in the next paragraph. But, we will never know until we start meeting these alien races. It is also VITAL to remember that these races will be ALIEN in EVERY sense of that word. Their genetics, their physiology, how they reproduce, not to mention their culture and language... When we meet an alien race it will be an undertaking for BOTH of our sides; not to mention the how our biosphere and their related (assuming we meet them with their spacesuits, we will most likely be the lucky ones; unless they have technology to deal with every conceivable threat--then we are the ones in trouble, unless they thought of that too) "brought-along" biosphere will interact with each other and what will happen. It'll be DAMNED interesting whether we meet in peace, trivial lifeforms with a chance of "breakthrough", and of course the resource/planet-builders or "war".
(BTW, there are some extremely good documentaries about alien biology; problems we'd have with their biology coming in contact with us (and us with them), technology differences, etc... I'll post it in this thread if I can find it and the name (hopefully I 'll be able to see if it's available for viewing pleasure somewhere or atleast Netflix if you've got it.)
1% is a bit of a cop-out... As the situation is a bit more complicated than that; especially nowadays. Soon we will begin to have the option to enhance ourselves via bio-genetics and also through technology--later through nano-technology (that is were the real fun happens; well atleast a good portion of it). To be honest we could quite literally in the far-off future take the 1% of the genetic structure that makes the aliens "super-smart" and then replicate that part directly into ourselves. We can also add computers to our brain and change our biology to do an endless amount of things--things that would sound like you just wrote a new Sci-Fi novel, but you didn't. You could also later install an sentient A.I.: merge with it, with you in control--these A.I. units would be made to have all sorts of personalities and perhaps traits, like being good at math, art, and likes to write poetry. It could have a pre-stored vault of knowledge allowing you to gain a HUGE mass of information quickly. Then you have its sentient core that is fabricated to get along with your psychology--they could be designed to feel a sense of extreme euphoria to join with and allow someone to merge with them so that there isn't any real chance of problems, because you've designed them to WANT this more than anything in THEIR lives--it would be a win-win. Suddenly you would be able to multi-task think in two frames (maybe more if you have "cloned computer cores of your A.I.") of mind with almost all of humanity's knowledge base at your fingertips and if that nanotechnology surgery went through then you had ALL of your neurons and structures rebuilt and replaced with whatever is the fastest (probably either photon or quantum based). Then, now, you are thinking almost as fast as the speed of light, we'll go conservative at 80%.
So now this once human that has been highly modified most likely from birth, perhaps even before that... We have something that the aliens might greet and realize that this object is very much ON their level--easily. Even if you are not, that can be modified and if our science is good enough and future is bright enough--THERE IS NO LIMIT. That is the other part that Neil needs to mention.
Once you are able to get so far in the intelligence game you have a CHANCE to play big and win it all. Atleast that is how I can easily see things happening. I don't think we are EVER limited, not anymore. What DOES limit human beings is our corruption, our literal moral and social decay. It is PARAMOUNT that we watch out for this! OR, we will not see these "bright" futures.

PS- A little more on my A.I. and merging possibilities. You'll have to zoom-in or copy/paste it as it's a little to long as it's too much off topic.
I really do think that is the way to go with A.I. that is sentient; make sure you do two things: one, make sure that they have an intelligence with knowledge that allows them to easily see that civilization or cooperation is KEY to us living as a species (THE SENTIENTS should be included in their programming as being different, but I would think a "speciation" should be understood. The key goal is to merge as this would give them FULL feelings and emotion while giving the human control as well, fundamentally this would be a "transcendental" process for them as they are becoming the NEXT specie in the speciation process "a new human-A.I." merged species. This would of course merely be a choice for people to make in their lives not one they HAVE TO (but that will be a subject for when something like this would ever happen). When lifespans enter the hundreds even perhaps thousands of years with little to no chance of EVER dying due to all the enhancements they may have, merging may ultimately seem like a qualitative "next step" in life, much like marriage is to many nowadays. Second, as I said above I think since WE are the designers of a new species we are ALSO INCREDIBLY responsible for their well-being, behavior, choices, and EVERYTHING that goes along with this. When we create their psychology I would purposely cause increased euphoria during MANY events in their lifetimes and basically no pain except to warn--but ONLY to the most minimal of degrees. When they interact with humans in a cooperative fashion in which the human agrees and likes euphoria can be introduced. More so for A.I.s that are going to be merged this euphoria is enhanced A LOT to better allow them to serve their counterpart so that in the merger--it is very important--that no conflict of personality would arise as it might destroy the entire "structuring" event--I'm assuming a merger may take awhile, perhaps a few days. The euphoria is a safeguard. Although I would use it many other aspects along with other beneficial things we've found the problem is are we going to just end up creating an A.I. that is essentially a drug addict. I don't know whether it's best to go backwards or forwards on that issue, as it would be nice to never have depression (if you have the chance for it). If we create robots who are sentient (because they have to be to do the job safe), but their job is to empty trash all day long; what if we co-design them to make sure they LOVE to do the job that they are doing. They also get euphoria from performing well. When they get rest they can do what they want, but perhaps since they are doing such menial and hard-work so that we don't waste our lives doing it--maybe they can have access to euphoric dream states, so when they wake THEY ARE HAPPY! Perhaps even give them a secondary core were they are enabled with their co-workers, who in these cores have very strong and different personalities, here. It could be a place like WoW meets Skyrim and while they work, loving what they do, they also lead a second life with their secondary core that gives them a true A.I. personality--with their normal euphorias and pains. But, they know it's a game and they never tire of it--it's the best ever made or that will ever be made. Such is the same for all the menial labor bots who perhaps have a little chat forum that's active for a few hours every night where everyone talks about their characters and the game--think of it like our prime-time T.V. schedule. Anyway, there are a few fun A.I. ideas...
A little long and off-topic so I'll make it SMALL!
/LONG (so if you quote me, kill my text, please, or smallify it...)

I forgot what I was going to say.

(And you can quote me on that.)

Neil is asserting the old question of whether something of sufficient intelligence beyond ours; and not just intelligence it will also cover anything that intelligence has manifested for us: languages (although as others have pointed out languages are special and in fact may be a foundational aspect of intelligence; then we create other forms of language over the instinctive setup, like math, or coding), culture, politics, civilization, and I believe those basically cover almost everything really as anything will be a group, sub-group, or "ultra"-sub-group of one of these parent categories.

The 1% that he spoke of was of course the exact genes and DNA that allow humans to complete all of their FULL "sentience". That was the key thing. We ALREADY know of animals in the past that most likely had baseline IQs of 150 or so; I'm not kidding (they were called the Boskops and unfortunately they went extinct; they lived in 'Southern' Africa, I know it was Africa just not sure it was the southern end). They most likely did not have one thing we have, making their extremely high intelligence very limited in its usefulness: they were missing LANGUAGE. Language IS --THE-- foundational stone for civilization, increasing potential, building, constructing, or making anything on the LARGE scale--for all of these you need cooperation and for that you need understanding and for THAT you need language. Language is so simple, but it is letting me right now explain to you some very straight forward ideas and a few abstract ones and it's the ability that our language and intelligence can convey these abstract notions to one and another that makes our brains SO stupendous!

Unfortunately for the Boskops they came into being at a very bad time in history. They had VERY low numbers when whatever nearly wiped out the human species hit the planet also hit them, but it decimated them into extinction. Too bad as they would have been our closest kin to having another "kind" to talk with, if we could find a way to communicate past the barrier that we surpass so easily with language and then as we get older we use different advanced forms of "language" to explain abstract things: art, math, music, etc... I think the 1% in intelligence and the barrier we may come across with other alien species is much like this scenario here. It's nice and hopeful to have faith that we WILL persevere and always be able to understand and to be needed (not to be the ants on the sidewalk...). BUT, if their biological and perhaps technological changes make us so inferior that only their babies seem to get along with us, we may have a problem. We can hope due to their intellect that they will realize that they may be able to "raise us" to their level, as we may be able to do as well--which I will say below in the next paragraph. But, we will never know until we start meeting these alien races. It is also VITAL to remember that these races will be ALIEN in EVERY sense of that word. Their genetics, their physiology, how they reproduce, not to mention their culture and language... When we meet an alien race it will be an undertaking for BOTH of our sides; not to mention the how our biosphere and their related (assuming we meet them with their spacesuits, we will most likely be the lucky ones; unless they have technology to deal with every conceivable threat--then we are the ones in trouble, unless they thought of that too) "brought-along" biosphere will interact with each other and what will happen. It'll be DAMNED interesting whether we meet in peace, trivial lifeforms with a chance of "breakthrough", and of course the resource/planet-builders or "war".
(BTW, there are some extremely good documentaries about alien biology; problems we'd have with their biology coming in contact with us (and us with them), technology differences, etc... I'll post it in this thread if I can find it and the name (hopefully I 'll be able to see if it's available for viewing pleasure somewhere or atleast Netflix if you've got it.)

1% is a bit of a cop-out... As the situation is a bit more complicated than that; especially nowadays. Soon we will begin to have the option to enhance ourselves via bio-genetics and also through technology--later through nano-technology (that is were the real fun happens; well atleast a good portion of it). To be honest we could quite literally in the far-off future take the 1% of the genetic structure that makes the aliens "super-smart" and then replicate that part directly into ourselves. We can also add computers to our brain and change our biology to do an endless amount of things--things that would sound like you just wrote a new Sci-Fi novel, but you didn't. You could also later install an sentient A.I.: merge with it, with you in control--these A.I. units would be made to have all sorts of personalities and perhaps traits, like being good at math, art, and likes to write poetry. It could have a pre-stored vault of knowledge allowing you to gain a HUGE mass of information quickly. Then you have its sentient core that is fabricated to get along with your psychology--they could be designed to feel a sense of extreme euphoria to join with and allow someone to merge with them so that there isn't any real chance of problems, because you've designed them to WANT this more than anything in THEIR lives--it would be a win-win. Suddenly you would be able to multi-task think in two frames (maybe more if you have "cloned computer cores of your A.I.") of mind with almost all of humanity's knowledge base at your fingertips and if that nanotechnology surgery went through then you had ALL of your neurons and structures rebuilt and replaced with whatever is the fastest (probably either photon or quantum based). Then, now, you are thinking almost as fast as the speed of light, we'll go conservative at 80%.

So now this once human that has been highly modified most likely from birth, perhaps even before that... We have something that the aliens might greet and realize that this object is very much ON their level--easily. Even if you are not, that can be modified and if our science is good enough and future is bright enough--THERE IS NO LIMIT. That is the other part that Neil needs to mention.

Once you are able to get so far in the intelligence game you have a CHANCE to play big and win it all. Atleast that is how I can easily see things happening. I don't think we are EVER limited, not anymore. What DOES limit human beings is our corruption, our literal moral and social decay. It is PARAMOUNT that we watch out for this! OR, we will not see these "bright" futures.



PS- A little more on my A.I. and merging possibilities. You'll have to zoom-in or copy/paste it as it's a little to long as it's too much off topic.

I really do think that is the way to go with A.I. that is sentient; make sure you do two things: one, make sure that they have an intelligence with knowledge that allows them to easily see that civilization or cooperation is KEY to us living as a species (THE SENTIENTS should be included in their programming as being different, but I would think a "speciation" should be understood. The key goal is to merge as this would give them FULL feelings and emotion while giving the human control as well, fundamentally this would be a "transcendental" process for them as they are becoming the NEXT specie in the speciation process "a new human-A.I." merged species. This would of course merely be a choice for people to make in their lives not one they HAVE TO (but that will be a subject for when something like this would ever happen). When lifespans enter the hundreds even perhaps thousands of years with little to no chance of EVER dying due to all the enhancements they may have, merging may ultimately seem like a qualitative "next step" in life, much like marriage is to many nowadays. Second, as I said above I think since WE are the designers of a new species we are ALSO INCREDIBLY responsible for their well-being, behavior, choices, and EVERYTHING that goes along with this. When we create their psychology I would purposely cause increased euphoria during MANY events in their lifetimes and basically no pain except to warn--but ONLY to the most minimal of degrees. When they interact with humans in a cooperative fashion in which the human agrees and likes euphoria can be introduced. More so for A.I.s that are going to be merged this euphoria is enhanced A LOT to better allow them to serve their counterpart so that in the merger--it is very important--that no conflict of personality would arise as it might destroy the entire "structuring" event--I'm assuming a merger may take awhile, perhaps a few days. The euphoria is a safeguard. Although I would use it many other aspects along with other beneficial things we've found the problem is are we going to just end up creating an A.I. that is essentially a drug addict. I don't know whether it's best to go backwards or forwards on that issue, as it would be nice to never have depression (if you have the chance for it). If we create robots who are sentient (because they have to be to do the job safe), but their job is to empty trash all day long; what if we co-design them to make sure they LOVE to do the job that they are doing. They also get euphoria from performing well. When they get rest they can do what they want, but perhaps since they are doing such menial and hard-work so that we don't waste our lives doing it--maybe they can have access to euphoric dream states, so when they wake THEY ARE HAPPY! Perhaps even give them a secondary core were they are enabled with their co-workers, who in these cores have very strong and different personalities, here. It could be a place like WoW meets Skyrim and while they work, loving what they do, they also lead a second life with their secondary core that gives them a true A.I. personality--with their normal euphorias and pains. But, they know it's a game and they never tire of it--it's the best ever made or that will ever be made. Such is the same for all the menial labor bots who perhaps have a little chat forum that's active for a few hours every night where everyone talks about their characters and the game--think of it like our prime-time T.V. schedule. Anyway, there are a few fun A.I. ideas...

A little long and off-topic so I'll make it SMALL!

/LONG (so if you quote me, kill my text, please, or smallify it...)

"Using setups like this can help us understand how neurons and muscles work"

Really? Somehow I doubt this little rig is going to advance neuroscience very much. On the other hand, if it's a step towards making cockroaches dance for my entertainment, carry on.

In reply to this comment by berticus:
it's not bad! i'm just sure there's gotta be some better ones.. (not that i have a fucking clue where they are, so i will shutup and disappear now)

You would be amazed at how hard it has been to find a really good top-to-bottom description of basic neuron function. If you can find one, I can promise multiple promotes and qualities and endless thanks!

Three times I've started to write a comment giving some more detail of neuron activation, and each time I've had to stop myself from creating a wall of text. Any detail of the cellular mechanism of neural activation requires an explanation of a fair bit of basic cell biology. I think instead I'll create a talk post or two describing as much of the cellular process of neuron signaling as I can.

>> ^L0cky:

Upvoted, but to be honest they could have been making all that up for all I know.
Also I'm surprised by the amount of steps and chemical reactions considering the response time between thinking and doing. Did anyone share my naive imagining of magical electricity shooting from my brain and contracting my muscles?
What I'd find interesting is learning how nerve impulses (also known as action potentials!) form, or begin. How they get from or are cued from this seemingly virtual world of my thoughts into actual things that do stuff to my body.


Essentially you have a branching network of fibers (dendrites) that join together at the neuron (brain cell) body. If enough of these dendrites stimulate the neuron body then the neuron sends the action potential, if there is not enough stimulation, then no action potential is sent. So while a neuron can be activated in a variety of ways (e.g dendrites coming from various areas of the brain) there is only one outcome - either the action potential is sent or it isn't.

Movement is a lot more interesting than just thought - action potential - movement, however. This is because parts of our brain can store movement patterns, so many of our learned movements (e.g. dancing) just need a trigger and then some movement pattern is initiated at a sub-conscious level - the cerebellum is a part of the brain that helps with this.