There are other studies showing a different result:

https://www.ncjrs.gov/App/publications/Abstract.aspx?id=246605

or http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gun_politics_in_Australia for a list

Basically when you look back in time past the gun buy back you see a linear rate drop in murder by firearms that is not affected by the buy back.

In fact, there are more firearms now in Australia than before the gun buy back (and the ownership rate is still increasing) and yet the murder rate by firearms is much lower than it was at the gun buyback point (and it is still decreasing).

Here's some facts and ideas. We have a very good mental health program. We have a world class free medical system. We have a world class welfare system for the unemployed/disabled/old/single parents/etc. We have world class free education to year 12 and then government subsidised university education. We have a 99% literacy rate. We have a high rate of satisfaction with life in this country. Our quality of life in general is one of the best in the world for just about everyone. I'd suggest this has a lot to do with our low murder rate.

Indeed, I am all for reactor simplification, the reactor I want to see constructed could theoretically be nearly completely made on a factory line then shipped and installed very simply. The molten salt reactor concept is just a bunch of pipes with a graphite core. Most of the Gen4 reactors have this goal, and while large construction projects do mean jobs, usually good jobs...they are also costs, and if we want China and India to adopt greener power systems, they need to be cheaper than coal.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2vzotsvvkw

I am going to sift this after I post, but it is a short look into reactors in general, and why the MSR and other potential Gen4 concepts could eliminate that huge capital and labor cost. And nearly completely eliminate radioactivity problems to the general public.

300 billion is actually not to much money when you get down to it. Each year, the global economy spends up to 10 trillion dollars on dino fuel technology. Considering the reliability of NPPs and the nearly 90% load rate over the course of many years...those costs are really really good! Typically speaking, when you consider the costs of decommissioning, waste transportation, nuclear generally ends up being about on par with coal...mostly because nuclear plants last so darn long, over 60 years for some of our gen2 plants in the US and still going strong! Compare that to the 150 billion or so Germany has spent on solar project to their total ACTUAL output and it is a very telling tail. Even more so when you look at total carbon emissions of Germany compared to France.

Waste is actually what made me anti-nuclear myself. My introduction to caring (negatively) about nuclear was the Fukushima Daiichi incident. But after learning more about that situation, I actually really started to appreciate nuclear more. No one died as a result of FD failure, the containment building stopped most of the most harmful radiation, and the stuff that did get out is the really mild stuff (stuff with the million year half lives). I don't want to downplay this, it is still a very serious industrial mess to clean up, but compared to the 20 thousand people who died in the Tsunami and the tons of fuels, trash and other crap that got souped around in Japan as a result, the old reactor help up respectably, and is a credit to the operators (all of whom are currently alive an well).

I had a common misconception about radioactivity, I thought something with a long half-life was bad because it was going to be radioactive for a long, long time. That is mostly wrong. What that means is it is going to be hardly radioactive for a long time, elements that are short lived are VERY radioactive, but disappear very fast. I don't want to mire you in most of the gritty details, but the fission products reactors produce don't last very long, most only hours, a fewer some decades, and only a few longer than that. Stuff that has billion year a billion year half life...well, you don't really need to worry about it at all, it just isn't that radioactive. Most of the worry is based around "transuranics". That is just fancy speak for "stuff heavier than uranium". This is the stuff like Plutonium and Curium ect. The great thing about modern, Gen4 reactors is they don't really make those things...the thorium reactor I like starts with thorium, which is a long, long way from making anything heavier than uranium (less than 1% theoretically possible). So micrograms per year...not really that much to worry about (there is also no way to really get that to go into the environment because we don't use pressure vessels, but I will leave that to Kirk to explain).

I don't want to make it sounds like there isn't any risk or anything, but the risks have been way overplayed by political interests and not technical ones. For instance, many of the exclusions zones for FD were way overblown, they were no more radioactive than my home in the mountains ...but that isn't want you heard in the news.

But I think I will leave it like that. Nuclear has a bunch of mystic joojoo around it. Don't take my work for it, please, give "bill gates nuclear" a google, or other "gen4 reactor" stuff a chance before you completely write off nuclear as a green option for the future. I personally think it will have a big role to play if we want to stem off CO2 production AND bring more people into a western quality of life. Thanks again for the back and forth.

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.

Matthew 16:26 What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?

It is written that in the last days, knowledge will increase, but it doesn't mention anything about wisdom. You can see that very clearly in the world system, that for all of mans hubris regarding his accomplishments, the character of man has not changed one iota. The evil that is done in this world is symptomatic of a disease that has no modern cure, which is called sin, and all who sin are slaves to sin. This is why Jesus came into the world, to free men from slavery to sin and death. Investigating 4 alpha decay sets and why the neptunium set doesn't appear in nature is never going to reveal that to you. There is no knowledge that you can gain from studying the natural world which is going to solve the problem of sin; it is only Jesus Christ who has solved this problem.

Yes, you're correct, the bible is not a science book; it is a salvation book. God inspires men to do great things in science; just ask Newton. Yet there are two questions science cannot answer; why am I here, and what happens after I die? No experiment will give you any revelation on these matters. They are the most important questions, and Jesus did answer them. He said we are here because God created us to be in fellowship with Him, and there will be a judgment after we die that determines where we end up. That is why, if Satan came to your door and gave you a deed to all of the nations of the world and all of their wealth (hundreds of trillions at the least), in exchange for your soul, you would have made an unprofitable deal. Everything in this world is perishing and will pass away, but those who do the will of God will abide forever.



>> ^GeeSussFreeK:

>> ^shinyblurry:
1 Corinthians 1:18-21
For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.
For it is written: "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate."
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know God, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe.

What does the bible have to say about the 4 alpha decay sets and why the neptunium set doesn't appear in nature? Problem is, the bible doesn't really answer any scientific questions, nor does it give any useful tools into discovering how the world works. So while I still hold that Corinthians has the best definition of love, it can't give you an understanding of the bio-chemical-neurological goings on of love, and has to deal with deformities of the working order of the body with the deus ex machina of demons. No one prayed the printing press into existence so you could even have a bible in written form, or a keyboard and the internet, or medicine, or refrigeration. Anyone who can't agree that science and technology vastly improve the quality of life on the planet more than any one other thing, including religion, has a large burden of evidence to overcome, imo. While I don't go as far as Bill Maher kind of people and say that religion is bad (I think it does do a lot of good), I will say that I think STEM has done most of the heavy lifting in our modern world in terms of doing good.

>> ^shinyblurry:

1 Corinthians 1:18-21
For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.
For it is written: "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate."
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know God, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe.


What does the bible have to say about the 4 alpha decay sets and why the neptunium set doesn't appear in nature? Problem is, the bible doesn't really answer any scientific questions, nor does it give any useful tools into discovering how the world works. So while I still hold that Corinthians has the best definition of love, it can't give you an understanding of the bio-chemical-neurological goings on of love, and has to deal with deformities of the working order of the body with the deus ex machina of demons. No one prayed the printing press into existence so you could even have a bible in written form, or a keyboard and the internet, or medicine, or refrigeration. Anyone who can't agree that science and technology vastly improve the quality of life on the planet more than any one other thing, including religion, has a large burden of evidence to overcome, imo. While I don't go as far as Bill Maher kind of people and say that religion is bad (I think it does do a lot of good), I will say that I think STEM has done most of the heavy lifting in our modern world in terms of doing good.

>> ^Velocity5:

"This kid is amazing."
No, she's pouring her time down the toilet instead of contributing to humankind.
Excel at skills that are useful to global society and will increase your career outcomes and quality of life.


For a person so concerned with global society and quality of life, you seem entirely bereft of human spirit... Yes, this girl may not cure cancer, but then again neither will the waitress pouring you coffee. Everyone has to make their own way in the world and if people were a little less concerned with being judgemental and more concerned with doing things in their own life, we might just be living in a better world one day...

"This kid is amazing."

No, she's pouring her time down the toilet instead of contributing to humankind.

Excel at skills that are useful to global society and will increase your career outcomes and quality of life.

I don't know about anyone else but even on the very busy roads I navigate I *never* rely on sound. My eyeballs are on stalks seeking out crazy drivers because getting run over is not high on my todo list.

Thus I'm in favour of all cars eventually becoming silent which would be a major improvement in quality of life.

I haven't listened to it, I find I live a happier life not caring about politics. I made this little blurb about it the other day, hope you don't mind me quote bombing myself!


Politics = Arguing about how to split up a finite pie

Economics = figures out how big the pie is

Science = Figures out how to make pies bigger, much bigger and more delicious

Engineers = Figures out how to actually make the pies

Hard to have the latter without the former, but the latter have increased your quality of life much more recently. Spend more time arguing about science and engineering and less about economics and politics...you will be happier, I guarantee it!

Oversimplified, perhaps (see also: yes), but the thrust of it is mostly true I believe

@ReverendTed
You have been a courteous sparring partner so I will try to answer in kind, but I must admit being very exasperated by your last response. Moreover, I do not think I want to pursue a debate with someone who cannot see how adoption-in-place-of-abortion is neither feasible nor even remotely ethical (vis-à-vis the woman, the would-be child and human society in general). So this will probably be my last wall of self-indulgent dross.

Let’s get one thing out of the way: we both agree that we need more education all ‘round, on all subjects. And as you know, those most opposed to it are the same that are against abortion. Abstinence education is redundant when proper sex-ed is given, because it goes without saying that “no sex = no unwanted pregnancies” is a part of basic sex-ed. Of course, it is un-pragmatic to expect teenagers (or anyone for that matter) to forego sex, so why harp on it, other than for misguided religious purposes?

Your conception of consciousness is fuzzy at best. Everything we feel, experience, etc. is due to electro-chemical reactions in our body/brain. Magical thinking is saying some non-physical “me” exists attached to it, what religious people call a soul. Consciousness is not subordinate to cognition in terms of value, but in the sense that without the one (cognition) you simply don’t have the other (“subordinate” as in “dependent upon”). I mentioned blind-from-birth people for a good reason; they have no visual aspect to their consciousness, their identity/consciousness is built upon the other sensory input. Now imagine a being that has zero sensory input (or a central system capable of making use/sense of it), and you have a mass of muscles/cells/organs devoid of consciousness. And that is what is aborted before the 25th week. I must make it clear, however, that even if this developed much earlier it would still be the woman’s prerogative to choose what she does with her own body/life. In that respect I think the “viability” argument is a pragmatic (albeit conservative) one, because it draws the line between an excrescence and a (possibly) autonomous being.

After the first two paragraphs, your response goes from bad to worse. What I said about adoption v abortion still stands, but I would add that it is still forcing women to go through a pregnancy they do not want (thus still affecting the quality of their lives), not to mention leaving them with the guilt of abandonment, the kids with issues, etc etc. And all for what? So some third person’s unfounded superstitions be upheld? And then you have the gall to compare criminalising abortion with criminalising incest and crazy people locking up/raping their families. You seriously need to think a bit before making comparisons. In the case of child abuse and/or rape (incest itself is a victimless crime, but that’s for a different discussion), there are actual victims, for one, and secondly, the crazies would lock them up whether it was legal or not, because it is a question of absolute control over the other.

Since you cite Guttmacher statistics, allow me to suggest you read a little more:

• Highly restrictive abortion laws are not associated with lower abortion rates. For example, the abortion rate is 29 per 1,000 women of childbearing age in Africa and 32 per 1,000 in Latin America—regions in which abortion is illegal under most circumstances in the majority of countries. The rate is 12 per 1,000 in Western Europe, where abortion is generally permitted on broad grounds.

• Where abortion is permitted on broad legal grounds, it is generally safe, and where it is highly restricted, it is typically unsafe. In developing countries, relatively liberal abortion laws are associated with fewer negative health consequences from unsafe abortion than are highly restrictive laws.

http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/fb_IAW.html

So basically pushing for the criminalisation of abortion is pushing for there to be more abortions, and more dangerous ones.

You note how a large percentage of abortion-seekers are above the poverty line. Obviously, they can afford it / are aware of the possibility. Ever notice how the poor/uneducated tend to have more kids than the others? Do you really think being poor makes you want to have more mouths to feed? Or perhaps it is because they lack access to contraception/abortion (not to mention the poor/uneducated tend to be more religious; religion thrives on misery). Of the “developed” world the US is a bit of a special case, because it is so backward with regards to healthcare and contraception. Notice how most women in the US pay for their abortion out of pocket, and “Nearly 60% of women who experienced a delay in obtaining an abortion cite the time it took to make arrangements and raise money.” (http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/fb_induced_abortion.html/) As an aside, the religious right here in Switzerland (not as influential but almost as stupid and backward thinking as that of the US) are trying to make abortion be no longer covered by the universal healthcare system.

On the “potential” question, everything has been said. I’d simply point out that your “95%” potential leaves out something absolutely crucial, namely the choice of the woman to terminate the abortion, which can reduce that to “0%”. You say “it’s nearly guaranteed”, but so what? Two people having heterosexual vaginal sex without projection over a long period of time will conceive of a child, it’s “nearly guaranteed”, therefore every possible pairing of male and female should have continuous unprotected sex otherwise they are depriving potential beings from existing. “But what if they don’t want to?” Exactly, what if the woman doesn’t want a child at that moment? See how absurd the “potential” argument is?

I’ll risk making this wall of text even wallyer and propose an analogy, The Analogy of the Film and Camera. When you put a film in a camera, the potential for it becoming a strip of individual, unique photos goes up. But so long as no pictures are taken, so long as nothing is imprinted on the film’s receptive surface, you lose no individual photos by taking the film out, and there’s the same amount of potential if you put in a different film at a different time. It’s wonky, I know, but it illustrates that potential individual (the film) is not the same as existing individual (the photo), nor does destroying the first cause any damage to the second, because the second doesn’t exist yet.

The comparison with the IGB campaign is terribly inappropriate and simply false. In one case it is question of keeping living individuals from ending their lives, whereas abortion is about preventing eventual individuals from coming into existence because it would harm the quality of life of an already existing individual (as well as the one to be). IGB is about giving people options/hope, whereas criminalising abortion is about taking that away (from women, to give it to the mind projections of superstitious third parties). The only connection between the two is that in both cases the unsubstantiated beliefs of third persons impinge on an individual’s quality of life and liberty. I already addressed your “good from bad” argument, which you draw out again in an emotionally manipulative way (which frankly made me sick).

On eugenics, oh boy. What you’re saying is akin to saying “self-defence should be outlawed because otherwise some (like Zimmerman) might commit crimes and say it was self-defence”. Or, a little closer to home perhaps: “we shouldn’t have universal healthcare because some might fraud”. Yes, some people fraud the insurance, and yes, some people are aggressive and try to pass it as self-defence. That’s why we have a judicial system. Bringing in eugenics is seriously grasping at straws and you know it.

I’ll end my last contribution to this exchange with the following: having a child should never be an inevitability. Bringing a human life into existence is way too big a responsibility to be an obligation. A women’s body is her own, to deal with as she chooses, uterus and co. included.

Cheers

@hpqp
I am not at all ashamed of my verbose, self-indulgent dross, so here we go!

Something has to be extra-physical, as least based on our current model. I can fully accept that a brain by itself can receive sensory input, process it against memory, and thus act in a completely human way indistinguishable from a conscious human, but on its own can literally be no more "conscious" than a river flowing down a mountain. Our current view of the physical universe does not tolerate any rational physical explanation of consciousness. Any given moment of human experience - the unified sensory experience and stream of consciousness - does not exist in a single place at a single instant. To suggest that the atoms\molecules\proteins\cells of the brain experience themselves in a unified manner based on their proximity to or electrochemical interaction with each other is magical thinking. Atoms don't do that, and that's all that's there, physically.
I disagree that consciousness is subordinate to cognition in terms of value. Cognition is what makes us who we are and behave as we do, but consciousness is what makes us different from the rest of the jiggling matter in the universe.

A couple of posts back, you challenged my statement about abstinence education as demonstrating a lack of pragmatism. I didn't really address it in my reply, but I'd prefaced it with the understanding that it's not a magical incantation. I know people are still going to have sex, but I suggested that has to be a part of education. People have to know that you can still get pregnant even if you're using the contraceptives that are available. They have to at least know the possibility exists. It's one more thing for them to consider. People are still going to drive recklessly even if you tell them they can crash and kill themselves despite their airbags, seatbelts, and crumple zones, but that doesn't mean it's not worth it to educate them about the possibility. I fail to see how that's not pragmatic.

I didn't reply to your comment about adoption vs abortion because I'm not sure there's anything else to add on either side. As I've said, my beliefs on this are such that even a grossly flawed adoption\orphan care system is preferable to the alternative, even if it means that approximately 10 times the number of children would enter the system than have traditionally been adopted each year. (1.4M abortions annually in the US, ~140K adoptions, but there are several assumptions in that math that wouldn't hold up to scrutiny.) Many right and just things have unpleasant consequences that must be managed. (The typical counter here is that Pro-Lifers tend to also be fiscal\social conservatives and won't fund social services to care for these new individuals they've "protected" into existence. That's just another issue of taking responsibility for the consequences of choices. If they get what they want, they need to be held to account, but it's a separate issue. A related issue, but a separate issue.)

Criminalizing\prohibiting almost any activity results in some degree of risky\dangerous\destructive behavior. Acts must be criminalized because there are individuals who would desire to perform those acts which have been determined to be an unnecessary imposition on the rights of another. Criminalization does not eliminate the desire, but it adds a new factor to consideration. Some will decide the criminalization\prohibition of the act is not sufficient deterrent, but in proceeding, are likely to do so in a different manner than otherwise. The broad consideration is whether the benefits of criminalization\prohibition outweigh the risks posed to\by the percentage who will proceed anyway. Prohibition of alcohol failed the test, I expect the prohibition of certain drugs will be shown to have failed the test..eventually. Incest is illegal, and the "unintended" consequence is freaks locking their families in sheds and basements in horrific conditions, but I think most of us would agree the benefits outweigh the detriment there.

Is putting all would-have-been-aborteds up for adoption abhorrent or absurd? The hump we'll never get over is asking "is it more abhorrent than aborting all of them", because we have different viewpoints on the relative values in play. But is it even a valid question? They won't all be put up for adoption. Some percentage (possibly 5-10 percent) will spontaneously miscarry\abort anyway and some percentage would be raised by a birth parent or by the extended family after all. An initially unwanted pregnancy does not necessarily equate to an unwanted child, for a number of reasons. I do not have statistics on what proportion could be expected to be put up for adoption. Would you happen to? It seems like that would be difficult to extrapolate.

The "'potential' shtick" carries weight in my view because of the uniqueness of the situation. There is no consensus on the "best" way to define when elective abortion is "acceptable". Sagan puts weight on cognition as indicative of personhood. As he states, the Supreme Court set its date based on independent "viability". (More specifically, I feel it should be noted, "potential" viability.) These milestones coincide only by coincidence.
Why is it so easy for us, as you say, to retroproject? And why is this any different from assigning personhood to each of a million individual sperm? For me, it's because of those statistics on miscarriage linked above. The retroprojected "potential" is represented by "percentages". At 3-6 weeks, without deliberate intervention 90% of those masses of cells will go on to become a human being. At 6-12 it's 95%. This is more than strictly "potential", it's nearly guaranteed.

I expect your response will be uncomfortable for both of us, but I wish you would expound on why my "It Gets Better" comparison struck you as inappropriate. Crude, certainly - I'll admit to phrasing it indelicately, even insensitively. I do not think it poorly considered, however. The point of "It Gets Better" is to let LGBT youth know that life does not remain oppressive, negative, and confusing, and that happiness and fulfillment lie ahead if they will only persevere.
It's necessary because as humans, we aren't very good at imagining we'll ever be happy again when surrounded by uncertainty and despair, or especially recognizing the good already around us. We can only see torment, and may not see the point in perpetuating a seemingly-unending chain of suffering when release is so close at hand, though violence against self (or others).
This directly parallels the "quality of life" arguments posed from the pro-choice perspective. They take an isolated slice of life from a theoretical unplanned child and their mother and suggest that this is their lot and that we've increased suffering in the universe, as if no abused child will ever know a greater love, or no poor child will ever laugh and play, and that no mother of an unwanted pregnancy will ever enjoy life again, burdened and poverty-stricken as she is.
As you said, we're expecting a woman to reflect "on what would her and the eventual child’s quality of life be like", but we're so bad at that.
And all that quality-of-life discussion is assuming we've even nailed the demographic on who is seeking abortions in the U.S.
Getting statistics from the Guttmacher Institute, we find that 77% were at or above the federal poverty level and 60% already had at least one child.

On a moral level, absolutely, eugenics is very different debate.
On a practical level, the eugenics angle is relevant because it's indistinguishable from any other elective abortion. Someone who is terminating a pregnancy because their child would be a girl, or gay, or developmentally disabled can very easily say "I'm just not ready for motherhood." And who's to say that's not the mother's prerogative as much as any other elective abortion, if she's considering the future quality of life for herself and the child? "It sucks for girls\gays\downs in today's society and I don't think I can personally handle putting them through that," or more likely "My family and I could never love a child like that, so they would be unloved and I would be miserable for it. This is better for both of us."
Can we write that off as hopefully being yet another edge case? (Keep in mind possibly 65% of individuals seeking abortion declare as Protestant or Catholic, though other statistics show how unreliable "reported religious affiliation" is with regard to actual belief and practice.)

_{"Argumentation"? I have learned a new word today, thanks to hpqp. High five!}

@ReverendTed
I will try to be brief, because I can’t wait for the “we solved abortion” party, and because @kymbos has made me self-conscious '. There is much to be said on the subject of your tangent, but I will keep it at this:

a) nothing is “extra-physical” (or meta-physical, or supernatural, etc.)
b) consciousness is subordinate to cognition and the treatment of sensory input, as even your illustration of consciousness testifies (see also: how blind-from-birth people dream)

A brain which has never received/treated sensory input is nothing more than a muscle-regulator. I am very grateful to @Tojja for linking the Sagan piece, because I now have a great mind backing my own intuitions.


Now back to the problem of regulating/prohibiting abortion. I take your lack of response to my rebuttal of the adoption “solution” as your agreeing with me (tell me if I’m wrong), in which case it illustrates what I argued concerning the lack of pragmatism on the pro-life side. Because let’s face it, the following are constants:

a) people will have sex, sometimes leading to unwanted pregnancy
b) people will want/need abortions, whether legal or not
c) criminalising abortion (be it on the doctor’s or the woman’s side) results in risky practices, especially by the most at risk (poor/uneducated)
d) putting all would-have-been-aborteds up for adoption is abhorrent and absurd

So what to do about it?

I notice that your argumentation goes back to the whole “potential” shtick, including the emotionally manipulative retroprojection of human individuality on a ball of cells in the example of how pro-lifers think. Sagan argues against the whole “potential” thing better than I do, so I’ll leave it at that, but I do take issue with the “good comes from bad” argument. Yes, undesired kids can grow to have great lives, just as the contrary can happen. But in a case opposing an individual who is and one who might be (but is not yet), it is the former’s choice that takes precedence (yes, we’re pro-choice, not pro-abortion or abortion-tolerant). Don’t forget, many unexpected pregnancies end in chosen births, not abortions. The important thing is not whether it is unexpected, but whether or not it is undesired. It is the choice of the woman, usually based on reflexion on what would her and the eventual child’s quality of life be like, to let what is at that stage only potential become an actual human individual.

Do you ever miss what you were like before you existed? That nothingness before life and after death is all an aborted foetus ever gets, because it never reaches the stage of cognition that allows for consciousness and thus for identity. As an aside, I must admit I found your comparison between the pro-life stance and the It Gets Better campaign rather crude, insensitive and not well-thought-through at all. I’ll let you figure out why. As for eugenics, that is another debate entirely, whose crux is not “can a woman chose to pursue/terminate a pregnancy” but instead “can (a) parent(s) chose to pursue/terminate a pregnancy based on discriminatory criteria”. The difference should be easy to spot.

_{We seem to agree on humanitarian aid, so high-fives all round}

@hpqp
Good points, all.
However, the "cognition is sacred" (as opposed to "human life is sacred") viewpoint has a hole in it about the size of human consciousness. (Oh man, tangent time!) Some loudly proclaim the presence of a divine soul or spirit, but there is certainly something else there, aside from the physical form.
Obviously, human (and for that matter animal) experience and behavior is influenced by the physical brain and its processes. Damage to it predictably and reproducibly changes behavior and perception. As much as some of us would like to think otherwise, the physical structure and function of the brain influences who we are and what we do as individuals. I would honestly have no problem accepting that the physical universe as we've modeled it functions precisely as it has, autonomously. (Right down to fruitless debates between individuals on the Internet.) Evolution is a real thing. The brain has developed as yet another beneficial mutation that promotes the propagation of its host organism. Input in, behavior out, feedback loop. Click click click, ding.
But the problem is that we experience this. Somehow this mass of individual cells (and below that individual molecules, atoms, quarks) experiences itself in a unified manner, or rather something experiences this mass of matter in a unified manner. No matter how far down you track it, there's no physical accommodation for consciousness. To give a specific example, the cells in the eye detect light (intensity and wavelength) by electrochemical stimulation. The binary "yes\no" of stimulation is routed through the thalamus in individual axons, physically separated in space, to the visual cortex, where it's propagated and multiplied through a matrix of connections, but all individual cells, and all just ticking on and off based on chemical and electrical thresholds. The visual field is essentially painted as a physical map across a region of the brain, but somehow, the entire image is experienced at once. Cognition is necessarily distinct from consciousness.

What this means, practically, is that we must attribute value to cognition and consciousness separately.
Cognition may not be completely understood, but we can explain it in increasingly specific terms, and it seems that we'll be able to unravel how the brain works within the current model. It absolutely has a value. We consider a person who is "a vegetable" to have little to no current or expected quality of life, and generally are comfortable making the decision to "pull the plug".
Consciousness, however, is what we believe makes us special in the universe, despite being completely empty from a theoretical standpoint. If sensory input, memory, and behavioral responses are strictly a function of the material, then stripped of those our "unified experience" is completely undetectable\untestable. We have no way of knowing if our neighbor is a meaty automaton or a conscious being, but we assume. Which is precisely why it's special. It's obviously extra-physical. Perhaps @gorillaman's tomatobaby (that is, the newborn which he says is without Mind) has a consciousness, but it isn't obvious because the physical structure is insufficient for meaningful manifestation. I have difficulty accepting that consciousness, empty though it is on its own, is without value. "So what," though, right? If you can't detect it in anyone but yourself, what use is it in this discussion? Clearly, there IS something about the structure or function of the brain that's conducive to consciousness. We are only conscious of what the brain is conscious of and what it has conceived of within its bounds. So the brain at least is important, but it's not the whole point.
Anyway, there's that tangent.

The "stream of potential life" argument has its limits. Any given sperm or egg is exceedingly unlikely to develop into a human. For a single fertilized egg, the odds shift dramatically. That's why people seek abortions, because if they don't do something, they're probably going to have a baby. The probability of "brewin' a human" is pretty good once you're actually pregnant. The "potential for human life" is very high, which is why you can even make the quality of life argument.

Obviously, you realize how those on the anti-abortion side of the debate react when someone who is...let's say abortion-tolerant ("pro-abortion" overstates it for just about anyone, I suspect) says that they're considering the "quality of life" of the prospective child in their calculus. They get this mental image: "Your mother and I think you'll both be better off this way, trust me. *sound of a meatball in a blender*"
I appreciate that we're trying to minimize suffering in the world and promote goodness, but I think it's over-reaching to paint every potential abortion (or even most) as a tragic tale of suffering simply because the parent wasn't expecting parenthood. Quality of life is much more nuanced. Many wonderful humans have risen from squalor and suffering and will tell you earnestly they believe that background made them stronger\wiser\more empathetic\special. Many parents who were devastated to learn they were pregnant love their unexpected children. And holy crap, kids with Downs, man. What's the quality of life for them and their parents? Terribly challenging and terribly rewarding.
No, I'm not trying to paint rainbows over economic hardship and child abuse and say that "everything's going to be finnnnneeee", but quality of life is a personal decision and it's unpredictable. Isn't that what "It Gets Better" is all about? "Things may seem grim and terrible now, but don't kill yourself just yet, you're going to miss out on some awesome stuff."

Hrm. Thus far we've really been framing abortion as being about "unready" parents, probably because the discussion started on the "mother can choose to have sex" angle.
You've got to wonder how confused this issue would get if we could detect genetically if a fetus might be homosexual. Would Christians loosen their intolerance for abortion if it meant not having a "gay baby"? (Even if it would fly in the face of their belief that homosexuality is a choice.) Would pro-choicer's take a second look at the availability of abortion? Would it still be "one of those terrible things that happens in a free society"?

On western aid, you're spot on. It's so easy to throw money at a problem and pretend we're helping. Humanitarian aid does nothing if we're not promoting and facilitating self-sufficiency. Some people just need a little help getting by until they're back on their feet, but some communities need a jump-start. As you say, they need practical education. I've only been on handful of humanitarian missions myself, so I give more financially than I do of my sweat, but I'm careful to evaluate HOW the organizations I give to use the funds. Are they just shipping food or are they teaching people how to live for themselves and providing the resources to get started? Sure, some giving is necessary. It's impossible for someone to think about sustainable farming and simple industry if they're dying from cholera or starving to death.