Four litmus tests for Congress

According to consumer advocate Ed Mierzwinski, the following four reforms "seem obvious to taxpayers. Not to Wall Street." I would add that they don't seem obvious enough to most members of Congress. They should have been passed at least a year ago:

1) Will Congress enact a strong version of the Consumer Financial Protection Agency? [It needs to be independent, needs to regulate all financial products, needs to reinstate federal law as a floor, not a ceiling, of protection]. 2) Will Congress regulate the shadow markets, e.g., unregulated derivative, hedge fund, and private equity shadow markets? 3) Will Congress audit the Fed? 4) Will Congress end the too-big-to-fail system that led to taxpayer-funded TARP bailouts?
I agree with Mierzwinski that these needs are obvious. The only reason they aren't yet law is that Congress is flooded with banking industry money. It's time for Congress to show whether it has any integrity for enacting these four reforms, which constitute some very low bars, indeed. These are minimum standard that any reasonable person would immediately support. Members of Congress need to show us that they really represent the People of the U.S. by immediately voting for these four reforms.

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The roots of morality: It’s time to look far beyond religion.

Many articles purporting to examine morality bore me. They tend to be laundry lists of personal preferences--the writer's catalog of things that personally annoy and delight him or her--completely un-anchored by the scientific method or, for that matter, by any sort of disciplined thinking. Such articles have been around for a long time. Many of them were written prior to 1785, when Immanuel Kant wrote his Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, where he urged that we get serious about morality's underpinnings. Though Kant's categorical imperative leaves much to be desired as a full description of phenomenon of morality, it should be noted that Kant did not have access to the modern findings of cognitive science. At edge.com, Marc D. Hauser, a Harvard Professor of Psychology, Organismic & Evolutionary Biology and Biological Anthropology, has published an article entitled "It Seems Biology (Not Religion) Equals Morality." Hauser's article, based on many of his prior writings, is a rigorous, insightful and succinct account of the roots of human morality. Hauser starts his article with an attack on the commonly heard claim that religion is a major source of our moral insights. There is not a drop of evidence suggesting this, as should be obvious. After all, morally deficient believers and morally enlightened nonbelievers are ubiquitous (and vice versa). Hauser does acknowledge that religions do endow their members with a sense of meaning and community. His sharp attack, however, is on the narrow claim that religions provide "the only-- or perhaps even the ultimate-- source of moral reasoning." This raises an obvious question: If our sense of morality is not based on religion, on what is it based? Hauser argues thatscience has demonstrated that each of us is endowed with a gift from nature: "a biological code for living a moral life." Our biologically endowed "cold calculus" takes the form of rules such as these: Actions are seen as worse than omissions; and forcing someone to do something for the greater good is worse if you make a person worse off in the process. Hauser describes this set of rules as a "moral grammar . . . and impartial, rational and unemotional capacity . . . an abstract set of rules for how to intuitively understand when helping another is obligatory and when harming another is forbidden." This impartial grammar has been revealed through experiments in which people were presented with unfamiliar moral dilemmas (he avoided such well-worn topics as abortion and euthanasia). For instance, is it permissible for a hospital to involuntarily take various internal organs from a healthy person walking by the hospital in order to save the lives of five patients needing transplants? When these sorts of dilemmas are presented to people of wildly divergent cultural backgrounds, the surprising finding is that their particular backgrounds are virtually irrelevant to determining how they will resolve such dilemmas. The work of Frans de Waal dovetails nicely with Hauser's writings. In particular, De Waal has argued that humans have evolved to be predominantly groupish and peace-loving beings who are well-tuned to look out for each other. Therefore, the question arises: what has gone wrong where we see moral atrocities? Hauser's answer is that these atrocities arise due to culturally constructed emotions that fuel "in-group favoritism, outgroup hatred and ultimately dehumanization." Essentially, we become just like psychopaths with regard to those we perceive to be in out-groups. Psychopaths are generally this way toward all others--they know the "rules" but they don't care. The rest of us are psychopaths toward every who we characterize to be our outgroup. We see these people in outgroups as "disposable." We allow children overseas to die, even when we have the money to prevent these deaths, and even when we would not allow the child of a sibling or a neighbor's child (who we perceive to be in our ingroup) to suffer.

Here lies the answer to understanding the dangers of nurture, of education and partiality. When we fuel in-group biases by elevating and praising members of the group, we often unconsciously, and sometimes consciously, denigrate the "other" by feeding the most nefarious of all emotions, the dragon of disgust. We label "the other" (the members of the outgroup) with a description that makes them as subhuman even an adamant, often parasitic and file, and thus disgusting. When disgust is recruited, those in the ingroup have only one way out: purge the other.
Hauser's work also dovetails well with the research of Jonathan Haidt, who has argued that disgust is one of the five pillars of morality. Haidt considers in-group/outgroup tension to be another one of those five pillars of morality (a separate pillar), whereas Hauser appears to be consolidating these two factors (people in outgroups disgust us). This consolidation seems to be the case, at least on an intuitive and anecdotal basis. Xenophobia and disgust do seem to go hand in hand. Mistreatment of members of outgroups not only allowed, but sometimes encouraged by those who preach universal love. Consider, for instance, the way that the members of many religions characterize gays--they are usually relegated to the outgroup. Hauser's argument also comports with the basic findings of those who have studied human reactions to ingroups and outgroups. If left unexamined and unchecked, our evolved system of simplistically categorizing people into ingroups and outgroups leads to moral catastrophe. This simplistic and intuitive system evolved while we lived in small groups of highly familiar people (many of them family members), and during times when there were no formal laws that coordinated large numbers of widely diverse individuals. According to Hauser, this genesis of the problem also presents a potential solution. Although all animals have evolved the capacity to distinguish between members of the in group and out groups, these features are not calibrated in the genome. They are "abstract and content free," much as our biologically endowed rules of moral grammar. We learn how to define our ingroup (and consequently, outgroups). Even seemingly compelling distinctions among humans, such as "racial" differences can be diminished or even eliminated by spending time with different-seeming others. Moral education requires introducing all children, early in life, to a wide varieties of religions, political systems, languages, social organizations and races. Research shows that those who dated or married people of other "races" don't so readily characterize those of other "races" to their outgroup. Exposure to diversity is perhaps our best option for reducing, if not eradicating, strong outgroup biases. Hauser urges that we take our intuitive moral intuitions to task. We need to consciously push ourselves beyond our local family and community and train ourselves to "listen to the universal voice of [our] species." We need to become "champions of plurality." At bottom, we need to recognize that diversity is not simply a buzzword. It is a critical part of the moral curriculum. We need to make ourselves spend time with different others, so that we are more likely to see one race, not many. We need to learn to see only fellow humans, rather than "our people" versus sub humans. Only when we have trained ourselves this way can our universal instinct toward empathy and our biologically endowed abstract moral grammar work together t pragmatically resolve differences peacefully. This would be a much better alternative to cracking heads and going to war based upon our ancient impulses toward unexamined, unenlightened and unjustified disgust.

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Left, Right, Center, Lunacy Is Still Lunacy

Several years ago at a science fiction convention I saw a charlatan in the dealers room fleecing people with bogus "kirlian aura" photographs. The person in question had constructed an elaborate chair with complex armrests with hand-shaped inserts and cables. The victim sat in the chair, placed the hands on the plates, and a photograph was taken (a polaroid) that showed a bust portrait int he midst of swirling colors. I got a glimpse of the set up---there were mirrors on either side of the lens reflecting brightly-colored streamers that flanked the magic chair. Somehow, this created a lens flare of multi-hued cloudiness. I am a photographer by training. I know a little something about Kirlian "aura" photographs, enough to know that (a) you can't take them in full light and (b) Polaroid never made a film sensitive enough in the format this person was using to record the faint electrical tracings. You also couldn't run enough electricity safely through a whole human body to create even a thin outline much less the solar flare explosion these prints displayed. They looked nothing like a Kirlian photograph. But people were buying them, fifteen bucks a shot, and I expect the photographer in question made nice change that weekend. When an acquaintance of mine was showing hers off later I made a couple of remarks about the fraudulent aspects of it and all I got for my trouble was frostiness and dismissal as a hopeless skeptic. I confess I took that as my cue to say nothing further. I did not unmask the fraud, which would have been brave and ethical, but might well have gotten me pilloried as a spoil sport. This past year I sat on a panel about alternate religions and mythology at another convention. I was the only self-professed atheist on the panel. When I made my introductions and stated my position, a co-panelist asked me "So you're not a Christian? What are you then?" I was a bit dumbfounded. Did she not know what the word Atheist meant? I expounded. "I'm a humanist and rational materialist. I think all religions are essentially the same. Some are more benign than others but all of them are based on assumptions I can't accept. So I'm not only not a Christian, I am not a Jew, a Muslim, a Hindu, a Buddhist, or any variety of Pagan or New Age mystic. As far as I'm concerned, they're all bunk." I was not pilloried. We had a good discussion. I chopped up every religious assertion regardless its source and we all had a rousing good time fencing with each other and I was even congratulated later for having the guts to state my position clearly and forcefully. But afterward, the same co-panelist who asked my what I was if not a Christian came up to me and pressed me further. Do I believe in reincarnation? "No. There's no proof for it. It seems to me to be the same sort of wishful thinking all the rest of them embrace and I have no use for it." I think she was offended at that point. Thinking about it now, I'm beginning to realize why we have such difficulty in public forums discussing religion, especially religion in our political life.

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Mean Phoneme Meme

During a bout of insomnia, I pondered an underrepresented phoneme. I first learned about these essential quanta of spoken words while I was earning my degree in psychology back in the early 1980's, and researching computer speech synthesis for fun. What popped into my head these wee hours was the word, "vacuum". Say it aloud with me, "Vacuum". Listen to yourself say it. Vacuum. Break it down. It starts with the vee, a vocalized eff. Then "a" as in "can". And a full-stop kay. No surprises, so far. Did you just utter "Ee"? As in "Keep"? We will get back to that. Next it depends on your dialect. Maybe you said "oo" as in "broom", or maybe oo-uh as in "you-uns". And end with a nice vocalized "mm". This is the only case that I can think of where a double-U really is. But, what was that in the middle? Ee? Vakeeoom? Part of the institutional mis-education in our country is that even teachers are unaware of a double standard in teaching the relationship between spoken and written English. We have "silent-E" drilled into us... (Digression for mathematician Tom Lehrer's version on The Electric Company) ... but what about all those hidden, non-silent "E"s? They are everywhere in our spoken words, but not in the written ones. Even many words with silent E have unwritten spoken long-E's embedded. Take "lake", for example. Listen to yourself say it. There is no hint of the written E on the end. But in the middle? L-eh-ee-k. Long "A" is really short-E-long-E. Always. (Ah-l-oo-eh-ee-z) Take a cue from "cue". K-ee-oo. Do you, like, like "like"? L-ah-ee-k? So my obscure title simply means that I mean to bring attention to the essential idea of a troublesome yet common (mean, mean) spoken sound. I'm usually easy to amuse, but sleep deprivation stunts my self-censorship.

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The Line Between

I have to write a new bio. I've been needing to do this for some time. I had a few prepared bios for conventions and such, tailored depending on who I sent them to. Magazine bios, con bios, conference bios...they all required a bit of tweaking. But they're all pretty much out of date. I'm going to do this during the coming week. Cull through all the details that would seem to make me an important person, someone people might wish to come listen to or see. I have a difficult time with these, which is why I write most all of them in third person. I have to put myself in a frame of mind that I'm writing about Someone Else. Apropos to that, this past weekend I received my copy of the new documentary The Polymath: or the Life and Opinions of Samuel R. Delany. In the course of watching it Saturday and Sunday, we heard him say that he considers himself a rather uninteresting person. I found that resonant. When I'm writing a new story, I tend to put myself in the character of the protagonist. I see myself as That Person. And almost always, when I start on the subsequent rewrites, one of the problems I have to fix is that the main characters of my stories are uniformly weak compared to the secondary characters. A couple of years ago I had a revelation about why that is. Mainly, because I don't see myself as a particularly interesting person. So that translates into the protagonist, who is generally interested in the other characters, who then become relatively more imbued by interesting characteristics. I have to then go back and add in all the missing stuff the main character requires. Which brings me to the writing of a personal bio. What is it about me that is interesting to other people? Now, I'd like to be interesting and sometimes I think I am. But in the course of the day, I don't even think about myself much less what it is about me that makes me worth note. This is perfectly sane behavior, as far as I'm concerned. Who does go through the day cataloging their specialness besides narcissists, obsessives, terminally vain, or profoundly insecure people? I stipulate that I'm vain, but it limits itself to personal grooming, physical fitness, and an attempt at erudition, none of which controls my life, and all of which are practices I think more people should embrace if for no other reason than a sense of public politeness. But I'm always a bit dismayed when people actually pay attention to me or think I have something worth saying. (I stress again, I want to be someone like that, I just don't happen to "feel" it.) So the personal bio usually becomes a list of things I've done. It seems a common way to deal with the self-conscious aspects of a productive life, to place your credentials, as it were, Over There In That Box. You can point to the file and say, well, if you want to know about me, look in there. And in that file you'll find my publications, my award nominations, and the work I've done, etc etc., and, oh year, I live in St. Louis, I have a dog, I'm in love with Donna and so forth---which are still components, in a way, rather than actual revelations. I don't think there's anything wrong with this approach and I certainly don't think strangers have a right to expect more, but it's not exactly a biography, is it? It's more like a resume. It doesn't say anything about the fact that for me different music produces different kinds of writing, that if I'm trying to get inside the head of someone tormented I often listen to Ligeti and when I'm creating landscapes, I want Vangelis or Sibelius and when I need action, I find Last Fast or Joe Satriani or Bartok really helps. It doesn't cover the fact that I use much of my music to unlock a feeling I can't quite identify just for myself. It doesn't say anything about how much I like late evening sunlight shafting through miniblinds (or how the same effect, late at night, from streetlamps, really turns me on); or how the late afternoon sunlight across open fields in September strikes a kind of heroic melancholy in my mind, like the atmosphere of final days or impending loss or the denouement after a mighty adventure; or the fact that I've never read a book that has made me weep, but there are certain films that do it to me almost every time... In other words, bios like this don't say much about me. But my stories do, if you remember that they are not and never have been biographical. A paradox? Not really. You put what you feel into a story. How that feeling is evoked is unimportant as long as it's true, and you don't need personal revelation in terms of history to do it. Everyone has these feelings, and they own them, and they were all evoked differently, so fiction that talks about the personal need not be about the author to work. But you still ought to be able to say something in a bio about yourself that makes you at least seem interesting to total strangers. I'm still working on all this.

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