Thoughts on The Game that Detects a Cheating Spouse

I realize I have been ignoring the religion part of this blog lately. And I was all set to give you another installment of My Favorite Bible Stories. Until this story caught my eye.

It’s a fictional story about a man who successfully maintains a “respectable” job and family life, while sneaking off with a girlfriend a couple times a year. This cliché continues until the development of an app which detects the brain’s instinctual recognition response, something to do with P300. Read more about the P300. In the story, the app is called The Game that Detects a Cheating Spouse.

The point Bruce Kasanoff is making involves easily accessible technology which is able to instantly and accurately tell when you're lying. While there is an obvious connection with relationships and cheating, Kasanoff remarks that such technology concepts could also be applied to situations such as lying at work, or anywhere else you find it easy to be economical with the truth.  Kasanoff says, “What will life be like when the truth becomes inescapable?”

Well said.

But I want to take this beyond obvious lies; cheating, stealing, willful deception. Not a human on earth would deny having told at least a few “white lies” in their lifetime. In fact, I would venture to guess, most of us tell white lies several times a day. We lie to keep from hurting someone’s feelings, such as That is the world’s most god-awful lipstick. A world where you can’t successfully lie about your boss's new plaid blazer would be different indeed.

Then there are the lies we tell, the carefully plotted deceptions we construct, to keep others from seeing our

weaknesses, our insecurities. Like when we laugh at a joke because everyone else is laughing, even though we don’t really get it. Or, we nod along, even when we have no idea what someone is talking about. 

The scarier deceptions come when we’re hurt by someone or something, but we can’t bring ourselves to talk about it. So we pretend it doesn't exist. This may preserve our feelings for a little while, but it’s still lying. And like any lie, you have to keep lying in order to keep it hidden. And keeping anything hidden, never feels good for long.

Even though the story is about cheating, what I’m talking about is self-actualization, fulfilling your mental needs and reaching your full potential. What this story brought to my attention was … how much I don’t lie anymore. To anyone, about anything.

It’s not just about having open and honest poly relationships. Though that’s part of it. I also see how I have finally come to a place where I am comfortable with my weaknesses and my insecurities. I have on occasion taken them out and laid them on the table where anyone who cared could see them. Not for pity, but merely because I had nothing to hide. Here they are! I know they’re stupid, childish, petty, maybe even unnecessary. I acknowledge them. I embrace them. And I don’t expect anyone but myself to deal with them. Though I’m not above assistance every now and then.

Recently, while in the process of making a fool out of myself, someone told me: “I’m not laughing with you, I’m laughing at you.” But here’s the problem with that. As long as I own my foolishness, as long as I think it’s just as foolish as you think it is, as long as I’m laughing too, I cannot be laughed at. When my weaknesses are revealed, intentionally or accidentally, the way I see it, you have only two choices. You can laugh along with me, because I find my stupidity to be endlessly amusing. Or, you can choose not laugh. And neither choice will bother me.

I literally have nothing to lose because I have nothing to hide. Even if I were to lose the people and the things that are important to me, I still have the knowledge that I have nothing to hide. I don’t feel the need to lie about my insecurities or blunders to win someone’s affections. Such people aren't worth my time anyway. And though my opinions about how others dress, or speak, or conduct themselves might hurt someone's feelings, I am not ashamed of them. I do my best to conceal these truths for their sake. But I have no fear of them being revealed.

Are you Liar, Liar, pants on fire! ?

All of this freedom, to not have to lie about my opinions, my feelings, my truly most embarrassing moments … all of this I attribute to the secure sensation of absolute happiness I've had of late. I have nothing to fear, and so the world is my playground.

What insecurities are you hiding? What would happen if you revealed them?

Who Am I?: Major Depressive Disorder and Identity

Major Depressive Disorder is the result of brain functioning which produces (or fails to produce) sufficient chemicals. It is a disorder I have struggled with all my life. At some point I should probably post an entry detailing my particular journey through personal madness. But for now, it suffices to say that I cannot remember a time when I did not view the world through an angry grey lens. As a child, I assumed everyone experienced the world the way I did. And at 17, I was (voluntarily) admitted to the nut house and began the long road to recovery.

Of course you never really "recover" from your brain's faulty chemistry. But neither does choking down a lottery of medical cocktails solve all your problems. I had to do some of the work too. And that's what I want to address today. Who is this "I"? 

Thanks to (being dragged kicking and screaming* to) read Richard Carrier's Sense and Goodness Without God, I have been better able to clarify just what it is that I believe makes up the "self". The "self", or the individual, is composed of a unique set of desires, thoughts, decisions, values, abilities, and all of those are (directly or indirectly) the result of the brain's functioning. 

What this means is that, when it comes to depression or moodiness, my brain fails to function like most other brains. So I say to myself, "Self, how can this be you? How can you be a person who loathes yourself? Are you really this person who unfairly compares yourself to others? Finding faults in others to feel better about yourself? Being angry with anyone who is 'prettier', 'smarter', or 'more successful'?" I mean, is this who I am?

Truth is, I like to think of "myself" as the person I am when my cocktail has supplied me with the necessary chemicals. I'm thoughtful, confident, and gracious. I help others to the best of my ability. And I find I have unlimited stores of patience with myself and others.

When I'm feeling poorly, I'm self conscious around people whom I don't trust not to judge me, who might think, 'Well, that's just who she is, negative, argumentative, and lazy." But I don't really see myself as "that" person. I prefer to assign those attributes to the disorder. I aspire to keep my dark side from interfering with my behavior and relationships. The depressed person is not really me. I am this other person who is happy, and compassionate, and patient and generous.

But this, of course, isn't true. I am that depressed person. That person is me. As much as I don't like it. 

One funny thing about medication (which they don't tell you about initially) is that it doesn't last forever. By that I mean, your body builds up a tolerance to it. This is true of all medications (as far as I know) not just antidepressants or psychiatric medications. So, it came to pass, on the eighth year of my second brand of happiness-in-a-pill, that my mood, energy, empathy, and ability to feel pleasure plummeted. It was time for a new med.

Changing medications which alter one's mood is a bit like playing Russian Roulette. The effects could be minimal, the switch could be easy. And the first time I changed meds, this was my experience. However, back to reality, this time around it has been a bit more difficult. Among other unpleasant side effects, I have noticed a sudden inability to tolerate criticism in any form. (A quality whose reverse--the ability to accept and effectively utilize criticism--I take great pride in, when I'm feeling "myself".)

A stranger passes me on the street, I smile as I normally would, he looks away, a neutral expression, no smile. And my thoughts run rampant. It's like opening the Pamplona bull gate! I start jumping to all kinds of conclusions that I know aren't true, and running for my life before one of those bulls gores me. He hates me. I'm ugly. I'm worthless. Everyone hates me. There's no point to living. I am pitifully out numbered.

Thankfully, years of meditation and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy have enabled me to nab these thoughts right out of the gate, wrestle them to the ground and strangle them outright. (That's right, bull fighting, baby!) But that can't stop the emotions and tears that inevitably follow.

TheLordofDarkness and I have been fighting more often than usual during this Great Transition, and, I suspect, in large part because of it. Every problem he tries to express to me I hear as criticism, and it's all I can do to keep those pesky, terrifying thoughts at bay. I have no energy or mental aptitude left to address the actual problem. Is this who I really am?

The answer is "yes" (as discussed above), but that is not all. I am also the person who decides I don't want to be this way. I am the person who tackles the terrible thoughts, and refuses to let them control my behavior. I am the person who calls the doctor and I am the person who has the courage to say, "No, I am not okay. I need a change. I need some help." This is me too. 

Don't get me wrong, the most terrifying experience a person can have is when her own brain is trying to kill itself. When the self is trying to kill the self. Suicide is a alluring and deceptive mistress. Yep, this is still me. But not all of me. Because, while I have one voice that says suicide is easier than dealing with pain, there is another voice telling me that it doesn't have to be painful, and I can make it through, and I should ask for help. And I can always make the choice. Ultimately, this defines who I am: my choices.

*Have we not yet created a tongue-in-cheek font? I'd use it here if there was one. Can someone please get on that?!

As a personal side note, you may be sick of reading mental health stories like mine and roll your eyes at things like what I'm about to say. And if that is the case, feel free to stop reading. I give you a free pass. For everyone else, if you suspect you or someone you care about is suffering from a mental illness, PLEASE ASK FOR HELP! Do not let anyone tell you how you are feeling or what you need, except a mental health professional. The worst that can happen is that you suffer a small amount of embarrassment being told there is nothing really wrong with you. If you do have a mental disorder and you choose not to seek help, the best you can ever hope for is a miserable, unhappy life. The worst, is no life at all.

Packing Up My History: How Personal Narratives Can Hold You Back

For the first week since February, I have failed to make a post. Circumstances have made it suddenly obligatory that TheLordofDarkness and I clean out the basement of our former house, which we had been using for storage. And said project monopolized all of my physical and mental energy for the week. Sadly, I have a few more weeks yet to go. 

So I descend to the cellar of my personal history and sort through all of the stuff I have accumulated in my adulthood, but don't actually use. Why do I keep this stuff? I suspect it has something to do with using physical objects to anchor my non-physical identity.

I am thinking of  "identity" as my personal narrative, the collection of my individual experiences, what makes me me and not you. These solid objects -- books, Strawberry Shortcake dolls I played with as a kid, my daughter's baby clothes, a picture that is too ugly to hang on the wall -- all of these are what make me special, unique. They point to an individual who is most definitely here.

And if I lose these "things" that make me me ... what will happen to me? Will I cease to exist? Of course not. But I feel this pulling (mine is in my stomach) when I hand over my "treasures" because there just isn't any room for them any more.

Things I Have Held On To

1. Dance clothes. These are the leotard, tights and shoes I danced in during undergrad. I took a ballet class partly for exercise and partly for nostalgia, remembering my long hours of dance class at the performing arts school I attended.
2. Grandfather's shirts. My grandfather had a particular style of dress from which he never varied: jeans, a long-sleeved flannel, cowboy boots and a large shinny belt buckle, donning the seal of the state of North Dakota. Nothing quite like sinking into his lap, his chuckle and the aroma of Lucky Strikes. 
3. Gymnastics uniform. Ah, yes. This is probably where the greatest pride of my youth lies. Tumbling, swinging, flying, chin high, sticking your flat chest out, proud as a peacock. This is my proudest me at my proudest moment.
4. Childhood Winnie-the-Pooh lamp. Somehow, hanging on to this feels like being that child again. Reading bedtime stories with my dad. Dreaming that I could be anything I wanted to be. When I look at this lamp, I think I would like to be that child again.
5. Religious artwork handmade by my aunt. This is a tough one. I feel bad giving it away as my aunt is a professional artist, and a particularly good one. But I will never hang it up in my house. I can't give it to another family member as they all have one exactly like it. Giving it away feels like betraying my family. So, it collects dust.
6. Textbooks. Containing a good portion of the knowledge I have accumulated, some of which I have rejected but am grateful to have learned nonetheless. I have fooled myself into thinking I will look at them again someday. 
   

   

   Damn those cute baby girl clothes!

7. Children's clothing. I have not yet given up on the idea of blessing humanity with yet another of my gorgeous offspring. However, truth be told, there are some baby clothes, like that pink baby dress with the lacy ruffles, that I will probably still hold onto long after the rest have been hauled off to Goodwill. I have dreams of my Dementia-ed self spending my nursing home days clinging to such relics, and gazing longingly over pictures of my angels. And, repeating it again the next day, as I will have forgotten the entire previous day.

So, I pack each of these pieces of myself away in boxes, and rent a storage unit to hold them until I can afford a residence capable of housing "all" of me.

I wonder if these bits of myself are holding me back from being the me that I right now. Am I fully able to let go of these narratives of myself? Some individuals are so attached to their material possessions, extensions of themselves, they could not possibly live without them. Am I like this? Am I enough right now, without all these trinkets?

A popular Zen teaching is that you have everything you need to be happy at this very moment, you only have to realize it. This teaching is sometimes illustrated using Magic Eye artwork. At first glance, the page is merely covered in seemingly random patches of color, shapes and lines, but once your eyes adjust, you see a 3D image of a whale, or a beach house, or a space ship. The 3D image was there even when you couldn't see it. It just took an adjustment of perspective. 

An adjustment of perspective, not a change of circumstances, is what I needed to see that I can be happy in this moment without anything extra. Without all my stuff. Just me is enough.

Cultural Conditioning: Watching Kids at Play

It’s refreshing to watch children play. For one thing, I am reminded what it was like to be totally free to express myself in every way I could think of, without the fear of being shamed. It is balm to the soul to remember that freedom is still inside of me somewhere. Albeit small and silent.

The other reason I love watching my children express their imaginations, is that it reminds me of the filter my cultural upbringing has instilled in me. The filter through which I view the world. For example, my first encounter with filters was when I realized most people didn't walk around as angry as I was.

When I was younger I was angry all the time. Instead of rose-colored glasses, mine were gray and sometimes black. As a result I was an embittered and impossible child. (Sorry, Mom.) And I thought this was how everyone saw the world. It wasn't until after years of therapy and meds that I discovered, most people can and do enjoy life! How odd.

This is to say, we aren't aware of our filters until they are pointed out to us. Typically, children have had much less exposure to cultural norms and expectations. So they aren't restricted in their play the way adults can be.  As kids become more aware of cultural rituals and rules, it is curious to see how they mix and match the ideas, sometimes following the rules sometimes making up their own. This is the game I play with myself as I watch them, trying to notice my own indoctrination through their obvious lack of it.

Which brings me to an anecdote from our annual family vacation. I am not “out” as poly to my family and many of my friends. My mother is a pastor and I live in a hoity-toity part of the Bible Belt. It’s not fair that my young children should be ostracized for choices they didn't make if it’s within my control. My children are young and do not yet have direct knowledge of my relationships outside the home.

On vacation we’re all sitting around in the living room of a rented space, watching my two children (boy and girl) and my brother’s two kids (also a boy and a girl) play. My daughter (the oldest) decides they should all “get married”. A relatively routine game for children, still navigating the complicated ocean of relationships. What girl didn't plan out her wedding day at least a few hundred times.? (Sigh. Also, cultural conditioning.)

But in the kids’ imaginary game, who’s going to marry whom? Well, we wouldn't want any feelings to be hurt. So, my daughter decides (with absolutely no input from me) that they will all get married together. She will marry both boys, in one ceremony. And her girl cousin will marry both boys in another. (I’m also loving the female patriarch implied here!)

What was incredible to me was how all of the other kids went along with this idea without batting an eye. Makes perfect sense, we all want to live together and be happy, so we’ll get married the way our grown-ups do. Of course the ceremonies were elaborate (and expensive!) And she got to walk her two “men” down the aisle.  Flowers, veils … we spared no expense.

Fortunately for me, no one noticed this social faux pas. Except my husband, who bore holes into me with his eyes from across the room.

Another glaringly obvious “rule” of the game was that only the girls could marry boys. Girls marrying girls, or boys with boys, wasn't suggested. An example of mixing and matching the rules, and also, I think, far too little exposure to gay culture (not by choice, by circumstance).

The "rules" of culture are not always so straight forward. Sometimes you don't even realize what you're doing until you meet someone (usually from a far away land) who does it differently. And, on occasion, cultural "rules" can be a positive thing, like positive peer pressure. But more importantly, it's being aware of the conditioning that makes a difference. This is what allows us to change course, should the time ever come when it's needed. And it allows us to be compassionate and tolerant of others, especially others with different cultural conditioning.

A challenge for all of us: be more aware of your conditioning as we move through our day.

Begging for Validation

I recently read a post on reddit's polyamory board about a woman who was upset that her long time boyfriend couldn't or wouldn't say "I love you". This bothered me though I couldn't pin down the reason right away. There's quite a bit to play with here, though I think the main rub is the way relationships are often used as self-validation.

Validation means to authenticate or prove. And self-validation is anything that authenticates the self or personal identity. There are any number of routes to self-validation. The usual line-up consisting of money, power, status, relationships, material possessions.

The dangerous side of using some "thing" for self-validation is the risk of losing the "thing" equates to losing the "self". This is how the ending of a job or a relationship can lead some individuals to total mental breakdown. It explains why others will remain in a crumbling or even abusive relationship long past the expiration date.

Since opening my life and relationships to polyamory, I have notice a drastic change in the way I relate to everyone, but especially my intimate partners. In the past, including when I got married ten years ago, I used my relationships as a means of proving to the world and to myself that I was worthwhile. Maybe even something special. (Fighting off the middle school demons who told me I was too weird, tomboyish, and ugly to have a boyfriend.)

I don't credit polyamory entirely for my change in perspective. Zen meditation and the practice of non-attachment were a big part of it as well. Attachment is the Buddhist principle of binding oneself to objects or concepts. Non-attachment is the release of that binding, including the attachment to one's own identity or ego.

Without the need for validation, I approach my intimate relationships without actually needing anything from them. I can appreciate my partners and what they offer without wanting more (or less). Each partner's unique form of love is beautiful in it's own way. And it's more than I could ask for. It makes no difference at all if our relationship or their method of loving matches some outside measuring stick of relationships, including when to say those three little words. 

Religion too is a form of validation. (I do not think of Zen as a religion, but a philosophy.) Being raised (and entrenched) in Christianity, it felt as though I was always looking outward at events and people for confirmation, or "signs". God was the source of my identity. This is why it can be so impossible for religious people to break away even when faced with solid evidence. The loss of religion is a loss of self. 

Religion, relationships and everything else will always prove inadequate as self-validators. It is my own "self" that I must confront and accept ... and validate. Not in a superior way, but in a compassionate way that doesn't hide or ignore what others might shun. 

And that is all that matters- your life, yourself, your pettiness, your shallowness, your brutality, your violence, your greed, your ambition, your daily agony and endless sorrow- that is what you have to understand and nobody on earth or in heaven is going to save you from it but yourself. -J. Krishnamurti

Diluting Disappointment

In the poly world it seems that jealousy often equates to the Boogie Man. But recently, I have come to recognize my own acute sensitivity to disappointment. When I am disappointed by a person, an event, even myself at times, the nightmare in my closet emerges. Disappointment is my Jealousy.

I took me some time to come to this epiphany. I mean, for most people, disappointment isn't exactly on the same level with Jealousy. So what's the big deal?

I started to recognize a pattern in my relationships. Someone would fail to live up to one of my expectations. It could be as simple as cancelling a date, or a repeated irritation like leaving a mess of globby toothpaste on the sink.

My initial reaction is anger. How could they do this to me! For toothpaste-like infractions, I might even launch stupid angry phrases at my beloved: Why do you keep doing this?! Don't you know how much it upsets me?! It makes very little sense to anyone just looking at the messy sink, but the issue goes deeper than that.

Next, I start to feel worthless. If he's cancelled our date, I must have done something wrong. I must not be good enough. And, finally, abandonment: He doesn't really want to be with me. If he did, he'd clean up the sink every night. *Sigh* I am a silly girl.

I'm not a naturally jealous person. So, it made no sense to me why I would care if a partner decided to take the evening to pursue other interests. It became plainly obvious to me that this was my issue when my lover wasn't even going to meet up with someone else. He just needed some personal time. Can a sane person really be jealous of that? Hmmm, seems I'm fresh out of bodies to blame.

Being with the same partner for ten years has helped me to step back and look really hard at my own reactions: Is this something to be upset about? What is really going on here? And separating reality from the crazy, delusional distopian fantasy my anxiety invents.

Freud would be thrilled to hear me say that it all goes back to my mother. I really try not to blame things on her any more. And I certainly don't think my problems are all her fault. But she had tendency when I was growing up to leave me places, forget to pick me up, disappear until well after midnight, etc. So, when she disappointed me by not coming to my choir concert, poetry reading, tennis match, extra-special, extra curricular, well, my childhood psyche felt worthless. And, in time, psychologically abandoned. Though there were times I was physically abandoned as well.

BAZINGA! (I ♥ Sheldon.) So now, knowing the situations that trigger my disappointment/abandonment, and understanding where these pesky emotions come from, I have an arsenal of reassurances in place. I haven't gotten to the point where I need to write them down, but I'm not too proud if it gets that far.

Also, I am blessed to be married to such an understanding soul. He sees my emotions for what they are: powerful disillusionment. He doesn't discount how debilitating they feel. And he's willing to serve up reassurances as necessary.

Regardless of the strong emotions I feel, they belong to me. Blaming my rotten feelings on the actions of others won't ever make me feel better and, in the long run, may actually make me feel worse by driving away those people actually willing to put up my crazy.

Laughing at Yourself: On Criticizing the Oscars

All this criticizing of Seth MacFarlane at the Oscars is really getting to me:

I am sick to death of the idea that “it’s just comedy” somehow gives you a free pass when you’re saying things that are racist and sexist. Link to article.

And I am sick to death of people who are so offended by offensiveness. There's a reason the entertainment industry has created an entire industry around offensive humor: because (sometimes) it's funny. See Seth's Top 10 offensive Oscar jokes here.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not defending Seth MacFarlane, and I'm certainly no fan of his. I have watched the occasional Family Guy, and I roll my eyes more often than I snicker. But here is what truly irritates me about these critics of this year's Oscars:

1. You knew it was coming and you watched it anyway. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that with McFarlane hosting, the show was going to include off-color humor. You could have easily saved yourself the anxiety, taken a Benadryl, and read a list of the winners the next morning.

2. His jokes weren't that offensive. Consider the topics he didn't cover: Charlize Theron's cheating husband/Kristen Stewart, Honey Boo Boo (oh, thank god), Osama bin Laden, mental illness, Halle Berry's legal battles, Lindsay Lohan ... Also, offensiveness has to do with context. It's a lot different hearing sexist or racist jokes on television than when your boss is tossing them around the break room. Much different.

3. And most of them weren't that funny either. Anti-MacFarlane fans can revel in the facs that most of his "offensive" remarks only garnered groans anyway. There's nothing worse than making jokes on stage when nobody's laughing.

4. Celebrities have tough skin. You didn't make it to the Oscars without overcoming the critics. And you're wearing clothes I wouldn't be able to afford after a lifetime of working! A night of slights at American Royalty is just what the public needs to bring the country's superheroes back down to Earth.

5. It's funny because it's true. If you aren't comfortable with who you are -- Hollywood Jews who only hire other Jews, a domestically violent couple, or showing off your boobs on the big screen --  then change it. That's the beauty of Hollywood and America: you can change your image/self. As Ben Affleck proved with Best Film, Argo.

5. You can only be offended if you can't laugh at yourself. Come on, this is basic 4th grade playground psychology. They can't be laughing at you if they're laughing with you. And YOU are the only person who has control over your own laughter. Go home and have a good cry afterwards, if you must. But ultimately, consider: if you can't laugh at who you are, then CHANGE YOURSELF!

This last point irritates me more than anything else. People like to point the finger at someone who has offended them, when really it's a chance to look within. Why am I offended by humor that was meant to entertain? Am I really comfortable with who I am regardless of what others say about me?

A quote from Silver Linings Playbook sums it up nicely (in more ways than one -- go Jennifer Lawrence!):

There will always be a part of me that is dirty and sloppy, but I like that, just like all the other parts of myself ... Can you say the same for yourself, fucker?

Can you?

k

Evil People?

In creating the human raceI did achieve perfection;a perfection of balancebetween the forces driving it toward good, and those driving it toward evil.+Last Testament: A Memoir by GOD 

Though this was meant as a humorous statement, most Christian doctrine would agree. Or worse, that man was created entirely evil, seeped in sin, as it were. The only way to achieve even an ounce of goodness is through God's most gracious gesture, the murder of his son. 

I would argue that it is unfair for god to expect us to be good little boys and girls when he created us balanced between good and evil. It's like saying, "Here, I've created you with only one leg, but if you really want to please me, I need you to learn to run really fast."

Not that I really believe in "good" and "evil" as concepts. It's one of the big religious paradoxes I have never been able to put on blinders to: "Here's all these enjoyable things I created and I've given you a body capable of enjoying them. But if you really love me (meaning: God), if you really want to be a worthwhile (read: holy) person, then I want you to not enjoy them." What?! Might as well ask "evil" lions to stop eating prey, or beavers to stop building dams, etc. Alright, I think I've beaten this dead horse ..

A friend of mine argued that being overly attached to ego or the physical world can make someone evil, and I used to agree. But lately I've come to see these individuals (those who embody "separateness") as more lost than anything else. Like they can't really help themselves. Of course they can, but sometimes you can be so down deep in a hole, buried under so many false ideas and information about yourself and the world, that it's too difficult to overcome on your own.

Working from a base of false information (for example a religious paradigm), you can come to some pretty "evil" seeming conclusions about what you "should" or "must" do. I remember very clearly what it's like to be down in the bottom of that hole (everyone's is unique of course), feeling like there is no possible solution, etc. So, that being said, I see so called evil people, or people who do evil things, as severely deluded about the reality of ... um ... reality.

I feel sorry for them. They can control their actions, and they still need to be held accountable for them (especially criminals and such), but until they have a paradigm shift, they won't really be motivated (not quite the right word) to act differently. They won't understand why it's the right way to act. They might simply act that way to avoid further punishment. And you really need someone (even if it's through the written word) to help you through that shift. We can't all be little Buddhas and come to enlightenment on our own. Like I said, I don't really believe in good and evil, except for when you're talking about archetypal cartoon characters. (Too much Power Rangers for me today.)

Those who are severely deluded about the nature of reality can almost be seen as acting on instinct. They are more animal that cerebral human. Simply reacting, instead of thinking. Heavy doses of religious (and other forms) of conditioning can also have this effect. Does this visceral or conditioned state of mind make someone evil? Are they ever beyond all hope? Or is knowledge -- about the universe, the self, reality -- the cure for evil, as Plato suggested?

k