Psychopaths, Poetry.

Went to two completely different speaker events today.

1) Exploring the Brains of Psychopaths -- Dr. Kent Kiehl
(Sponsored by the Kenan Institute for Ethics, DIBS, the Philosophy Department)

Crazy economic analysis + fMRI data + diagnostic behaviors + anecdotes about serial killers. Apparently some treatments designed to instill empathy in prison inmates actually increase the likelihood of recidivism for psychopaths, because they learn how to fake empathy and therefore how to better commit crimes. Apparently psychopathy costs the U.S. $250-$400 billion/year due to prison costs, etc. (Crime costs $2.3 trillion/year?!) Apparently there is such a thing as a "vanilla in-mate," i.e. a non-psychopath, i.e. someone without the criminal versatility and sadism of a psychopath. Apparently psychopaths barely use their paralimbic systems, which Kiehl discovered after collecting data on 1000+ in-mates using his mobile fMRI trailer contraption (He plans to go to Alabama soon to collect more data. Difficult not to laugh at that).

2) Reading & Talk -- Dorianne Laux
(Sponsored by the 2010 Archive Literary Festival)

Poetry -- the rhythm of it. Laux has memorized tons of poetry and she recites it on command, to elucidates her points. Never have I thought of poetry so seriously. It was always an instinct, but I guess now I see how it could be a craft, how it could almost be a trickery of sorts -- a mastery of rhythmic effect and imagery.

A poem she recited for us, to illustrate the importance of syllables:

One Heart
Li-Young Lee

Look at the birds. Even flying
is born

out of nothing. The first sky
is inside you, open

at either end of day.
The work of wings

was always freedom, fastening
one heart to every falling thing.

The limits of neuroscience?

I was in neuroscience class today.

There exists a particular reaction to the existence of neuroscience -- a shock, I guess, that scientists can actually understand certain parts of human nature in the form of action potentials and neurotransmitters. It exists as a giddiness of sorts, almost an assumption of deviousness, as if what is being committed is some sort of crime against the cosmos, a "fuck you!" to the holiness of humanity.

What am I saying? Last year when I first got really excited about the prospect of neuroscience (of neuroeconomics, specifically), I hyped it so much in my mind, believing it to be some sort of holy grail to my own understanding of Life. Now, in retrospect, I realize how crude and juvenile and almost universal this perception is -- it's knee-jerk; it's uninformed.

Anyway. As I sat in neuroscience class today and thought about how obsessively neuroscientific the entirety of some people's lives are, I felt extremely disenchanted. Neuroscience is nothing more than what it is. So many students who profess an interest in neuroscience actually suffer from some sort of sadistic need to dehumanize everything. They think neuroscience somehow cheapens human concepts of nobility, spirituality, sanctity. They think, as I mistakenly did, that neuroscience actually answers questions about the nature of things, when really it only approaches questions about the characteristics of things.

Oh well. I'm being dogmatic about very little right now. I just hate to see this blind faith in anything, especially because I was a victim of it so very recently.

Danger!

A scantily clad association:

These are related--

• Hemingway's affinity for doing stupid daredevil things.
  
• Fight Club.
• "At its core, perhaps, war is just another name for death, and yet any soldier will tell you, if he tells the truth, that proximity to death brings with it a corresponding proximity to life." ("How to Tell a True War Story," Tim O'Brien)

There is something at once macho and true about the idea that comfort is actually the least spiritually healthy habit. When you test your boundaries, you test yourself, and you prove that you're actually alive -- at least that's the wisdom, right? Whatever. It's just such a prevalent thing, this whole flirtation with danger. It kind of reminds me of dopaminergic neurons and reward systems, but only in the most superficial, cheap thrill way.

End.