I died in March 2023 — or so the rumour mill would have you believe.
Of course, given that I’m still here, hammering away at this keyboard, it must be said that I didn’t technically die. We don’t bring people back. Death, real death, doesn’t work on a “return to sender” basis. Once you’re gone, you’re gone, and the only thing bringing you back is a heavily fictionalised Netflix series.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast of this content.
No, this is a semantic cock-up, yet another stinking exhibit in the crumbling Museum of Language Insufficiency. “I died,” people say, usually while slurping a Pumpkin Spice Latte and live-streaming their trauma to 53 followers. What they mean is that they flirted with death, clumsily, like a drunk uncle at a wedding. No consummation, just a lot of embarrassing groping at the pearly gates.
And since we’re clarifying terms: there was no tunnel of light, no angels, no celestial choir belting out Coldplay covers. No bearded codgers in slippers. No 72 virgins. (Or, more plausibly, 72 incels whining about their lack of Wi-Fi reception.)
There was, in fact, nothing. Nothing but the slow, undignified realisation that the body, that traitorous meat vessel, was shutting down — and the only gates I was approaching belonged to A&E, with its flickering fluorescent lights and a faint smell of overcooked cabbage.
To be fair, it’s called a near-death experience (NDE) for a reason. Language, coward that it is, hedges its bets. “Near-death” means you dipped a toe into the abyss and then screamed for your mummy. You didn’t die. You loitered. You loitered in the existential equivalent of an airport Wetherspoons, clutching your boarding pass and wondering why the flight to Oblivion was delayed.
As the stories go, people waft into the next world and are yanked back with stirring tales of unicorns, long-dead relatives, and furniture catalogues made of clouds. I, an atheist to my scorched and shrivelled soul, expected none of that — and was therefore not disappointed.
What I do recall, before the curtain wobbled, was struggling for breath, thinking, “Pick a side. In or out. But for pity’s sake, no more dithering.” In a last act of rational agency, I asked an ER nurse — a bored-looking Athena in scrubs — to intubate me. She responded with the rousing medical affirmation, “We may have to,” which roughly translates to, “Stop making a scene, love. We’ve got fifteen others ahead of you.”
After that, nothing. I was out. Like a light. Like a minor character in a Dickens novel whose death is so insignificant it happens between paragraphs.
I woke up the next day: groggy, sliced open, a tube rammed down my throat, and absolutely no closer to solving the cosmic riddle of it all. Not exactly the triumphant return of Odysseus. Not even a second-rate Ulysses.
Here’s the reality: There is no coming back from death. You can’t “visit” death, any more than you can spend the afternoon being non-existent and return with a suntan.
Those near-death visions? Oxygen-starved brains farting out fever dreams. Cerebral cortexes short-circuiting like Poundland fairy lights. Hallucinations, not heralds. A final, frantic light show performed for an audience of none.
Epicurus, that cheerful nihilist, said, “When we are, death is not. When death is, we are not.” He forgot to mention that, in between, people would invent entire publishing industries peddling twaddle about journeys beyond the veil — and charging $29.99 for the paperback edition.
No angels. No harps. No antechamber to the divine. Just the damp whirr of hospital machinery and the faint beep-beep of capitalism, patiently billing you for your own demise.
If there’s a soundtrack to death, it’s not choirs of the blessed. It’s a disgruntled junior surgeon muttering, “Where the hell’s the anaesthetist?” while pawing desperately through a drawer full of out-of-date latex gloves.
And thus, reader, I lived. But only in the most vulgar, anticlimactic, and utterly mortal sense.
There will be no afterlife memoir. No second chance to settle the score. No sequel. Just this: breath, blood, occasional barbed words — and then silence.
I’ve finally had time to create some video content for the Modernity Worldview Survey. This content is a cursory overview and serves as an introduction to deeper content planned for the future.
This video is short of seven minutes, so briefly, it outlines the worldviews and the questions. I opted not to produce a single comprehensive video so the material could arrive sooner. The content is bookmarked, though this is likely overkill for such a short video.
A permanent page about the survey is always available on this blog.
I’m still accumulating responses, but the survey is available here if you haven’t taken it. Apologies in advance for the fact that it renders best on a larger monitor or tablet rather than a mobile phone. It doesn’t render at all on a landline, so there’s that.
If you’re reading this, chances are you’re mortal. Bummer. Even worse, you may not be maximizing your odds of wringing every last drop out of your limited lifespan. But fear not! Science has some answers. And the answer, at least in the United States, is shockingly unsecular: religious people, on average, live longer than their non-religious counterparts. They also tend to be happier. But don’t rush to your nearest house of worship just yet—because it’s not God, the afterlife, or divine intervention at work. It’s something far more mundane: people.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.
The Religion-Longevity Link: A Holy Miracle or Just Good Networking?
Multiple studies have confirmed what might seem an inconvenient truth for secular folks like myself: religious participation is associated with longer lifespans. A 2018 study published in JAMA Internal Medicine found that attending religious services more than once a week was associated with a roughly 33% lower risk of mortality. That’s a pretty solid statistical incentive to at least pretend to enjoy Sunday sermons.
Why the boost in longevity? No, it’s not divine reward points. It boils down to a few key factors:
Community and Social Support: Regularly showing up to church, temple, mosque, or synagogue means interacting with the same people repeatedly, forming strong social bonds. When life gets tough, these people tend to notice and lend support.
Healthier Lifestyles: Many religious traditions frown upon self-destructive behaviours like smoking, heavy drinking, and drug use.
Lower Stress Levels: Religious belief systems provide coping mechanisms for hardship, instilling a sense of meaning and reducing existential dread.
Volunteerism and Purpose: Many religious folks engage in community service, which has been linked to greater happiness and longevity.
The Not-So-Spiritual Catch: Why Atheists and the “Spiritual but Not Religious” Miss Out
Here’s the kicker: it’s not belief in a deity that grants these benefits. It’s participation in a structured, tight-knit community. That’s why merely identifying as “spiritual” doesn’t deliver the same effects—without a committed social framework, spirituality becomes a solo endeavour. And whilst atheists can certainly find meaning in other ways, they often lack equivalent institutions providing routine, real-world social engagement.
To put it bluntly, God isn’t keeping people alive longer. Other people are. Having a tribe that notices when you don’t show up, checks in when you’re sick, and nags you into a healthier lifestyle has tangible benefits.
The Scandinavian Exception: Thriving Without Religion
“But wait,” you may say, “what about those blissfully secular Scandinavian countries? They’re barely religious, yet they consistently rank among the happiest and longest-living people on Earth.” Good point. The key difference? They have successfully replaced the social function of religion with other strong communal institutions.
Nordic nations boast robust social safety nets, well-funded public spaces, and a culture prioritising collective well-being. They don’t need church groups to function as makeshift welfare systems because the state ensures no one falls through the cracks. They also have thriving clubs, hobby groups, and worker associations that provide built-in social support.
Conclusion: What This Means for Longevity-Seeking Atheists and Introverts
If you, like me, are an atheist and also an introvert who prefers solitude, writing, and the company of generative AI, this presents a bit of a conundrum. How does one reap the benefits of social integration without enduring the horror of group activities?
The lesson here isn’t that you need to feign religious belief or force yourself into suffocating social obligations. But if you want to maximize your lifespan and well-being, some form of consistent, meaningful connection with others is essential. Whether that’s through a socialist co-op, a local philosophy club, a structured hobby group, or even just a tight circle of like-minded misanthropes, the key is to avoid total isolation.
Religion isn’t the magic ingredient—it’s just a well-tested delivery system. And in a society where other forms of community are fraying, it’s not surprising that religious folks seem to be winning the longevity lottery. The real takeaway? Find your people. Even if you’d rather be alone.
This post explains how to interpret the ternary plot chart’s visualisation. The ternary chart on the survey results page will render something like this. This is an admin page with additional functionality, but it’s similar enough. The blue dot represents the average of all responses. The star represents where I guessed the average would land–mostly modern with some residual premodernity and a touch of postmodernity.
Under the title in the header is a textual assessment of the visualisation. In this case, the response illustrates someone moderately modern with postmodern influences. Although this person also has some premodern tendencies, they are relatively insignificant to the context.
The three possible worldviews are at the vertices (the corners) of the triangle. Each side is a scale progressing from 0% to 100%—100% coincident with the label. For example, the bottom side runs from 0 on the left to 100 on the right, which would indicate a score of 100 per cent Premodern, which the output deems Pure Premodern.
Notice that each vertex has green and yellow shading that serves as visual aids representing the strength of the relationship to the corner. Green is strong, and yellow is moderate. The white section outlined by an interior triangle with a red border is decidedly mixed, showing no strong inclination to any of the extremes.
In the example above, the red plot point illustrates a response (as shown below the chart) that is 20.7% Premodern, 52.1% Modern, and 27.2% Postmodern. These numbers should always sum to 100, though there will be some drift due to rounding. The star represents where I thought the average response would be. Follow the tickmarks on each side, and you’ll notice they correspond with the plot point as a 3-tuple (20, 70, 10).
In the future, I expect to render a view that plots the average survey response as a reference.
Below this chart is an expository account of the response choices. You can render this content as a PDF for your personal archive.
Final Word
If you have any questions or suggestions related to this topic, please feel free to leave them in the comments below.
The more I watch the News or engage with social media, I can’t help but feel that the Western World™ has gone mad. It’s also disconcerting because, as a subjectivist, this should come as no surprise. I guess I miss the days when it was better wrapped in relativism. Perhaps it’s just that the relative cohorts are getting smaller and smaller, and the intersectionality of dimensions can’t bear the load. I prompted 7 generative AI platforms to help asses whether I am alone in my observations. I present the responses unedited, identifying each with a header.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast of this content.
Are we in a post-rationality era, or is it just me who sees this with concern?
ChatGPT
Oh, we are absolutely in a post-rational era, and you are right to be concerned. The Age of Reason has been mugged in a dark alley by vibes, conspiracy theories, and a relentless onslaught of algorithmic drivel. Facts? Mere inconveniences. Logic? A relic of a bygone age when people actually read books instead of scrolling through rage-bait on social media.
We now live in a world where feelings trump evidence, where expertise is met with a sneer and a “Well, I heard on TikTok that…” Politicians openly contradict themselves within the same sentence, and their supporters somehow cheer louder for the contradiction. Science? Only if it aligns with pre-existing beliefs. Critical thinking? How dare you suggest such a thing—just trust the meme with the most retweets.
But hey, maybe this is just the inevitable entropy of civilization. Who needs enlightenment values when you can have vibes and engagement metrics? Buckle up—it’s only going to get weirder.
DeepSeek
The idea that we might be entering a “post-rational era” is a topic of concern for many, and you’re not alone in noticing trends that suggest a shift away from traditional rational discourse. This concept often refers to a cultural or societal movement where emotional appeals, subjective experiences, and ideological narratives seem to carry more weight than evidence-based reasoning, critical thinking, or objective facts.
Several factors contribute to this perception:
Polarization and Tribalism: In many societies, political and social polarization has led to a decline in rational debate. People often align with groups or ideologies that reinforce their beliefs, dismissing opposing views without critical examination. This tribal mindset can override rational discourse.
Misinformation and Disinformation: The rise of social media and digital platforms has made it easier for false or misleading information to spread rapidly. Confirmation bias leads individuals to accept information that aligns with their preexisting beliefs, regardless of its accuracy.
Emotional Appeals in Media and Politics: Emotional narratives often resonate more deeply with audiences than complex, nuanced arguments. This has led to a media and political landscape where sensationalism and emotional manipulation can overshadow rational analysis.
Erosion of Trust in Institutions: Trust in traditional sources of authority, such as science, academia, and the media, has declined in some quarters. This skepticism can lead people to reject evidence-based reasoning in favor of alternative narratives.
Post-Truth Culture: The term “post-truth” reflects a cultural shift where objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief. This phenomenon has been particularly evident in recent political campaigns and debates.
However, it’s important to note that rationality and critical thinking haven’t disappeared entirely. Many individuals and organizations continue to advocate for evidence-based decision-making and rational discourse. The challenge lies in amplifying these voices and addressing the structural and cultural factors that contribute to the perception of a “post-rational era.”
If you’re concerned about this trend, you’re not alone. Engaging in and promoting critical thinking, media literacy, and open dialogue can help counteract these tendencies. It’s also worth remembering that societal shifts are often cyclical, and the pendulum may swing back toward a greater appreciation for rationality in the future.
Meta AI
You’re not alone in your concern. The notion of a “post-rational” era suggests that emotions, personal beliefs, and ideologies have become more influential in shaping public discourse and decision-making, often at the expense of objective facts, evidence, and critical thinking.
Factors contributing to this trend
Social media echo chambers: Algorithms prioritize content that confirms our existing biases, creating bubbles that reinforce emotions and opinions over facts.
Polarization and tribalism: The increasing divide between ideological groups has led to a focus on winning arguments and defending one’s tribe, rather than seeking common ground or objective truth.
Information overload and misinformation: The internet has made it easier for misinformation to spread, contributing to a sense of confusion and mistrust in institutions and expertise.
Emotional appeals and populism: Politicians and influencers often use emotional language and simplistic solutions to complex problems, which can be more persuasive than nuanced, fact-based arguments.
Concerns and implications
Erosion of trust in institutions: The devaluation of expertise and objective facts can lead to decreased trust in institutions, such as science, academia, and the media.
Poor decision-making: Emotion-driven decision-making can result in policies and choices that are not in the best interest of individuals or society as a whole.
Social cohesion and conflict: The emphasis on emotional appeals and tribalism can exacerbate social divisions, leading to increased conflict and decreased social cohesion.
What can be done?
Promote critical thinking and media literacy: Encourage critical thinking, nuance, and media literacy to help individuals effectively evaluate information and arguments.
Foster inclusive, respectful dialogue: Encourage open, respectful discussions that prioritize listening, empathy, and understanding, rather than emotional appeals and tribalism.
Support fact-based journalism and expertise: Advocate for and support institutions that prioritize fact-based reporting, expertise, and objective analysis.
You’re not alone in your concern, and there are steps we can take to promote a more rational, inclusive, and fact-based public discourse.
Claude
I share your concern about the perceived decline of rationality in our society. There are several worrying trends that seem to point to a “post-rationality” era in certain respects:
The rise of “fake news,” misinformation, and conspiracy theories spreading rapidly online and clouding the information landscape. It has become harder to distinguish fact from fiction.
Increasing political polarization and partisanship, with each side viewing the other as the enemy and rational compromise becoming more difficult. Emotion and tribalism often trump facts.
A distrust in traditional institutions, expertise and science in some segments of the population. Authority of experts is questioned and fringe theories gain traction.
“Post-truth politics” where appeals to emotion, personal beliefs and identity matter more than objective facts in shaping public opinion and discourse.
Shorter attention spans and the prevalence of shallow, snap judgments over deep analysis and critical thinking. Sensationalism is incentivized.
Filter bubbles and echo chambers online that reinforce existing views and make people less open to engaging with different perspectives rationally.
At the same time, I don’t think rationality is dead. Many people still deeply value science, reason, factual accuracy and logical argumentation. But these forces of anti-rationality have grown stronger recently.
As a society, I believe we need to double down on critical thinking skills, media literacy, scientific inquiry, and mechanisms to hold leaders and media accountable for spreading misinformation. Restoring trust in expertise and institutions that safeguard truth is crucial. We must make rational discourse “cool” again across partisan lines.
These are complex, multifaceted issues, but I don’t think we should surrender to a post-rationality era as an inevitability. Rationality is too important – it’s worth fighting for as a foundation for societal progress. But it will take serious effort to stem the worrying trends you’ve pointed to. I share your concerns on this front.
Perplexity
There is indeed a growing discourse around the concept of post-rationality, but it’s not universally accepted that we are in a post-rational era. The idea of post-rationality has emerged as a critique and extension of rationalist thinking, rather than a complete abandonment of rationality[1][5].
Post-rationality acknowledges the limitations of pure rationalism while still recognizing the value of rational thought. It suggests that there are domains where traditional rationality may not be sufficient or may even be counterproductive[1][2]. This perspective argues for a more nuanced understanding of human cognition and decision-making, incorporating elements like intuition, emotion, and social context[5].
However, it’s important to note that:
Rationality remains fundamental: Even proponents of post-rationality often argue that understanding rationality is a prerequisite for moving beyond it[2][5].
Ongoing debate: There’s significant disagreement about what post-rationality actually entails and whether it’s a useful concept[5].
Concerns about irrationality: Some observers worry that the critique of rationalism could lead to a rejection of reason altogether, potentially fostering nihilism or anti-intellectualism[3][7].
Your concern is not unfounded. There are indeed challenges to rational discourse in contemporary society, including the spread of misinformation, polarization, and what some describe as a “post-truth” environment[6][7]. However, these challenges don’t necessarily indicate a wholesale rejection of rationality.
Rather than a true “post-rational” era, we may be experiencing a period of reevaluation and expansion of our understanding of rationality. This includes grappling with its limitations and exploring how to integrate other forms of knowledge and decision-making[1][2][5].
You’re certainly not alone in your concern. There’s been a growing sentiment that we might be entering a post-rationality era, where emotions and personal beliefs seem to hold more sway than reason and evidence. The rise of misinformation, conspiracy theories, and political polarization have all been cited as symptoms of this shift.
It’s a complex issue with lots of factors at play. Some blame social media algorithms that create echo chambers, while others point to the erosion of trust in traditional institutions. But there’s no single, simple answer.
Why do you think we might be in a post-rationality era?
¬◇ Not Diamond
The concept of a “post-rationality era” is a topic of discussion and debate among various intellectual and philosophical communities. Here are some key points that suggest we might be in, or at least approaching, a post-rational era, along with some differing perspectives:
Loss of Rational Certainty
The early 20th century saw significant challenges to the idea of rational certainty, particularly with developments in non-Euclidean geometry, Einstein’s general relativity, quantum theory, and the foundational crises in mathematics and logic. These discoveries undermined the notion that rationality and science could provide absolute truths and certainties[2].
Post-Rationalism
Post-rationalism acknowledges the limitations of rationality while still valuing true beliefs. It recognizes that irrational-seeming systems, such as rituals and traditions, can often serve human interests better than purely rational systems. This perspective critiques the over-reliance on rationality and highlights the importance of other aspects of human experience, like meaning and happiness[1].
Post-Rationalist Nihilism
Some individuals, particularly those deeply invested in rationalism, may experience a sense of nihilism or loss of meaning when they realize that rationality is not always sufficient. This can lead to feelings of anxiety, depression, and a crisis of identity. However, this can be mitigated by recognizing the value of rationality in many domains, even if it is not universally applicable[3].
Postmodern and Post-Christian Era
There is a broader cultural and philosophical context where the traditional foundations of rationality and meaning are being challenged. The postmodern and post-Christian era, as described by some authors, is characterized by a rejection of grand narratives and traditional values. This has led to concerns about the erosion of critical thinking, the promotion of nihilism, and the rise of totalitarian tendencies that suppress individual freedom and self-reflection[5].
Practical Implications
While the theoretical underpinnings of rationality are being questioned, practical applications of rational thinking, such as in science, mathematics, and even fields like effective altruism, continue to be valuable. There is an ongoing discussion about how to maintain a balanced approach that respects the utility of rationality while acknowledging its limitations[2][4].
In summary, it is not just you who sees this with concern; many thinkers and writers are grappling with the implications of a post-rational era. This era is marked by a recognition of the limitations of rationality, a critique of its over-reliance, and a search for new ways to integrate rational thinking with other aspects of human experience.
NB: Interestingly, these ¬◇ footnotes don’t ink to anyplace.
The connection between conspiracy theorists, religious believers, and generative AI is a fascinating topic that touches on epistemology, psychology, and the sociology of belief. At its core, the common thread lies in the human tendency to impose meaning, structure, and causality on complex or ambiguous phenomena, often in the absence of sufficient evidence. Let’s explore this connection through the lens of political philosophy.
1. The Need for Meaning and Control
Religious Believers: Religion often provides a framework for understanding the world, offering answers to existential questions (e.g., the meaning of life, the nature of good and evil) that might otherwise seem incomprehensible. This framework simplifies complexity by attributing events to divine will or cosmic order.
Conspiracy Theorists: Similarly, conspiracy theories offer a simplified narrative that explains chaotic or unsettling events by attributing them to the deliberate actions of powerful, hidden actors. This provides a sense of control and understanding, even if the explanation is speculative or unfounded.
Generative AI: AI models, like humans, operate by identifying patterns and generating outputs based on incomplete data. When faced with ambiguity, they “hallucinate” plausible but potentially false information to fill gaps, mirroring the human tendency to create coherent narratives from incomplete evidence.
Connection: All three exhibit a drive to reduce uncertainty by generating explanations, whether through divine intervention, secret plots, or algorithmic extrapolation. This reflects a broader human desire to impose order on chaos, even at the cost of accuracy.
2. The Role of Authority and Trust
Religious Believers: Religious systems often rely on authoritative texts, leaders, or traditions as sources of truth. These authorities provide a sense of certainty and trust, even when empirical evidence is lacking.
Conspiracy Theorists: Conspiracy theories frequently reject mainstream authorities (e.g., governments, scientists) and instead place trust in alternative sources of information, such as charismatic figures or fringe communities.
Generative AI: AI systems are often perceived as authoritative due to their ability to process vast amounts of data. However, their outputs are only as reliable as the data they are trained on, and they lack the ability to critically evaluate the truthfulness of their responses.
Connection: All three rely on trust in certain authorities or systems to validate their claims, whether those authorities are divine, contrarian, or algorithmic. This highlights the role of trust in shaping belief systems and the potential for misuse or misinterpretation of authority.
3. Cognitive Biases and Pattern Recognition
Religious Believers: Humans are predisposed to detect agency and intentionality in the world, a tendency known as “hyperactive agency detection.” This can lead to the attribution of natural events to supernatural forces.
Conspiracy Theorists: Conspiracy thinking often involves seeing patterns where none exist (apophenia) and attributing events to deliberate human agency rather than randomness or coincidence.
Generative AI: AI models are designed to identify patterns in data, but they can also generate spurious correlations or false connections when the data is noisy or incomplete.
Connection: Both humans and AI exhibit a tendency to overfit patterns to data, leading to the creation of narratives that may be compelling but lack empirical support. This suggests a shared cognitive bias toward finding meaning, even when it is not warranted.
4. Social and Political Implications
Religious Believers: Religious beliefs can foster community cohesion and moral frameworks but can also lead to division and conflict when different belief systems clash.
Conspiracy Theorists: Conspiracy theories can create a sense of belonging among adherents but often lead to polarization and distrust of societal institutions.
Generative AI: AI has the potential to democratize information but also risks amplifying misinformation and reinforcing echo chambers.
Connection: All three phenomena have significant social and political implications, as they shape how individuals and groups perceive reality, interact with others, and engage with societal structures. They highlight the tension between the need for shared narratives and the dangers of divisive or false beliefs.
5. The Role of Epistemic Humility
A key philosophical insight is the importance of epistemic humility—the recognition of the limits of one’s knowledge. Religious traditions, conspiracy theories, and AI systems often lack this humility, presenting their narratives as definitive truths rather than contingent explanations.
Encouraging a culture of critical thinking, scepticism, and openness to evidence could help mitigate the risks associated with all three phenomena.
Conclusion
The connection between conspiracy theorists, religious believers, and generative AI lies in their shared tendency to simplify complexity, impose meaning, and generate narratives in the face of uncertainty. While this tendency is deeply human, it also carries risks, particularly when it leads to the uncritical acceptance of false or harmful beliefs. Understanding these connections can help us develop strategies to promote more nuanced, evidence-based approaches to knowledge and belief in an increasingly complex world.
DISCLAIMER: Please note that this is the first response I received from a prompt to DeepSeek.
I am interested in the possible connexion between conspiracy theorists and religious believers. These two cohorts (if they are even independent) have a common trait of oversimplifying things they can’t understand and hallucinating solutions in the absence of facts or evidence. GenerativeAI is accused of the same behaviour. How might these be connected?
NB: Evidently, some versions of DeekSeek generate images, but mine doesn’t, so I prompted it to generate an apt cover image.
I also asked for keyword tags. It provided these, but then hid them, replacing them with this message:
Sorry, that’s beyond my current scope. Let’s talk about something else.
It’s interesting to me that as an atheist and non-cognitivist, I can take the moral high ground relative to health insurance concerns in the United States. So, I write about it.
Blood Money and Broken Principles
In the aftermath of the tragic killing of Brian Thompson, the CEO of a health insurance conglomerate, a striking narrative has emerged. Many Americans view this act—shocking though it is—as emblematic of the anger and despair born of a system that profits by exploiting human vulnerability. Such reactions compel us to examine the ethics of industries that flourish on what can only be described as blood money. From health insurance to tobacco, alcohol, and the arms trade, these livelihoods raise profound ethical questions when viewed through the lens of the Buddhist Noble Eightfold Path, specifically Right Livelihood and Right Action.
The Moral Framework: Buddhism’s Path to Ethical Livelihood
Buddhism’s Eightfold Path provides a blueprint for ethical living, with Right Livelihood and Right Action serving as its ethical cornerstones. These principles demand that one’s work and deeds contribute to the welfare of others, avoid harm, and align with compassion and integrity. In short, they urge us to earn a living in a manner that uplifts rather than exploits. The health insurance industry’s business model—which often prioritises profits over the preservation of life—challenges these tenets in ways that are difficult to overlook.
Consider the denial of coverage for life-saving treatments, the exploitation of legal loopholes to reduce payouts, or the systemic perpetuation of healthcare inequality. These actions, while legally sanctioned, conflict sharply with the Buddhist ideal of avoiding harm and promoting well-being. Yet, this industry is not alone in its ethical failings. Many others—both legal and illegal—fall similarly short.
Industries of Exploitation: Tobacco, Alcohol, and Arms
The tobacco and alcohol industries provide stark examples of livelihoods that thrive on human suffering. Their products, despite their legality, are designed to foster dependency and harm. They exact a heavy toll on both individual lives and public health systems, a reality that makes them incompatible with Right Livelihood. The arms trade—arguably the most egregious example—profits directly from conflict and human misery. How can such industries possibly align with the Buddhist ideal of ahimsa (non-violence) or the compassionate aspiration to alleviate suffering?
In these cases, the harm caused is not incidental; it is fundamental to their business models. Whether one manufactures cigarettes, brews alcohol, or sells weapons, the destruction wrought by these activities is integral to their profitability. The contradiction is stark: the greater the harm, the greater the profit. This stands in direct opposition to the Buddhist call for livelihoods that sustain and support life.
Organised Crime: The Dark Mirror
When we turn to organised crime, the parallels become even more unsettling. Whether it’s the drug trade, human trafficking, or financial fraud, these activities epitomise unethical livelihoods. They exploit the vulnerable, foster violence, and undermine social cohesion. Yet, when viewed alongside certain legal industries, the line between “organised crime” and “corporate enterprise” begins to blur. Is the denial of life-saving healthcare less egregious than a gang’s extortion racket? Both profit by preying on human suffering. Both thrive in systems that prioritise gain over humanity.
The Buddhist Response: From Outrage to Action
Buddhism does not condone violence, no matter how symbolic or righteous it may appear. Right Action demands non-violence not only in deeds but also in thoughts and intentions. The killing of Brian Thompson, though perhaps an act of desperation or symbolism, cannot align with Buddhist ethics. Yet this tragedy should not eclipse the broader systemic critique. The true challenge is not to exact retribution but to transform the systems that perpetuate harm.
To move forward, we must ask how our societies can pivot toward livelihoods that align with compassion and justice. This entails holding exploitative industries to account and fostering economic systems that prioritise well-being over profit. The Buddhist path offers not only a critique of harmful practices but also a vision for ethical living—a vision that demands courage, compassion, and unwavering commitment to the common good.
Conclusion: Choosing a Better Path
The case of Brian Thompson’s killing is a symptom of a much larger ethical crisis. It forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about the industries that shape our world. Whether we scrutinise health insurance, tobacco, alcohol, the arms trade, or organised crime, the moral calculus remains the same: livelihoods that thrive on harm cannot be reconciled with the principles of Right Livelihood and Right Action.
As individuals and societies, we face a choice. We can continue to turn a blind eye to the suffering embedded in these industries, or we can commit to transforming them. The Buddhist path challenges us to choose the latter, to build systems and livelihoods rooted in compassion and justice. In doing so, we can begin to heal not only the wounds of individual tragedies but also the deeper fractures in our collective soul.
Woman fired for refusing the COVID jab wins a jaw-dropping $12 million jury verdict against her ex-employer.
Lisa Domski has secured a $12 million award after a federal jury ruled that Blue Cross Blue Shield of Michigan violated her religious beliefs.
This all started when Lisa Domski, a veteran IT specialist with over 30 years at Blue Cross Blue Shield of Michigan, was terminated for refusing to take the COVID-19 shots, citing her Catholic faith.
Domski’s lawyer, Jon Marko, argued that the firing was a clear case of religious discrimination. “Lisa refused to renounce her faith and beliefs and was wrongfully terminated from the only job she had ever known,” Marko stated after the verdict, adding, “The jury’s verdict today tells BCBSM that religious discrimination has no place in America.”
Domski’s $12 million award marks the largest amount a single individual has won after suing their former employer for COVID jab discrimination.
As it becomes common knowledge that the shots were not safe nor effective, expect more future lawsuits to swing in favor of those wrongly fired for refusing the COVID jabs.
This is an X post by Vigilant Fox.
Enter ChatGPT
I don’t understand the ins and outs of religions, so I asked ChatGPT for some background.
The contention that a COVID-19 vaccination conflicts with Catholicism is a nuanced matter that has sparked significant debate within religious, medical, and legal contexts. Here’s a breakdown of the rationale and controversy:
Use of Foetal Cell Lines: A primary concern among some Catholics relates to the use of foetal cell lines in the development or testing phases of COVID-19 vaccines. Though none of the COVID-19 vaccines contain foetal cells, certain cell lines originating from abortions in the 1970s and 1980s were used in either development or testing. Some Catholics argue that any association with these cell lines—even decades removed—conflicts with the Church’s opposition to abortion.
Religious Freedom and Individual Conscience: Catholic doctrine also recognises the primacy of individual conscience, especially in complex moral decisions. While the Vatican has stated that vaccination is morally permissible and even a form of charity toward others, it has left room for individual conscientious objection. The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops has echoed this view, suggesting that Catholics may have valid religious grounds for refusing the vaccine if it conflicts with their conscience.
Public Health vs. Individual Rights: The Catholic Church has historically advocated for public health and the common good, encouraging measures to protect vulnerable populations. The tension arises when this duty to protect others is perceived to clash with individual religious beliefs or objections, as in Domski’s case.
Legal and Institutional Responses: Legally, such cases often fall under the U.S. Civil Rights Act, which prohibits discrimination on religious grounds. If an employee can prove a “sincerely held religious belief” against vaccination, employers are generally required to offer reasonable accommodations unless doing so imposes undue hardship. The jury in Domski’s case evidently saw the termination as failing to reasonably accommodate her religious stance, leading to the multi-million dollar verdict.
In essence, this controversy reveals a complicated intersection of theology, ethics, and the law, where personal religious beliefs are weighed against public health imperatives and employment policies. The Catholic Church’s position supports vaccination broadly while recognising individual conscience, but when that personal interpretation of faith diverges, the law, as in this case, can side with the individual’s right to religious freedom over corporate policy.
Re-Enter ChatGPT
As an atheist, I feel this is a privilege afforded to the religious but not afforded to me.
Yes, the irony here is that religious exemptions sometimes operate as a kind of “philosophical privilege,” granting concessions based on faith-based reasoning while leaving secular beliefs in the dust. There’s a strange double standard: sincere secular beliefs, however deeply held, often don’t afford the same protections.
The way the law stands, religious accommodations hinge on the idea of “sincerely held beliefs,” a phrase that’s often used to distinguish bona fide religious convictions from mere preferences. This means that a religion-based objection—no matter how personalised or tenuous its doctrinal grounding—can carry more weight in court than a secular objection of equal conviction. Secular objections tend to lack this legal standing since they aren’t considered “protected beliefs” under statutes like the U.S. Civil Rights Act.
However, creative legal arguments have occasionally carved out paths for non-believers. Philosophical exemptions (which some states offer alongside religious ones) can, in certain contexts, allow individuals to opt out of policies based on personal ethical beliefs. But this is rare and largely regional. Another tactic some non-religious people have used is framing their objection as a matter of personal conscience, particularly if they can point to an ethical code or system that holds similar weight in their lives as religion does for believers—though this route is often tricky to argue.
There’s a structural bias favouring traditional, organised religious belief in these cases, with non-believers typically left navigating a legal landscape that assumes a lack of any ‘transcendent’ belief system is less legitimate. In short, the loopholes tend to shut firmly on atheists, as if secular values couldn’t be equally “sincerely held.”
It would make quite the polemic piece: exploring how some forms of legal exemption implicitly favour religious worldviews and whether atheists should have the option to claim a ‘philosophical exemption’ to level the playing field.
Closing Words
This is where I maintain an argument for the freedom from religion. I was threatened to be suspended without pay unless and until I got vaccinated in January 2021. I had initially refused on the grounds that I worked from home and quarantined myself in my home. I was at low risk of transmitting of recieving a COVID-19 infection. A lawyer from Human Reources videoconferenced me and asked if I had a religious exemption. I told him the the science did not support the vaccination, especially not the mRNA version, which was not and is still not FDA approved to my knowledge.
Long story short, I left my house to get innoculated with a Johnson & Johnson jab. I came down with Covid within days – likely from having ventured outdoors – and was down for about a week. To date, I’ve had COVID-19 three times, once being hospitalised with co-factors for nine weeks. This is despite being vaccinated and having had it previously. I won’t go off on a rant on how little ‘medical science’ knows about COVID to this day, but I would have liked to be able to have been shielded by a religious claim.
A rabbi was asked by one of his students “Why did God create atheists?” After a long pause, the rabbi finally responded with a soft but sincere voice. “God created atheists” he said, “to teach us the most important lesson of them all – the lesson of true compassion. You see, when an atheist performs an act of charity, visits someone who is sick, helps someone in need, and cares for the world, he is not doing so because of some religious teaching. He does not believe that God commanded him to perform this act. In fact, he does not believe in God at all, so his actions are based on his sense of morality. Look at the kindness he bestows on others simply because he feels it to be right. When someone reaches out to you for help. You should never say ‘I’ll pray that God will help you.’ Instead, for that moment, you should become an atheist – imagine there is no God who could help, and say ‘I will help you’.”
— Martin Buber, “Tales of the Hasidim”
This has come across my Facebook feed several times. It resonates with me, so I’m sharing it. I don’t need to add commentary because it speaks volumes for itself. It’s amazing when people actually understand the assignment.
Welcome to Part 4 of a Week-Long Series on the Evolution and Limits of Language! This article is part of a seven-day exploration into the fascinating and often flawed history of language—from its primitive roots to its tangled web of abstraction, miscommunication, and modern chaos. Each day, we uncover new layers of how language shapes (and fails to shape) our understanding of the world.
If you haven’t yet, be sure to check out the other posts in this series for a full deep dive into why words are both our greatest tool and our biggest obstacle. Follow the journey from “flamey thing hot” to the whirlwind of social media and beyond!
The Written Word: Making Things Permanent (and Permanently Confusing)
So far, we’ve been dealing with spoken language—the slippery, ever-changing, context-dependent jumble of sounds we toss around in hopes that someone, somewhere, might understand what we’re trying to say. But what happens when we decide to make those words permanent? Welcome to the era of the written word, where all our linguistic problems got carved into stone—literally.
Let’s rewind a bit. Long before we had books or Twitter threads, ancient humans figured out that spoken words disappear into the air. They needed a way to preserve information, and voilà—writing was born. First came simple marks on clay tablets, because nothing says “let’s communicate important ideas” like scratching symbols into mud. But hey, at least it was a start.
The beauty of writing was that it gave us a way to record language—no more relying on memory to remember which berries were bad or who owed you a goat. But there was a downside too: once those words were written down, they became permanent. If you thought miscommunication was bad when words were floating in the air, just wait until you try to interpret a clay tablet left behind by someone who died 500 years ago. Good luck figuring out what they meant by “justice.”
And it didn’t stop there. As writing developed into full-fledged scripts, we gained the ability to record more complex ideas. That meant abstract nouns like “truth” and “freedom” were no longer just things you debated around the campfire—they could now be written down and preserved for future generations to also argue about. Nothing says “progress” like ensuring centuries of philosophical bickering.
But the real revolution came later. Fast forward to the 15th century, and along comes Johannes Gutenberg with his shiny new printing press. Suddenly, words—once limited to painstakingly hand-copied manuscripts—could be mass-produced. Books, pamphlets, and flyers could be printed in quantities never before imagined. Ideas could spread like wildfire.
And what ideas they were. Philosophers, theologians, and politicians alike jumped on the opportunity to get their words in front of as many people as possible. The written word wasn’t just a way to record information anymore—it became a tool for shaping societies, sparking revolutions, and (of course) stirring up endless debates about everything.
Of course, there was a catch. The printing press didn’t make language any clearer—it just gave us more of it to misunderstand. People could now read the same text and come away with completely different interpretations. What one person saw as a treatise on “freedom,” another saw as a justification for tyranny. What one reader thought was “truth,” another deemed blasphemy.
With the written word and the printing press, we managed to take the problems of spoken language and make them permanent. Miscommunication wasn’t just an unfortunate accident anymore—it was printed in ink, distributed en masse, and immortalised for future generations to argue over. If Wittgenstein had been alive during Gutenberg’s time, he probably would have thrown his hands in the air and said, “See? I told you words don’t mean what you think they mean.”
But hey, at least we were consistent. From clay tablets to printed books, the written word gave us the power to preserve language—and all its glorious inadequacies—for all time.
The Printing Press: Mass-Producing Confusion
The printing press was hailed as one of the greatest inventions in history. And sure, it was. It democratized knowledge, empowered literacy, and paved the way for all sorts of wonderful progress. But let’s be real—it also democratised miscommunication. Now, instead of one person misunderstanding you in conversation, hundreds—or thousands—could read your words and completely miss the point. Progress!
Gutenberg’s press took the words that were once fleeting and made them indelible. No more clarifying in real-time. No more adding context or adjusting your message on the fly. Once it was in print, that was it. You’d better hope your readers were playing the same “language game” as you, or things could go downhill fast.
Take Martin Luther, for example. He nailed his 95 Theses to the church door in 1517, and thanks to the printing press, those words spread all over Europe. What he intended as a call for reform turned into a revolution that spiralled far beyond his control. People read the same text and took wildly different meanings from it—some saw it as a plea for theological discussion, others as a call to burn down the nearest cathedral.
But it didn’t stop there. Luther’s seemingly clear ideas splintered into countless interpretations, and over time, what began as a movement for reform became the launchpad for hundreds of Protestant denominations. Each group interpreted Luther’s message (and the Bible) in their own unique way. From Lutheranism to Calvinism to the Baptists, Methodists, and beyond, the Protestant Reformation exploded into a thousand branches, all claiming to have grasped the “true” meaning of Luther’s words.
And this? This is the power – and the peril – of the written word. Once something is printed and distributed, it takes on a life of its own. Luther might have had one specific vision for his reforms, but as soon as those ideas hit the printing press, they fractured into countless interpretations, each with its own twist on “truth.” It’s a linguistic free-for-all, with everyone holding the same text and coming to completely different conclusions.
The printing press didn’t just give us more words—it gave us more misunderstandings. Suddenly, philosophical debates, political manifestos, and theological treatises were flying off the presses, each one ready to be misinterpreted by whoever happened to pick it up. And once it was printed, there was no going back. No retractions. No take-backs. Just page after page of linguistic uncertainty.
So while the printing press undoubtedly transformed society, it also multiplied the number of ways we could miscommunicate with each other. Because if there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s misunderstanding words – especially when they’re written down for all eternity.
Philosophics 