Citygirl posted an interesting blog topic, which I commented on today. I wanted to expand my answer, and perhaps put a little more polish/thought into it. Let me know what your opinion is...

I had never really formed an opinion on the death penalty, until Saddam's hanging. I knew the arguments for each side, and quite frankly could see the merit to both positions. Now I know I'm vehemently against the death penalty. I'm not religious at all, but something at the core of my being found the idea of murdering a killer in the name of justice repugnant. I cringed markedly at seeing any news of it, and was deeply troubled by those who seem to find actual joy in meeting out justice to Saddam.

I'm in neuroscience, and as a result I don't believe in the concept of directed evil or the idea of an inherently evil soul. Anybody who deviates so markedly from societal norms likely has some sort of neurological or chemical malfunction in the brain, excacerbated by their personal environment, that we simply don't have the ability to diagnose currently. As a result, these people need to be separated from normal society (i.e., jail) to A) prevent further misbehavior and B) punish them, in order to create an environment that precludes further individuals with similar problems from doing the same thing.

Think of it along the lines of postpartum depression. In some of these cases, due to hormonal imbalances that are the result of having a baby, mothers can and have neglected their babies to the point of the baby's death. Even today, mothers have outright killed their babies, and the exact cause (i.e. hormonal imbalance, pre-existing depression condition exacerbated by new environmental factors, etc) was unable to be determined via modern medicine. And somewhere around 40 years ago, we had no clue what was going on, and these mothers were punished for their actions, instead of treated for their problems.

I feel similarly about Charles Manson. Watch the guy talk for 15 minutes. Although he is not considered "insane" enough to change his sentence, he is obviously deviating greatly from societal norms in terms of behavior. This great of a deviation can only be caused by some abnormal physiological condition that we don't have the abilty to diagnose, or haven't even formally discovered yet. Killing him in the name of justice would be the same as killing a schizophrenic who murdered during a psychotic episode, who could be treated through therapy and medication to become a functional member of society.

We are humans, we are fallible, and death is absolute.

Does anybody else find it interesting that the group that supports the death penalty greatly overlaps the group that is Pro-Life for abortion?

Over the course of the last year, I've had a lot of reason to think about religion. I was brought up in the Catholic church, went to Catholic school, and have for many years considered myself a recovering Catholic. In the last year and a half or so, my brother passed away from a drug overdose, my father was diagnosed with leukemia, my grandmother died in a very painful and drawn out fashion, and I parted ways with my girlfriend of 7 years. I wish I could say it was all beer and skittles in between, but realistically you don't have the above 4 things happen without a ridiculous amount of stress and drama in the interim.

If anybody has a need to believe right now, it's me. I want to believe there is something out there beyond death; I can't stand the thought of never seeing my brother again, never seeing my grandmother again, and eventually, my father. I understand the drive to believe, and that may be the biggest reason I can't totally believe.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say there is no definitive evidence of life after death (if you can find it, feel free to send it to me). If there was definitive proof, I'm guessing it would be fairly big news. I'm pretty sure it would be a headline in the New York Times, there would be special updates interrupting your regular TV programming, etc. And no, the Inquirer, or the story you heard about your friend Bob seeing a ghost (or maybe even seeing a ghost yourself), doesn't count. And here is why:

The only facts that we know, with any reasonable certainty, are based on thoughtful hypotheses, repeatedly tested and validated by many sources using unbiased observations. This is the basis of scientific method, and the keyword here is unbiased. Human beings are fallible; they tend to see what they want to see. We've all heard of the placebo effect, and if you think it doesn't influence religious views, you're incredibly naïve. This is the basis of the double blind study… at least scientists know that they themselves will ruin a study if given the chance to add observer bias. We as human being have the tendency to manipulate facts, observations, etc., to align with our preconceived notions. And the thought of oblivion after death is a pretty strong motivator to distort facts.

I will concede that there may be things out there that are not observable, not scientifically testable – as long as you concede that these matters aren't fact, but are based on faith. Unfortunately, blind faith is perhaps the pinnacle of human arrogance. So many people "just know" or "have no doubt" there is a God. Still others are positive they know the name of God's son, his birthday, his marital status, his inner thoughts, etc. All of this is based on no conclusive factual evidence. We are humans; we don't have the sort of omniscience blind faith requires… that is the providence of a hypothetical God. Or at the very least, I missed the day where God handed out an unerring inner knowledge of how the universe works.

Having been born without it, I can only go by observation - most of the people with blind faith are seriously in error. I won't go into the many examples; suffice it to say that the men who flew airplanes into the World Trade Center had blind faith. That example alone should be enough to shake your belief in the infallibility of faith. If you don't question the validity of your own faith, you are simply an arrogant hypocrite – why are you better than the rest of us? More importantly, how can you believe you are as infallible as the God you believe in? I remember my bible… I'm pretty sure that was a big no-no. I have no problems with people who have faith; I only have problems with the ones who are absolutely certain they are right.

What is frightening is that blind faith is encouraged by the Catholic Church. Perhaps the most egregious example of this is the Apostle's creed. Every week during mass, we would chant like mindless zombies:

"I believe in God, the Father almighty,
creator of heaven and earth.
I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord.
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit
and born of the Virgin Mary.
He suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into hell.
On the third day he rose again.
He ascended into heaven
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting."

I always cringe when I hear this bad boy. Here's the deal… if God is omnipotent and omniscient, I'm pretty sure he's well aware of it. Same thing goes for Jesus, I'm pretty sure he knows he's God's son, remembers the whole dying for our sins thing, the decent into hell, etc.

I'm guessing they don't need us to remind them… nor are they so insecure that they require our worship. In fact, I would bet that having millions of people praying to you would get annoying after a while. Imagine your little brother and all of his friends following you around 24/7 chanting about how great you are, and could you maybe make their football team take the title? Believe me - if you were omnipotent, I'm guessing you'd be raining down sulfur and lava on their asses after about 45 minutes.

The only conceivable reason to chant the Apostle's creed (or all of the other mindless chants) isn't for God's sake, it's to drill dogma so firmly into the congregation's head that they stop questioning it. It's the theory of daily affirmations – say something often enough and people stop questioning it – they accept it as a given. This is the general problem with organized religion; people stop thinking for themselves, and they start persecuting anyone who does. They are perpetuating faith without thought – which has been the cause of most of the atrocities known to man. If God cares whether or not you show up to church and worship him, he is pathetically insecure, and quite frankly not worthy of worship.

Also, let's face it, mindless chanting while repeating the same Gospel readings over and over is tremendously boring. At a Catholic mass, Jesus suffers, dies, gets buried, and rises every single fricking mass. He died last week, he'll die this week, and he's going down every week in the future... there is no new information being imparted here. I wouldn't watch the same movie every week for the rest of my life. Have Jesus get in a car chase or something for crying out loud… give me a little excitement.

Quite frankly, most of the other conventions of Catholicism are illogical and undoubtedly without divine basis. I'm guessing God doesn't give a damn if you swear. Words are a human convention; God doesn't need them if he exists (the whole omniscience thing). I'm sure he (or she) is well aware that "fuck" and "copulation" are synonymous, that "shit" and "going potty" are the same deal. Again… the whole omniscience thing implies a pretty smart entity... he can see through your little artifice. It's only our societal conventions that allows us to say "the baby went poopies" while forbidding "the kid took a shit."

I love the first commandment "Thou shall not use the Lord's name in vain." A little hint… all prayer is using the Lord's name in vain unless he answers.

I truly hope there is something out there beyond death, but my "belief" is that it doesn't regularly touch this world; otherwise we would have empirical evidence. Moreover, it is likely so far beyond our comprehension we are probably demeaning it by putting it in human terms.

The ultimate arrogance… God made us in his image. Our "images" were defined by evolution/natural selection; God has no need of arms and legs or a mouth. In reality, we fabricated God in our image because we are vain, and place ourselves at his level.

I am currently entering my 5th year as a PhD student at the University of Michigan. How I got here, however, is a rather odd story.

I was originally accepted to U of M somewhere in 1992. I was offered a scholarship, and things were looking good. Unfortunately, I've always been the type of kid who never shows up to class... and it caught up to me my last semester of high school. I flunked religion at the Catholic school I was attending, and didn't graduate – to this day I describe myself as a recovering Catholic.

Things got even more interesting, as they don't offer religion in summer school. Apparently U of M expects you to actually graduate from high school to go to college, and they revoked my prior acceptance. I had to attend Andover High School for a half year to graduate (they required I took at least 3 credits from the school to get a degree from there). I took History, Drama (which I loved), and retook a Pascal class I had already aced at my prior school.

Having not learned my lesson, attendance got me again - I flunked the history class, despite getting 'As' on all the tests. The last thing I remember my history teacher saying after he had informed me of my failure was "that reminds me, I have to go down to the office and tell them."

Immediately after talking to my history teacher, I went to the school counselor to get into History for summer school - where the counselor told me I couldn't have flunked history. He'd seen my diploma in the school vault, and if you flunk a class, they won't make the diploma. He went on to inform me that the diploma is a legal document... once you have it, you're a certified graduate. He rather condescendingly told me that if I had really flunked, the teacher would have put a hold on my diploma. Apparently, if you flunk the semester you are suppose to graduate, the teacher is suppose to notify the office not to make your diploma. My history teacher's rather ominous parting words suddenly echoed through my mind. Oh shit!

Seeing an opportunity, I asked for my diploma then and there, making up some story about going away on vacation and therefore missing formal graduation. The counselor informed me that he'd give it to me, but I had to go to the library to pay off a 10$ fine before he'd give me the diploma. Unfortunately, I had no money on me, and I realized that by talking to my history teacher, I had unwittingly given him a reminder to come to the office to put my diploma on hold.

Leaving the office, I ran into a friend of mine in the hallway. I asked him for $10, but he didn't have it... so I quickly filled him in on what was happening, and he agreed to go stall my history professor while I ran home to get money (later I found out he actually started a fake fight with another friend of mine in front of the professor to stall him). I don't think I've ever taken such liberties with the posted speed limits in my life. I got home, but there was no money, and nobody was home. Dejected, I was about to leave the house when my sister Tracy came home. She gave me the 10 dollars, and I again sped off to the high school (in retrospect, I may still owe her the 10).

I paid off the fine at the library, and sprinted back to the counselor's office. Apparently the history teacher hadn't made it to the office yet - but now the counselor was trying to talk me out of missing formal graduation. I believe the conversation went like this:

Counselor: "Don't you want all the pomp and circumstance you've earned with your diploma?"

Me: "I don't care if it comes with a cheeseburger and fries, but I need the damned diploma now."

The counselor gave me my diploma - just as my history teacher walked into the office. I tore out of the office and I drove home to wait for my report card, not knowing if having the actual diploma would really mean anything. Two weeks later my report card arrived - with an S in history, meaning the class was satisfactorily completed, but with no grade given. Three month later I was enrolled in Central Michigan University – and my SATs and ACTs were still good enough to get me a Centralis Scholarship.

I lost the Centralis Scholarship the first semester at CMU for not meeting the academic requirements. I joined a fraternity, and almost never showed up to class. Again I did well on the tests, but back then most Central classes had a policy of lowering your grade one full grade for every missed class after 3. I had flunked most of my classes by the third week. The best I could pull off was withdrawing from the classes or talking to the teacher to get an incomplete – but at the end of the semester I didn't complete enough credit hours to keep the scholarship.

I remember my first report card vividly. My Dad glanced at it – and very confused – asked me why my report card said World War II for my grades. I remember lowering my head and answering sheepishly "Withdrawl, Withdrawl, Incomplete, Incomplete."

Thus began my Central career – I lost my scholarship and had absolutely no clue what I wanted to be. Having grown up in a family of engineers (my father, 3 older brothers, and 2 older sisters are all engineers or technicians), it was simply assumed I would follow in my family's footsteps. I had shown the aptitude growing up; strong skills in math and science coupled with an overriding curiosity about how things worked, but to me something about conventional engineering never quite fit. I wanted to be a writer – I wanted to be President. Perhaps more importantly, all engineers were dorks. Whatever the reason, the only real goal I had upon entering college was not to become an engineer.

Unfortunately, I soon discovered that the average academic institution does not offer "Not Engineering" as a major. Undaunted, I began a four-year search at Central Michigan University for what I believed to be the perfect major. Along the way, I changed my major more times than most politicians change their stances on relevant issues (needless to say, one of my forays was political science). However, each of the majors I tried held the same drawback as conventional engineering for me; my sole motivation would be the banal accumulation of money rather than contributing to society as a whole. Although I maintained my grades (usually by bullshitting my way out of the attendance requirement – I still never made it to class), I slowly became more and more interested in life outside of the classroom. The feeling of helping others that I had found lacking in the classroom I discovered in organizations like Big Brothers/Big Sisters and in other charitable causes. Still disheartened by my inability to find a career, I eventually stopped making the effort to con the teachers out of the attendance requirement. I failed every class my fourth year at Central, and then took a year off from school to wait tables and attempt to find a new direction for my life.

During my year of waiting tables, I had my first encounter with serendipity. Serendipity came in the form of a petite, frail brunette named Renee who had dated my brother Tim when I was 13 or so. Renee was smart, opinionated, stubborn, and entirely too good for the fate destiny had dealt her. Renee was born with Cystic Fibrosis. Somehow an old picture of Tim and Renee had gotten in one of my drawers, and when I saw it I remembered the pain that Cystic Fibrosis caused both Renee and my brother as she valiantly struggled against the disease. Right around my 14th birthday, Renee lost her battle against Cystic Fibrosis when her lung collapsed under the weight of the excess mucous that had built up during one of her many bouts with pneumonia.

I decided right then and there that a worthwhile career would be to help people like Renee. Over the course of the next year, I learned as much as I could about the disease. In the library, I learned about monogenetic disorders and the successes of gene therapy in treating disorders like S.C.I.D. Outside of the library, I waited tables to save up money to go back to Central and retake my failed final year. In the fall of 1998, I re-enrolled in Central Michigan University with the single-minded goal of becoming a bioengineer to help others like Renee. I got 'As' in all of my classes, and got my GPA up to a 3.51. One year later, I transferred into Arizona State University, majoring in Biocellular/BioMolecular/Biochemical engineering.

Over the course of the next three years I maintained a 3.96 grade point average, won ASU's Distinguished Senior award, along with several other awards and scholarships. I also found out one very important piece of information – I absolutely hated my major. I spent most of my time watching lines grow on a computer or titrating crap. Completely fed up, I was ready to take my degree, get a "Joe" job to pay the bills, and try my hand at writing or stand-up comedy in my free time.

One day the professor in the lab I was working in started asking me about my plans for the future. She started suggesting graduate school – she thought I had a good chance at getting a fellowship. I had never thought about graduate school, and to be honest, the idea of more schooling after my experiences seemed repugnant. Still, she convinced me to go take the GRE, which is kind of like the SAT for graduate school. She told me she could get me in to take it immediately, but I needed to get the score now to make all the grad school/fellowship application deadlines.

With little preparation, I took the GRE and completely rocked it – I'm probably the worst student ever in a classroom, but for whatever reason I always test well. Based on my performance at ASU and that score, I won a Whitaker Fellowship. A Whitaker Fellowship is an all expenses paid PhD – you get your tuition covered, you get $20,.000 a year to live off of while you attend school, you get $1500 to spend on a computer, travel to conferences covered, etc. Perhaps more importantly, as you are free to the professor that takes you on in his/her lab, it's basically an automatic ticket into ANY grad school in the country: MIT, CalTech, Johns Hopkins… you name it.

So here I was with a golden ticket to grad school, and absolutely no desire to take another class ever. I started visiting schools and talking to professors when I ran into Daryl Kipke at the University of Michigan. He heads the Neural Engineering Lab there – they work on brain machine interfaces. If you don't know, for a brain machine interface electrodes are implanted directly into the brain, and the electrode recordings (and stimulation) of electrical activity are used to drive machines. By manipulating these recordings, a paralyzed patient can control a robotic arm or a cursor on a computer screen by simply imagining movement. Using these electrodes to stimulate, one can cause a blind person to see (a camera takes in a scene, which is then converted into an electrical stimulation pattern by the electrodes in visual cortex), or a deaf person to hear. To use an analogy from one of my friends in lab – we are at the ground floor of building "The Matrix" from the Keanu Reeves' movie. I'd never head of anything so cool (yet tech dorky) in my life. I didn't know this crap was possible, until I saw an implanted monkey control a robotic arm simply by thinking.

At the same time, I found out my Dad was going to need a quadruple bypass. The decision was made for me – my parents live near U of M, and I needed to be near them. I took the fellowship, enrolled in U of M, and started working on brain machine interfaces. Since then I've gotten my masters in bioelectrical engineering, and am hopefully one year away from getting my PhD. More importantly, I absolutely love what I do – and I'm very good at it. I just got a paper published in March, and should be submitting my second in the next month or so. This was never the way I thought I'd get in print, but, well – I still like to write on the side.