Kyle Jacob Biodrowski

You actually made that?! And here I thought I had sociopathical tendencies... I'm not so alone after all. Reality ain't so unkind. Also, Happy Birthday Mr. Sciabarra! Not sure who you are, and you probably won't read this, but I have read (and enjoyed) some of your posts in the RoR archives.

To those whom it may concern, there is an interesting, and long, discussion going on at SOLOP. The discussion ranges from the unquestionable actions of God, to doggy destruction, to free will. I've only read a few posts, but some of you folk might find some value there. Link below: http://www.solopassion.com/node/9534?page=4

Exactly. And would someone who assesses the degree of respect they deserve to be healthy subject themselves to disrespect just to gain someone elses favor? (Hint: Would Ayn Rand have done that?)Maybe, it depends on their value hierarchy. Would Rand do it? Rand wasn't very concerned with currying favor with anyone so I doubt she would. And what I'm asserting is that there is no one alive who *gaining favor with* is objectively a higher value than *ones own self respect*. This is my contention.Aren't there? You may argue whether it is good or not for someone to sacrifice self-respect for someone else's favor, but to say that no one holds "favor" as a higher value than self-respect is a little far fetched. There are plenty of people who may temporarily sacrifice self-respect for "favor". Context is vital when judging someone else's values.

Again, I'm not certain of some of these events you are referencing (the link you provided is noted). Self-respect can't be taken or given by anyone. It is gained only by one's assessment of one's self and actions. If the assessment is positive, self-respect is gained. I agree with you, self-respect is a prime value. However, others may not consider it to be a prime value. They may be perfectly willing to sacrifice self-respect for a greater value. It depends on one's value hierarchy.

Never heard of this event, but I'll attempt to answer your question regardless. Is is altruistic to endure disrespect, even from those you admire most? What is the proper response? It really depends on the situation. I think much is to be considered. For example, to determine if it is altruistic to endure disrespect, one must consider if the disrespect is constant and for what reason is the disrespect being expressed. Another consideration is: Is there any value in associating with the offending person in the future? I'm thinking in terms of net gains here. Offenses may be overlooked if there is value to be gained in the future. The proper response would be based on the previous assessment of the current and potential value of the relationship. If the person who received the disrespect thinks there is value to be gained the future, he could just offer a light reproach to the offender and then move on (or no reproach at all depending on the assessment). I wouldn't sever a potentially fruitful relationship just because someone hung-up the phone on me.

Kacy, Yep, lots of gold in those archives.

Kacy, If you don't already know of these articles and discussions, you might find them interesting. http://rebirthofreason.com/Articles/BissellRE/Objectivism_and_Determinism.shtml http://rebirthofreason.com/Articles/Rowlands/Thoughts_on_Free_Will_and_Determinism.shtml http://rebirthofreason.com/Articles/Machan/Free_Will_or_Not.shtml I especially enjoy reading Tibor Machan's "Free Will or Not" and the subsequent discussion. I often use the discussion as a referent whenever I return to, think about, the idea of determinism.

I hated literature and got through with Classics Illustrated comics. Atlas Shrugged and the other Ayn Rand fiction were all I read, except for occasional science fiction, which, of course, was not assigned reading either. You can require anything but you cannot force anything on a teenager. Back about 1968 or 69, on Ed Sullivan, I forget if it was Godfrey Cambridge or who, but he said that if you want to get kids to go to church, put tanks in front of them and order the kids to stay away. Requiring Atlas Shrugged would prevent the people who should read it from actually reading it. I was going to address the concerns over requiring students to read AS, but Michael beat me to it. Instead, I'll add to his comment. It is true, at least in my case, that requiring students to do something actually makes them resent, not the requirement, but the activity being required. When I was in middle school, for a certain class, we were required to read a certain number of books and then take a test on them for a grade. Well, I'm a slow reader. I failed the tests and, I think, failed the course. I learned to hate reading. Interestingly, what got me into reading, was reading Marilyn Manson's autobiography. Give children basic instruction, leave them alone, and watch them go. Children love to learn, public schooling kills their desire to learn.

Jonathan, Are you looking forward, as much as I, to the half-time gang-bangs?

To think, I may live long enough to see the Super Bowl's first half-time gang-bang... Or has that already happened?

Huh, I was just in this kind of situation last week...

Is there a remote possibility Islam will grip the West? By grip the West, I mean become the most common religion in the West? In the West, seemingly mostly in America, it is tolerated and many people go to great lengths to accommodate it (Islam). In America, Christianity has been mostly neutered because its vile practices weren't tolerated by a freedom-loving people. Will toleration of Islam lead to its dominance in America? Will the multiculturalists bend and contort and rationalize rape when it is perpetrated by Muslim men? Will theft and murder receive a pass if the perpetrator is Muslim? Seems a little farfetched at this point. However, I wouldn't be surprised if it happened. When absolute, end-in-itself, tolerance is taken to its final end, rape, murder, and theft will receive a pass.

Don't tell me you've never wondered what it would be like to be a frozen confectionery. Back on topic, I've always liked Dave Heineman, now I know the reason why. I wonder if there will be a nation wide movement, *sigh* one can dream.

Mike, I intended it as a joke. But a newcomer wouldn't understand the humor, so I shouldn't have made it. He seems to have taken it seriously.

It's not so bad. Sometimes I like to go outside, close my eyes, and pretend I'm a Popsicle in a blast freezer.

Michael, I'm just making an ass out of myself, as I do on occasion. No, I wasn't drunk. I take full responsibility for my actions. As for my comment, I didn't intend for it to be taken as a "sexual innuendo". I'm far to innocent for that. I do see how it could have been taken as one, though. Darrell, I'm sorry for writing that comment. I should know better than to write those kind of comments to new members (or any member, for that matter). My comment (and behavior) shouldn't be taken as representative of this site, its content, or its members' attitudes.

[Gratuitous "sexual innuendo" deleted]

Back in high school, my classmates and I played a game similar to this in my personal finance class. The game I played, though, was more focused on investing in established businesses. Lots of fun though, we even had a leader board.

Brrrr... It ain't perfect, but it is home. Also, I don't mind the cold as much as some others.

Luckily, I live in Nebraska.

No. 20 killed me, nothing short of glorious.

Fairly interesting thread, I love a good mystery. Oddly enough, I don't think I've ever read a mystery novel, well, aside from Atlas Shrugged which was kind of a mystery/thriller. I think it's something of the sort and suspect that the author is a guy who used to post every now and then on the Atlantis lists. Strong similarity of style, opinions, and preoccupations. I haven't time to try to find out what the poster I'm thinking of has been up to since I last heard tell of him. So unless something comes to light of itself, I'll relegate this one to the unsolved-cyberworld-mystery bin. EllenEllen, If you don't already know this and if you care to reopen this case-file, "Caryn Goddard" has posted fairly recently at RoR. Here's the link: http://rebirthofreason.com/Forum/GeneralForum/1903.shtml#6

Maybe he just finished it late. Or maybe he wanted to post it late so others wouldn't scoff and say "well it hasn't happened yet now has it, so you can't be sure". Good faith, good Doctor, Good faith.

The Plowman – A Parable The sun rose to cover the plains in a soft, golden light. The fields were carpeted in a thick prairie grass which danced gracefully in the breeze. The sky’s blue hue still held the purple tint of a fading night. On a hill overlooking the fields stood a little brown cabin, its design was simple and sturdy. Its foundation had been built using a new construction technique, unique to history, the first of its kind. The brown tone of its wood was complimented by the golden brown grass of a neighboring field; this house was as much a part of the land as the prairie grass and golden rays of the sun. The door swung open to reveal a young man. An old, though well-kept, pair of blue overalls over a scarlet shirt covered his proud posture. His white teeth shone in his smile. He greeted the outside world, and a gentle breeze surrounded him, welcoming him into it. His attention turned to his field. Walking up to his plow, he took a moment to admire its design. It was a new model. Like the plows before it, it tilled the earth, yet this one didn’t require oxen to pull it. It could have been easily used by a child to till an entire acre of land. “A technological wonder.” he thought. He lifted the strap across his body and began to walk along the field until he arrived at the end of it. Lowering the blade, he began his trek across the outer edge. It was almost like magic. The earth parted with such ease beneath the blade, hundreds of pounds of dirt gave way, yet it was like taking a stroll to the marketplace. “I’ll have this done in no time!” he smiled. As he plowed the field, he heard a faint, weak voice ask him if he had the energy to fix a broken fence rail. He eagerly accepted the request, still elated over the progress he was making on his field. An ounce of energy left his body, no more than is required to take in a breath of air. Another voice requested that he repair the school house’s leaky roof. He considered this for a moment and accepted. His body wavered as the energy left him; after a short burst of effort, he steadied himself. As he continued plowing his field, chains began to form around his body. Small lead weights were attached to each link. His body sagged as they cut into his skin, blood trickled down his torso. He heard the voices urging him to work harder; they assured him the chains were for his own good and the common good. He didn’t quite believe it, but continued to work in spite of the extra weight. Over time, his muscles grew; the once heavy lead weights became seemingly weightless. He became accustomed to the pain to the point of no longer feeling it, and his wounds started to heal as best they could. He wondered if he would have been able to continue if it weren’t for his new equipment. Likely not, he reasoned, and felt even more grateful for his plow. He knew he could finish his plowing in time to plant his crop. He had just finished plowing when more chains materialized around his torso; he hit the ground, unprepared for the new weight. The stinging and pain returned manifold as old wounds were ripped open, blood spilling onto the earth. Still, the voices urged him on. Unsteadily, gritting his teeth, he willed himself to his knees, then to his feet, and limped to his shed where he kept his seeds. He took the burlap sack in his arms and smiled, doing his best to ignore his aching muscles and torn skin. “Just a little longer.” he assured himself. He sowed the seeds in silence. The voices had quieted. He preferred their chatter to the silence; the silence made him think the voices were conspiring against him. And, right on cue, as if they had heard his thoughts, more chains dropped on his body. He endured them with a grunt; nothing would stop him from planting his crop. By the time he had finished sowing his seeds, the skies had darkened; the last hues of blue were being pushed back by the onset of evening. He closed his eyes to rest. Hours passed, and the voices had gone. He imagined them fighting amongst themselves, dividing his potential crop among anyone and anything. “Well, I won’t let them have it!” he resolved. He was awoken by a faint rustling sound. It was the wind arcing itself around the leaves of the growths in his field. He rushed toward the newly grown produce, hoping to collect his reward before the voices returned. He quickly gathered the matured crop. He held them in his arms as a father would have held his children. Only a moment passed before the chains tightened. He held the harvest to his aching torso, unwilling to let go. He peered down onto what was his. The fruit became discolored. It began to dry and crack. Bits of fruit became dust until they had all broken apart in his arms, the dust scattering into the wind. Tears streamed down his face, as he held what dust remained in his hands. He didn’t move. His body was numb; he slumped to the ground. The voices returned to utter more words, yet these weren’t the words of encouragement he had heard earlier, these voices vilified him. They called him selfish, greedy, uncaring, and heartless. The voices chattered that he wasn’t good enough for the ideal. He wasn’t good enough, strong enough, moral enough to bear their burdens and demands. The fault wasn’t in the chains that had broken him, it was his for not being strong enough to bear them. Other voices joined in the chatter. These voices queried as to why he had fallen. They asked why he couldn’t continue, why he was still lying on the ground. They thought he could work forever, that he could bear any weight and any demand given to him. They reasoned that he was just lazy or that he didn’t care. These voices joined the others that chastised him. Maybe they were right. He didn’t care, not any longer. He lied on the ground, feeling death’s cool touch caress his body. The moment before death was to take him, he felt a tingling warmth race up his body, and it was enough to shock him awake. He jolted to his knees and relaxed on the back of his ankles. What was this new strength and from where did it come? Immediately, the realization struck him. It was the promise his life had had at the beginning of it. It was the thought of what could have been, of what he could have been, and what he could still be. The only question that remained in his mind was: Why had he forgotten this? The voices returned once again, this time with renewed vigor, they urged him to get up, to work, to produce, to contribute. The voices, he thought. The voices are weak, feeble, and almost unreal. It only took one word to silence them. He looked down to observe the chains which still clung tightly to his body. It took only one word to break them. He said it again and again and again. The chains and weights shattered, link by link, they fell to the ground, and crumbled into dust. “These weak things weighed me down?” he asked incredulously. The chains had been broken by the utterance of a single word: No. It was a simple word, yet its power could liberate him of any demand, and lift any burden laid upon him. He rose to his feet and looked toward the horizon. In the sky, on the earth, and in his mind were written the words: Nova Era. He greeted the morning sun with a smile.

I don't know the difference either. I think what Rand meant by re-creation is the portrayal of certain things within a medium (painting, music, poetry, etc.) If those pictures are a selective re-creation of reality, I've never seen that kind of reality.