Not sure how they got this past IRB. Clearly caused extreme physical danger for husband. An experiment.
...they found a couple who were willing to record their quality of life on a scale of 1 to 10. They told the man, who wanted to be happy more than right, about the purpose of the study and asked him to agree with every opinion and request his wife had without complaint, even when he profoundly didn’t agree. The wife was not informed of the purpose of the study and just asked to record her quality of life.
Things went rapidly downhill for the couple. The man’s quality-of-life scores fell, from 7 to 3, over the course of the experiment. The wife’s scores rose modestly, from 8 to 8.5, before she became hostile to the idea of recording the scores. Rather than causing harmony, the husband’s agreeableness led to the wife becoming increasingly critical* of what he did and said (in the husband’s opinion).
After 12 days he broke down, made his wife a cup of tea (New Zealand is, after all, a Commonwealth country), and explained the experiment. At this point the Data Safety Monitoring Committee, as the researchers called it, stopped the study because of “severe adverse outcomes.”
*(Ed's Note: Clearly this is right. Often, the lady wants to know what you actually think, so she can correct you. She doesn't know what you think, but it is clearly wrong. Agreeing is very dangerous at this point. Give her what she wants, before someone gets hurt!)
UPDATE: The actual study.
UPDATE II: Windwheel's commentary is truly awesome. Please do savor the comments. Well beyond psychosis, he crosses into a realm of mystic lyricism. As always, thanks for providing such excellent entertainment!
...they found a couple who were willing to record their quality of life on a scale of 1 to 10. They told the man, who wanted to be happy more than right, about the purpose of the study and asked him to agree with every opinion and request his wife had without complaint, even when he profoundly didn’t agree. The wife was not informed of the purpose of the study and just asked to record her quality of life.
Things went rapidly downhill for the couple. The man’s quality-of-life scores fell, from 7 to 3, over the course of the experiment. The wife’s scores rose modestly, from 8 to 8.5, before she became hostile to the idea of recording the scores. Rather than causing harmony, the husband’s agreeableness led to the wife becoming increasingly critical* of what he did and said (in the husband’s opinion).
After 12 days he broke down, made his wife a cup of tea (New Zealand is, after all, a Commonwealth country), and explained the experiment. At this point the Data Safety Monitoring Committee, as the researchers called it, stopped the study because of “severe adverse outcomes.”
*(Ed's Note: Clearly this is right. Often, the lady wants to know what you actually think, so she can correct you. She doesn't know what you think, but it is clearly wrong. Agreeing is very dangerous at this point. Give her what she wants, before someone gets hurt!)
UPDATE: The actual study.
UPDATE II: Windwheel's commentary is truly awesome. Please do savor the comments. Well beyond psychosis, he crosses into a realm of mystic lyricism. As always, thanks for providing such excellent entertainment!
4 comments:
'the lady wants to know what you actually think, so she can correct you. She doesn't know what you think, but it is clearly wrong.'
You are a Math Econ guy. You wrote this. What does it remind you off?
Anything to do with directionism/destinationism?
Think of it this way. Dad is driving, Mom is in the backseat. You called shotgun such that you alone have the GPS tablet in your hand and thus the right to issue binding navigational instructions.
The game is for Dad to take Mum to the place she really wants to picnic coz it's 'Failed Abortion Day'. (What? Hallmark is bound to adopt my copyrighted alternative to conventional Birthday cards (which have the added virtue of having a wider buying windows) and so this is bound to be a real thing like real soon.)
Now let the 'euvoluntary destination' be X.
Let Mum represent the Real but non computably enumerable solution and Dad represent a Peano choice sequence on Natural numbers that generates the tattonement of its Uniformly Ideal Presentation, and let yourself serve as the 'oracle' of this choice sequence.
What happens?
Seriously dude.
Do the Math.
Think it through.
Assuming you were conceived in a car and that your multiple 'Failed Abrotion Days' occurred in cars, clearly there is no well behaved Lyapunov function.
So what do you do?
Don't ask me.
I'm from South and formerly Socialist India and we didn't have American cars just spacious howdahs swaying elegantly on the backs of elephants- and elephants, you know, never forget.
You're a smart guy. Quick futzing with them BHL fucktards. Or, and this is the South Indian solution, get your students to do the Math
Anybody can write shite on BHL. It's a place for humorless careerists like Jason Brennan.
The truth is, Econ is just the emotional part of Math. Emotions are 'Darwinian algorithms of the mind'. Think back to when you were a kid and had to navigate when Mum was in the backseat and Dad didn't know where she wanted him to take her but was faking knowing it so well that even the seed of his seed knew- that's co-evolved complexity bro; Wives don't kill and eat their hubbies coz u, or me, claimed 'shotgun'.
For my type of Hindu, God is a kid who wants to sleep between his parents but, coz, they merge into the Ardanaridhava (half female Shiva) he can't find any gap between them and complains to his elder bro- the elephant headed God, Ganesha who has featured on Simpsons and is like totally an international celebrity.
I'm sorry I must leave you now to rejoin my non Boston Bhramin tea party. I probably won't be able to see straight tomorrow.
Still, verb sap, old boy.
Sorry; totally forgot to insult and berate you- it being my modest ambition to be banned from all possible 'Public Justification' type fora'- but you're clearly a fucking curly headed, non pot bellied, Gay boy, or like married bloke or shit.
You probably think that makes you a bigger man than me don't you?
Pleasuring your life-partner really makes you feel like you're more fucking virile than me- don't it?
Listen, I may not be real good at fucking Topology or Long division BUT when I was entering puberty the value I derived for the Einstein tensor for this Universe and, on the basis of my expected length of erection, it turned out the Universe was just too small and I'd end up entering myself anally.
A little curly headed blonde like you can't understand a big Mandingo niggah' s moral objection to self sodomy.
Anyway, that's why I'm still a virgin.
Don't fucking laugh- you cunt. I'm leveling with you, yeah? Letting you into some of the secrets of the 'ghetto'.
My real name is Amartya Sen- as if you didn't know!
Sly boots!
Anyway, now I really have to go.
Windwheel, it is my fond hope that you will comment on EVERY post, from now on. That is almost lyrical trolling. You are the MAN!
Okay, I now get why you ran for Governor and will again but this time with a lot more money.
You got people skills. Charm of a robust sort.
You remind me of a Yalie I used to drink with when I was 19.
He was small, Jewish and domiciled in Hawaii, but floridly larger than life and 'good ol' boy' in a manner which suggested a link with the English Squirearchy and the picaresque heroes of Fielding, Addison's delight in eccentricity and Steele's Anglo-Irish bonhomie.
It oughtn't to have worked, but it did- all doors opened to him. Till he remembered his Trust Fund wasn't liquid gold distilled from Pineapple fields by Protestant Ministers of Religion but Hassidic gelt extracted from Litvak wheeling and dealing in the Bronx.
Charm is a huge political asset but Patrician charm- the florid Speenhamland Squire- is a mischief to the Commonwealth.
You didn't have a Trust Fund, yet yours is a Patrician type of Charm which requires no display of a bleeding heart to reconcile even such 'monstrous' (following Kant, we think of the monstrous as something too big for its assigned purpose) avatars of alterity as this great big Troll who now signs
off as your devoted servant coz I just helped Hansel and Gretel defeat the evil Witches on Netflix.
What?
I've got a month's free subscription and am binge watching while trolling coz that's what real Economists do, right? It's called multi-tasking, dude. Get used to it.
I'm sorry, that last was pretty feeble. The truth is, my zeal to speak American is highly correlated to my degree of Alienation.
By petting the troll, you have killed that amusing beast.
I suppose, Directionism attracts you for the same reason Theodore Roosevelt insisted on walking as a straight a line through the wilderness as possible.
Bully for you.
The truth is that the 'complex landscape' of Econ affords, not mountains or streams or giant redwoods, as Darwinian challenges to Directionism, but, rather, crowds and protest marches and Occupy Wall street type fuckwitted obstacles.
The truth is, 'zero intelligence agents'- like me- are just hanging round at some such venue and so there is a (Auman correlation, or Muth rational) signalling function implicit in any determined, Theodore Roosevelt, type, 'directionist' 'World-Historical'- but, because individual, also ergodic- random walk.
In other words, though directionism and destinationism cash out as the same thing for
1) non-complex landscapes
2) Indian Politicians who have got fucking helicopters- thus ensuring their constituency will never get roads.
still, for you personally- coz u got charm and weren't born with a silver spoon up your arse- Directionism makes sense.
Troll that I am- i.e. because I'm a creature out of an ontologically dysphoric fairy tale- I now sagely advise you that your directionism is bound to trump destinationism because the latter takes crowds as a given, and thus things to be circumvented, whereas your Directionism can be Muth rational.
You can be the Teddy Roosevelt for whom the trees and mountains and rivers- instead of affording an obstacle- go ahead off to clear a smoother, high gradient, downward path.
I'm sorry. This comment is pathetic. Wish I could hate you just to please you more.
I guess I'm now dis-invited from commenting here.
Just fucking ban me already!
In St.Exupery's story, it was merely a fox that was tamed. I'm a fucking Troll!
Have a heart!
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