Dell Deaton

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How do you know when to call it quits?

As I’ve grown older, I’ve found fewer and fewer absolutes.

Five years ago or so, on a canoe trip with an acquaintance, the subject of “joining” came up — as in becoming a member of an organization. He’d joined a local church and we were discussing what he actually knew about it, the seriousness of the commitment.

Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to know much. How could one make such a significant commitment based on so little information?

“If I don’t like it, I’ll quit,” he answered simply.

In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised.

My father’s generation joined companies out of high school or college, and stayed with them for life. My generation saw companies treat their “human resources” no better than plastic buildings on a Monopoly board. Whole departments and divisions and larger were subject to being wiped out in service to some senior executive’s need to hit an EBIT target upon which some suit’s stretch-bonus depended.

Although I don’t revisit my past (see Genesis 19:26) — wouldn’t do a thing different even if I could — I do wonder upon reflection if I haven’t had a problem of sticking with some things for far too long.

I don’t think “quit” need be viewed today as the pejorative it might once have seemed to have been.

That’s not to advocate making the sort of hollow commitments that came so easily to canoe-trip-guy. Due diligence largely instructs my looks-before-leaps.

But the story of Sodom and Gomorrah isn’t limited to Genesis 19:24, which reads: “The the Lord rained down burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah….”

No, it starts over two pages earlier in my NIV. Second chances abounded. With each succession, it looks to me like the bar was lowered beyond that which anyone should have expected. Warnings were clear.

My Grandma Deaton used to muse about folks who’d stick with organizations that had “quit us” long ago. In the Bible story here, I think Sodom and Gomorrah quit God long before God quit Sodom and Gomorrah.

Commitment is important. But there’s gotta be a reasonable basis for it.

I don’t think it’s wrong to say “enough is enough” when you have, indeed, had enough. How do you know when that is? Pray for discernment.

Amen.

Are compartmentalization and image management still possible?

Ian Fleming is said to have been most disciplined in showing different aspects of himself to different groups.

You saw only what he, with conscious direction and discipline, wanted you to see. As a result, two strangers could meet, each thinking he “knew” Mr. Fleming — but neither in the end would continue to believe this after they’d compared notes in conversation.

To lesser or greater extents, we all do this, of course. Relaxed at home is different from workplace. Project meetings are different from end-of-the-day unwinds with those very same colleagues on the road at a trade show.

And it wasn’t that many years ago that it actually took a bit of effort to really flesh out every disparate aspect of a Supreme Court nominee’s background.

“Screen names” used on Internet Forums and Chat Rooms provided somewhat of a challenge in connecting the person expressing views on movie interests on what part of the Internet with that same person’s pitch to would-be romantic persuits on another.

But what are you gonna do with Facebook?

You can spend years developing expertise and respect in advanced rocket science if you’d like. Still, that image will forever onward be seasoned with high school connections from decades past to the choice you made for prom date.

It’s all “who you are.”

Privacy! when you “have nothing to hide”

One of the more challenging areas of restraint for me is when someone rationalizes unbridled access to someone else’s information by arguing, “Well, if you don’t have anything to hide, you shouldn’t have any objection.”

What could it hurt?

Naïvely, and, more importantly — dangerously — this position fails to recognize the difference between data and intelligence. The former is raw, unconsidered information. The latter adds interpretation to that record of the former.

So, to you and me, “667 Main Street, Apartment 16,” is just an address. But coded into a database that runs character strings without spaces, apartment information preceding building, the number “16667” appears in a string. And it’s only a matter of time before some intelligence person sees the three of those sixes together in an apartment-first, street-second layout, and draws “the only possible conclusion,” ie, “mark of the devil!”

Stop and think about some of the best thriller-genre story lines. “Mistaken identity” is really nothing more than otherwise innocent data being taken the wrong way. Happens all the time.

And, as a matter of fact, so much so, I’m guessing, that folks who were here long before me and undoubtedly a lot smarter than I am, felt it important enough to spell out as a prohibition.

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

As arguments go, Fourth Amendment trumps rationalization for riffling through my underwear drawer. At least as far as I’m concerned.

How ’bout you?

Will “Le Chiffre” become a verb?

Spoiler alert: While it’s hard to imagine that the torture scene in Casino Royale is much of a surprise to anyone, that’s what we’re talking about here. So, stop reading here if that sort of discussion might spoil anything for you.

For the rest of us— I wanted to let you know that the words, “Don’t Le Chiffre me” have already crossed my lips since seeing the latest James Bond 007 film feature yesterday. It’s a guy thing, calling someone on what is, I admit, usually a mere verbal jibe.

Nothing physical, let alone below-the-belt. Thank God!

To be “La Chiffred” (pronounced “la-sheef-ed”) connotes the even greater context conveyed through the Casino Royale torture scene. La Chiffre is an opponent who cheats to get the upper hand. He attacks only after his henchmen have secured position on his behalf. Then, with no sense of boundaries, come his low blows, so to speak.

James Bond 007, secure in his masculinity and unyielding to such an unworthy opponent, mocks Le Chiffre.*

This is the the fullest message conveyed when labeling your experience at the hand of an adversary has La Chiffred. For the perpetrator, clearly a moniker of shame.

Application:

It can unmask behavior, call it to account, suggesting the question, “You’ve crossed a line. Do you really want to go there?” Or, more harshly, “You’ve already passed the point of no return: Stop before your friends see you scratching around in a way that’s more humiliating to you than anyone else.”

When you see La Chiffred appear in context elsewhere, remember that you read about it here, first.

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* An oversimplification I reserve the right to address later, elsewhere; necessary here to keep this article on topic.

Review: “Controlled Experiment,” The Outer Limits

Life can radically change in a matter of seconds. Consequences ripple beyond our wildest anticipation.

What if you could stop that moment and study it?

That’s the premise of this exceptional episode of The Outer Limits. Earth is being monitored by subtly-placed operatives from a highly intelligent, advanced race of Martians. It’s been a quiet job for our man in the field, “Diemos,” who’s blended-in among us by passing himself off as a nondescript pawn shop proprietor.

But now he’s been ordered to give complete cooperation to a superior from Mars, “Inspector Phobos.” A “controlled experiment” has been authorized to help Mars understand the motives, nature, and consequences of murder.

Not a big deal in and of itself.

But what if it led to something more serious?

So we’re going to take a close look. “Martian Computer Control Probability Division” has projected with 99% certainty that one of these will occur just four blocks from Diemos’ storefront.

The setup for “Controlled Experiment” is at once creative, charming, and straightforward. The science fiction fan will be appeased, yet those who might otherwise avoid the genre are at no risk of getting lost or bored with the gadgetry of it. A suitcase-sized “Miniaturized Temporal Condenser” serves as the touchstone device for capturing real-life events a’la present day VCR. No antennae or silly makeup for these alien visitors here either, respecting the audience’s ability to accept the setup without going over the top.

Initial finding? The motive for this murder is jealousy, and the fatal shot is fired by a drop-dead gorgeous blond staked out in a hotel lobby awaiting arrival of her philandering boyfriend via elevator.

He steps out. Words are exchanged.

Bang!

Dead.

Can that be all there is to it?

The richness of this story is in the characters, their emotions and their growth. Diemos exhibits authentic deference to his superior that rings true of just about any organizational hierarchy. Timeless.

Yet there’s something else here, too. A warmth and genuine desire to bridge the culture gaps between his home planet of Mars and the people of Earth, in a personal way, for Phobos. Before leaving the pawn shop, Diemos introduces Inspector Phobos to Earth indulgences of coffee and cigarettes. The latter with a pitch so enthusiastic that borders on needing a Surgeon General’s Warning.

Further into the plot, there’s a bit in the hotel lobby where Diemos softly corrects Phobos on a local idiosyncrasy — and his superior thanks him. True respect in a way you seldom see among the Dilbert-style bosses of the real world, struggling to impersonate behavior they took notes on during last weeks “team” training.

Humor dialogue is spot-on as well; no laugh track, and never gratuitous. Here’s how the plot is advanced through a question regarding the role played by others in the hotel lobby vis-à-vis the murder.

“Ah, yes,” Diemos answers in perfect deadpan. “They’re ‘innocent bystanders.’ It’s a tradition. Each one tells a different version of what happened.”

Later, as Phobos’ confusion mounts at the senselessness of murder, he and Diemos follow the boyfriend backward in time — up the elevator and back to the lips of another woman.

Passionate one moment, dead the next?

This makes no sense to the inspector.

“The only scientific law that applies to kissing and shooting is the principle of uncertainty,” muses Diemos.

As special effects go, the Miniaturized Temporal Condenser can be a bit over the top with its screeching, bright lights; acting, too, is in some scenes a bit over the top. But if your inner-nitpicker  can be quelled, I would argue that the impact fundamentally shows the effort and seriousness involved in manipulating time under any circumstances.

So it’s not Rod Taylor in The Time Machine or Doc Brown in his DeLorean?

Nope. Nor does it have to be.

The bigger risk in a plot like this is getting through buildup to the final act without failing to deliver. We studied murder, motive, and means, but something’s gotta pay us off for having invested the time in this.

No worries. The Outer Limits shines throughout its “Controlled Experiment.” Twice. I won’t spoil the ending, but I will leave you with one of the two questions that sets it up.

What if you could make it so the murder never happened?

  • Overall grade: A
  • Engaging look at motives, assumptions, and actions — with a strong and clever “What if?” finish.

Production

The Outer Limits, “Controlled Experiment (1963), Leslie Stevens. Written and directed by Leslie Stevens. Starring Barry Morse (Inspector Phobos), Carroll O’Connor (Diemos), and Grace Lee Whitney.

“Kitchen Sink”

If you’re familiar with the phrase, “everything but the kitchen sink,” then you’ll get the approach I’ve taken here in labeling my personal Blog Posts.

Note on Categories: Each post appears in only one Category; nothing is referenced in more than one Category below.

Tags are a different story.

— Dell Deaton
December 31, 2005

rev December 6, 2021; November 5, 2021; February 3, 2017

The “One in a Thousand” Fallacy

You’ve heard the argument — typically from some vocal zealot short on any other merit to support his position.

We should do this thing even if it only benefits one person in a thousand.

Thus, highway speeds should be lowered to 35 MPH, if justified no more than by saving just one more life. Church doors should never be locked, if only to save the soul of just one midnight sinner otherwise lost. No idea should go unheard, in excruciating detail! during a brainstorming session, if only to allow that it may be that one in a thousand which turns out to be a moneymaker.

The problem is that none of these arguments takes consequence into account. For every choice, there is an alternative: A choice not made, no longer available.

Refusal to consider consequence does not negate the fact that lowering the speed limit will impact all sorts of lives, in all sorts of ways. It may save one life in a thousand. It may also impede commerce to such a degree that a greater multiple of other lives are lost because food, medical supplies, and disaster relief cannot be delivered timely.

An empty church that is left unlocked is at high risk for vandalism and looting, consequently leaving it unusable for an entire congregation. Hire security? That may come at the expense of missions programs. Or existing staff could simply be assigned “watch” duties — if you’re open to burning their candles at both ends.

If you’ve ever been in a free-for-all “team” meeting sans responsible structuring, I don’t need to tell you how quickly the intellectual and emotional contributions of your real horses will be snuffed by unbridled flights of fancy.

Of course there are some ideas that are bad even before they’ve crossed the speaker’s lips.

Time has value. Things exist as they do for reasons. All change comes at some cost. It’s not unkind, closed-minded, or greedy to acknowledge this.

On the other hand, the “if only for one in a thousand” conversation-stopper seems to me very much all of these things.

If a solution is truly the best, right way to go, then show all of us the respect of doing the homework, organizing a case for it, and making a logically persuasive argument based on real people, in a real world.

Show us real understanding of the sacrifices and consequences that are to be imposed on others. Be accountable, in the fullest sense of cost-to-benefit ratios.

Truly good ideas and needs met must be rise by their own merits, sans hyperbole.

Government interest in promoting divorce

This question is opposite to the extreme of the more often-uttered lament that “government should do more to help folks stay married.”

In other words: Does the government have an interest in discouraging lifelong unions?

Unquestionably. It does.

Think about it. Although I’m not a lawyer (and don’t play one on TV), my understanding is that “marital privilege” is a phrase describing the right of a husband and wife not to testify against one another in court. Or, for that matter, any other legal proceeding.

Even if not universally applicable to courtrooms, we’ve gotta believe the idea instructs a lot of behavior at the ground level.

Recall an episode or two of The Sopranos where Adrianna thought this might help her out of a pickle. Or White House Counsel John Dean, who inexplicably married his girlfriend on the eve of giving testimony on “Watergate.”

The divorce process has even more potential. Issue areas need not be bounded by any pesky concern about “relevancy,” because, you know: Anything and everything is said to be by-definition relevant to matters concerning “the best interests of the minor children,” we’re told.

On top of that, the emotional stir of divorce actually seems to have an inherent knack for reaching into the sole of moviation for a lot of individuals such that they pro-actively, willingly dish the dirt on their former loves. The marketed image of legal system “equity” (meaning, this is a place to get even, if nowhere else) creates motive to provide detailed answers to questions “the system” could never have thought to ask.

Imagine:

  • The inside scoop on financial records and tax returns.
  • Neatly photocopied medical histories otherwise locked behind pesky HIPAA restraints.
  • Candid revelations about sexual proclivities, voting histories, and attempts to circumvent handicapped parking space restrictions.

It all strikes me as a lot more efficient and a lot less time-consuming than any of that bulky data-acquisition stuff George Orwell thought would be needed to make his science-fiction world work in 1984.

Maybe no one is acting on this. But we can’t say that government has no motive to do so.

Thresholds for certainty that I set for making decisions

You can only conduct so much due diligence before a decision has to be made, and that point will always be short of perfect prescience.

As a matter of fact — I would argue — any person demanding a “100% standard” in decision making is rather more looking for some (predetermined) outcome other than a practical, timely, necessary real-world solution.

So where’s the middle ground?

What I suggest as a practical matter is that we think of most decisions as falling into one of two categories and operational thresholds.

  • Functional: My 65% Rule
  • Consequential: My 7% Rule

A Functional Decision is a little bigger than “Should I get out of bed this morning?” or “Are you sure you want to have dinner at China King tonight?” Rather, these are “try it out” challenges, with significant, but hardly life-altering potential consequences.

In a dating situation, for example, you might consider going out a second time with someone where the first experience was clearly on the plus-side, although not necessarily a “Wow!” Your therapist or life coach suggests a change of habit or communication style that doesn’t knock your socks off; but you trust this counsel of sufficiency that it makes more sense than not to give the advice a try.

Functional decision-making acknowledges that life is fundamentally about making imperfect choices. Even if you don’t know you’ve been presented with a decision, non-action will still lead to one particular outcome and not others.

Making this decision for yourself gives you some measure of greater input on your own life. Doors are often closed, opportunities lost, by not making these decisions. The rule I use for myself is that a 65% inclination is sufficient for me to go ahead.

And it’s ridiculous to become immobilized or over-think something based on a 35% uncertainty.

A Consequential Decision is akin to Ceasar crossing the Rubicon. There’s no turning back. All sorts of other options are negated. And this is a thing that will play out in a very big way for you.

Again, remember alternatively that there is always a “decision at rest” or the thing that will happen even if you “do nothing.” In other words, making no decision is, effectively, affirmatively, making a decision to do nothing.

So, “My 7% Rule” takes into account that decisions are never made with perfect information; there is only so much that can be known before a choice still must be exercised.

A 93% confidence is as serious as I can get, while still remaining actionable. Requiring much more certainty before making a decision risks both immobilizing the process and creating rationalization for leaving the decision never to be made (i.e., deciding in favor of a random outcome).

Sure — I may go out on a second date based as a Functional Decision.

But marrying that person is a Consequential Decision. And (note to those who let Functional arguments get so far out of hand as to reach Consequential magnitude), divorce is always a Consequential Decision.

Consequential issues are like whitewater rafting, in that you make the choice of getting into the boat, but you relinquish everything else to the river thereafter. There is a “takes on a life of its own” thing here.

You can’t get “half-pregnant,” as they say.

The two points I want to make here are these.

  1. Recognize that there are different sorts of decisions that you face, and the importance of having a criteria by which to differentiate them.
  2. Although my 65% and 7% thresholds are hardly scientific, they underscore for me the need to appreciate the necessarily different thresholds associated with each sort of decision I must make.