Psychiatric pharmacologists can interpret my intention in each of these equations freely. When I say “age”, then the individual practitioner may choose to enter an age for his patient that is not correct but perhaps a better proximation of the patient’s wear and tear, so to speak. When I say “horror”, then we should understand a subjective experience akin to that of the imminent approach of a certain death, or its like. By “hate”, we mean the diametrical opposite of love. It is understood that the resulting values can vary wildly, and this does – if nothing else – reaffirm my counsel that these are mere guidelines for safe neuropharmacology. Nothing replaces sound common sense; the closest approximation to sound common sense being Platt’s Harmonious Snap Judgement proximations (see below).
In order to understand these equations at all, it is first and foremost necessary to comprehend fully my fundamental mathematical description of perception (as opposed to reality). This is as follows:
F > Σ [xy]
Where F is defined to be the subjective feeling of fear/anxiety/worry, y is a real-life experience and x is any positive integer. Given these definitions, we get: “Our total and subjective perceived level of fear is greater than the sum of all real-life experience”. Thus, by mapping such a theoretical equation on a classical x-y grid, we see a fear-field hanging over any curve in the realm of perceived possibility. If we map the same equation out over time (t) in, say, the third dimension along a z-axis, then the F field expands into a fear-cloud, which is larger than but less defined than, for example, a two dimensional repugnance-plane.
Given this equation, we still do not know any better how much greater is our fear vis-à-vis the sum of all real-life experiences. In order to determine more precisely how fears relate to experience, we need to introduce a new variable, i, where we get the following equation:
F = (Σ [xy])i
In this equation, “i” corresponds to subjective imagination. With this new variable we get: “Our total and subjective perceived level of fear is equal to the sum of all real-life experience magnified to the power of imagination.” This variable, i, is a very tricky figure, as it not only varies from individual to individual, but can even vary considerably with the same individual over a short stretch of time. Insurance adjusters, for example, have demonstrated the ability to leap from an i-value of 1 to as much as 1000 in the space of just a few months (say, the time from offering an insurance to shortly after the insurance contract is signed).
Interestingly, this gives us a unique equation that just so happens to be the only known way of calculating the variable i. In this equation, it can be shown that a strong imagination stems from little real-life experience, as long as the subjective level of fear remains constant. Fortunately, I have observed this empirically. Last year, we had a small rat-invasion in my house. Over breakfast, a couple of the large rodents tumbled from the chandelier in our breakfast room onto the table during supper. All in all, my wife and my two children showed an equivalent amount of terror. My wife possessed significant previous experience with rats; therefore, I could conclue that she has a poor imagination. My children, who – thank God – haven’t encountered so many rats, demonstrated strong imaginations. Moreover, the correlation between imagination and cleverness is a direct one, but that is an argument for another day.
Mankind is so predisposed and so inclined to respond immediately, strategically and directly to perceived fears. If we call the complete set of responses security and assign it the symbol “S”, we are able to posit the following equation to illustrate mankind’s response to fear:
S = Σ [F → ∞] + 1
In other words, the complete set of responses to fear is equal to the sum of all fears extending into the infinite future plus one. Take my neighbour, Stanley, who locks his deadbolt even when he’s at home. I remember the day he moved across town to a townhouse in a gated community. Every time he went out to the moving van with a box of plastic kitchen utensils, buttons, papers or some such other junk that Stanley or his incoherent Romanian wife had managed to collect over the years, he would lock the door behind him, even though he would go back through that door (and need to unlock it again) only ten seconds later, while his wife was inside packing boxes the entire time. I sat on our porch and watched the whole operation. What a schmuck! But this is our nature, and a deterministic one too (as we see in the equation above)!
Even though we have functional definitions of F and S, we still lack a suitable foundation for the application of neuropharmacological principles of cost-benefit analysis and treatment-response switches. In order to get there, we need to develop an understanding of how these factors fit into a “cost-to-society paradigm” and a series of gated levels of drug-induced success. With the following equation, we near this nirvana:
$
∙ (S – 1) a
p + K = ∫b (S + S(Σ [g + 1])) – y1-u
Very quickly: $ is equal to the cost of the medication, p is equivalent to the stigma associated with using such a medication (when this is less than one, it is actually an advantage, prestige, to discuss your use at the country club or gym), K is related to the efficacity of the drug employed, a is the time of beginning treatment, b is the supposed end of treatment, g is the social good of fear, y is the user’s understanding of philosophy and u is the user’s partner’s understanding of philosophy.
Important to note right away is the social value of fear (and its concomitant need to create security, which has a very high socioeconomic value). The y and u quotients could significantly slow the escalation of profitable neuropharmacological treatment, but we see in experience that acquaintance with philosophy is very low. Even when acquaintance is high, utilization is low. In the top half of the left side of the equation (in other words,
$ ∙ (S – 1)), we see that the fear equation also plays a role in use of drugs, as many users also attribute some fear to the drug itself.
We see that the drug’s actual efficacity and the social stigma – or conversely, the cachet – associated with using it are, in fact, equal! A drug that has no effect at all but high social cachet is equivalent to a drug that is only somewhat effective, but which possesses a slight social stigma. This characteristic might be particularly interesting to the marketing departments of a number of the larger companies in the neuropharma sector.
Finally, we will look at a small equation related to the social good that is determined by fear, and thereafter a short parable:
g = I – Σ[P]
where I represents an individual’s monthly income and P is the cost of one form of insurance. As the social value of insurances is more directly related to fear equations, they factor in elsewhere (and thus are subtracted here). Once this is subtracted, it is interesting to note that the social good created by fear is precisely equivalent to an individual’s monthly income. This holds true, at least, over any stretch of time greater than five years after reaching the age of 25 (or finishing studies, whichever comes first).
We can see in the market that new products are continually developed to fill what we may call the “fear gap”. This fear gap can be created from purely social status, or prestige-, related factors or from sub-conscious existential worries. As a person’s income rises, so does the social value of that person’s fear. And as a person’s fear rises, so will his or her income, if by the force of volition, or by chance. Empirically, we see that it is most commonly the former.
Herb, my colleague, struggled to salt away enough money to “make it”, as he put it. I asked him once what it would mean to “make it” and he indicated that it would be the day he owned flat-out a car, a house, a boat and a cabin, with no debts to the bank. I asked him, quite obviously, if he couldn’t just switch his two-level suburban house and SUV for one of those crappy house-boats down off the city wharf and slap together a lean-to shelter in the recreation area just out of town. Just like that, in one fell swoop, he could “make it”. It wasn’t long after I asked Herb about this that he had his nervous breakdown. He was away from the office for a couple months, returned, sweated his way to a promotion and got himself a management position. I met him in passing at the office canteen (he didn’t eat there anymore, but had just popped down to hold a pep talk about the new efficiency program). He said that he had finally “made it”, but I noticed a few things. His eyes were glazed over and he slurred his consonants. He was drugged out of his mind! He had maximized the social good of his fear in order to “make it” and then started drugging himself to avoid negative psychosocial repurcussions (another breakdown).
Comments