Important Note Before You Read

This article does not advocate for tobacco use, nor does it deny the well-established health risks associated with certain forms of cigarette consumption. Its focus is on the precision of language, interpretation of data, and the structural integrity of public discourse. The intention is to examine how meaning is constructed, rather than to influence behavioural choices regarding tobacco use.

Opening — The Collapse of Meaning

There is something fundamentally off in how we speak about tobacco, and it is not immediately obvious because the language appears familiar, even settled. Words like “smoking” and “smoker” are used with such confidence that they rarely invite scrutiny. Yet beneath this surface of certainty lies a significant collapse of meaning. A single term is made to carry a wide range of behaviours, substances, patterns, and contexts, as if they were all interchangeable. They are not.

When someone says “smoking,” what exactly is being referred to? The word does not specify the substance, the method of use, the frequency, the intention, or the physiological engagement. It compresses all of this into a single label and presents it as if it were precise. That compression is not harmless. It is the beginning of distortion. Once distinctions are removed, what remains is not clarity but a simplified construct that can be easily communicated, easily regulated, and easily judged.

This is not merely a linguistic issue. It is a failure of sense-making. Language, when used without precision, does not just describe reality. It reshapes it. It determines what is seen, what is ignored, and how conclusions are drawn. When multiple distinct phenomena are collapsed into one category, any claim made about that category carries an implicit assumption that all instances within it behave in the same way. That assumption is rarely examined, yet it becomes the foundation for public narratives, policies, and even personal identities.

This article does not set out to defend tobacco. It does not deny that certain forms of use carry risks, some of them significant. What it seeks to do is something more fundamental. It examines how imprecise language, combined with unexamined assumptions, produces a distorted understanding of a complex reality. Tobacco becomes the case through which a broader issue is revealed. The issue is how easily human beings trade precision for convenience, and how that trade, repeated often enough, becomes normalised to the point where it is no longer recognised as a compromise at all.

If the aim is to understand, then the first step is to restore distinction. Without that, everything that follows rests on unstable ground.

The First Distortion: The Word “Smoking”

The word “smoking” appears straightforward, yet it functions more like a container than a definition. It gathers together a wide range of activities and presents them as if they belong to a single, coherent category. This creates the impression of clarity while quietly removing the very distinctions that would make understanding possible.

To say that someone “smokes” does not tell us what is being consumed. It does not distinguish between an industrially manufactured cigarette and a hand-rolled, fermented cigar. It does not tell us whether the substance is inhaled into the lungs or held briefly in the mouth and released. It does not account for frequency, intensity, or context. A person stepping outside multiple times a day under stress to inhale a cigarette is placed in the same conceptual category as someone who occasionally enjoys a cigar in a relaxed setting without inhalation. These are not variations of the same behaviour. They are fundamentally different modes of engagement.

What is happening here is not simply a lack of detail. It is a logical error. The same word is being used to describe different realities, and then conclusions drawn about one are applied to all. This is a classic case of equivocation. The term remains constant while its meaning shifts, yet the argument proceeds as if no shift has occurred. Alongside this sits a false equivalence, where distinct practices are treated as if they carry the same properties and consequences.

Once this compression is accepted, it becomes difficult to speak accurately about risk, behaviour, or outcomes. Any statement about “smoking” inherits the ambiguity of the term itself. It sounds precise, but it is not anchored to a single, clearly defined phenomenon. It is an abstraction that conceals variation rather than revealing it.

This matters because language does not merely describe behaviour, it frames it. When the framing is imprecise, everything that follows, from public perception to policy, rests on a blurred foundation. The issue is not that the word “smoking” exists. The issue is that it is used as if it were sufficiently precise when it is not.

The Second Distortion: Identity Formation — “Smoker”

If the word “smoking” collapses behaviour, the word “smoker” goes a step further and collapses the person.

A behaviour becomes a label, and the label becomes an identity. What may have begun as a description of an occasional or context-specific activity is transformed into a defining characteristic of the individual. The shift appears subtle, yet its implications are significant. A person is no longer someone who engages in a particular behaviour under certain conditions. They become, in total, a “smoker.”

This is not how language is applied in most other areas of life. A person who eats pizza multiple times a week is not reduced to a “pizza eater” as an identity marker. We do not call a person who takes the dog out a few times a week a dog walker as an identity. Someone who watches films regularly is not defined by that behaviour alone. In these cases, there is an intuitive recognition that behaviour does not exhaust identity. Distinctions are maintained between occasional use, habitual engagement, and pathological patterns.

With tobacco, that distinction often disappears. The label becomes totalising. It does not reflect frequency, context, or intention. It does not differentiate between someone who engages occasionally and someone who is deeply dependent. It flattens all variation into a single category and then attaches that category to the person as if it were essential to who they are.

This is a form of reductionism. A complex human being is reduced to a single behavioural attribute. It also carries an element of essentialism, where the label implies something fixed or inherent about the person, rather than something contingent and variable. Once applied, the label influences how the individual is perceived by others and, in many cases, how they come to perceive themselves.

From a broader perspective, this reflects a deeper issue in sense-making. It is the collapse of the distinction between what a person does and who a person is. When that boundary is blurred, language begins to shape identity in ways that are not only inaccurate but also limiting. The term “smoker” may appear convenient, but convenience here comes at the cost of precision and, more importantly, at the cost of understanding the human being beyond the label.

The Third Distortion: The Collapse of Substance

Beyond language and identity, there is a deeper layer of distortion that sits at the level of the substance itself. Tobacco is often treated as if it were a single, uniform entity. It is not.

Different tobacco leaves, such as Virginia, Burley, Perique, and Latakia, are not merely variations in name. They differ in cultivation, curing, fermentation, and chemical composition. The processes they undergo shape not only their flavour profiles but also their chemical characteristics, including nicotine levels and the presence of various compounds. Even within the category of tobacco, there is significant diversity that cannot be meaningfully reduced to a single profile.

This complexity becomes even more pronounced when one considers how tobacco is prepared and delivered. Industrially manufactured cigarettes are not simply dried tobacco wrapped in paper. They are engineered products. They often contain a range of additives designed to influence burn rate, flavour, absorption, and user behaviour. They are optimised for consistency, speed of delivery, and repeat consumption. Their design encourages inhalation and frequent use.

By contrast, premium cigars are typically composed of whole tobacco leaves that have undergone extended fermentation. This fermentation process is not incidental. It reduces certain impurities and alters the chemical structure of the leaf over time. The mode of engagement is also different. Cigars are not designed for inhalation. They are experienced more slowly, often in a context of relaxation, where the emphasis is on flavour and aroma rather than rapid nicotine delivery.

To treat these two forms as equivalent under the single category of “tobacco use” is a clear category error. It assumes that because the base material shares a name, the resulting products share the same properties and effects. This is similar to treating all forms of alcohol as identical because they contain ethanol, without distinguishing between a small amount of wine consumed with food and repeated consumption of high-proof spirits in a short period.

What is often presented as a unified category is, in reality, a spectrum of substances and modes of preparation. When this spectrum is collapsed, meaningful distinctions disappear. Statements about harm, risk, or behaviour are then applied across the entire category without accounting for the underlying differences. This is not a matter of nuance for its own sake. It is a matter of accuracy. Without recognising the variation within tobacco itself, any discussion built upon it remains fundamentally incomplete.

The Central Concept: Drift

What sits beneath these distortions is something more fundamental than mislabelling or generalisation. It is a shift over time that has gone largely unexamined. The issue is not only what tobacco is, but what it has become through the way it is now used. This is best understood as drift.

Drift is the movement away from an original mode of engagement into something that may carry the same name but no longer reflects the same reality. In the case of tobacco, the leaf itself has not changed in essence, but the way human beings relate to it has changed significantly. What was once a slow, deliberate, and often occasional engagement has, in many contexts, become rapid, repetitive, and tied to states of stress and compulsion.

Historically, certain forms of tobacco use were closer to what could be described as a tasting experience. The emphasis was on flavour, aroma, and presence. The pace was slower, and the context often mattered. It was not primarily a mechanism for immediate regulation of internal states. It was something engaged with when one was already in a relatively settled condition.

In contrast, much of modern cigarette use reflects a very different pattern. It is frequently tied to interruption, urgency, and the need to regulate stress. The behaviour becomes fragmented, inserted between tasks, often repeated throughout the day. The mode of consumption also shifts. Instead of a slower engagement that remains largely within the mouth, there is active inhalation, drawing the substance directly into the lungs for faster physiological effect. The design of the product itself reinforces this pattern, enabling quick delivery and repeat use.

This shift can be understood through analogy. Consider the difference between slowly sipping a well-cured whisky, allowing small amounts to be held and experienced over time, and repeatedly taking shots in quick succession. The substance may share a common base, but the pattern of use transforms the experience and its impact. The same can be said for wine consumed as part of a meal compared to continuous consumption for the purpose of altering one’s state.

What is often attributed to “tobacco” in general may, in fact, be a function of this drift. The movement from ritual to compulsion, from context to fragmentation, from moderation to repetition, introduces a different set of dynamics. When these drifted patterns become dominant, they begin to define the category itself. The original modes of engagement are overshadowed, and the leaf is judged primarily through its most extreme or distorted forms of use.

Without recognising drift, the analysis remains incomplete. It attributes outcomes to the substance alone while overlooking the transformation in behaviour and context that has taken place around it. The leaf remains, but the way it is engaged with has shifted. It is within that shift that much of the problem resides.

The Addiction Misframe

Few terms carry as much weight in this conversation as the word “addiction,” and few are used with less precision. Once applied, it tends to close the discussion rather than deepen it. It suggests inevitability, loss of control, and a kind of uniform mechanism that operates in the same way across substances and individuals. Yet when examined more carefully, the concept begins to fragment.

The first question that needs to be asked is simple but often overlooked. What exactly is meant by addiction in this context? Is it referring to a chemical property that inevitably produces dependency regardless of context, or is it describing a pattern of behaviour that emerges through repeated use under certain conditions? These are not the same, yet they are often treated as interchangeable.

Nicotine does have pharmacological effects. It interacts with the nervous system and can reinforce certain behaviours. This should not be dismissed. However, to move from that recognition to the claim that nicotine, on its own and in all contexts, creates an unavoidable dependency similar to substances that produce severe physiological withdrawal is a step that requires far more precision than is usually provided. The distinction between different levels and types of dependency becomes blurred, and what remains is a single, inflated category.

Human beings regulate their internal states through multiple pathways. Physical movement, social connection, intimacy, music, meaningful activity, and rest all play roles in modulating mood and energy. Within this broader landscape, nicotine can function as a relatively fast and accessible means of shifting one’s state. It can become a reliable shortcut. The presence of such a shortcut does not automatically imply that all individuals who use it are trapped by it in the same way or to the same degree.

This leads to a more nuanced question. Is the person addicted to the substance itself, or are they relying on a consistent method for regulating internal states, particularly in environments where alternative mechanisms are limited, unavailable, or underdeveloped? The behaviour may appear similar on the surface, but the underlying dynamics can differ significantly.

When the term addiction is used without these distinctions, it becomes a form of category inflation. Different phenomena are grouped together under a single label, and the most severe interpretations of that label are then applied across the board. This does not enhance understanding. It obscures it. It replaces inquiry with assumption and reduces a complex interaction between substance, behaviour, and context to a simplified narrative that is easier to communicate but harder to justify upon closer examination.

The Lurking Variable Problem

Another major distortion enters when statistics are treated as if they explain themselves. They do not. Facts do not speak for themselves. Human beings extract meaning from facts, frame conclusions from data, and often do so through categories and assumptions that already contain bias. This becomes especially important when one looks at the relationship between cigarette use, stress, and cardiovascular disease.

It is well established that chronic psychological stress is associated with cardiovascular risk, although the strength and exact pathways vary across studies and measures. Major health sources and recent reviews describe chronic stress as linked to heart disease through biochemical, physiological, and behavioural pathways, while also noting that the causal mechanisms remain complex and are not reducible to a single line of explanation. � At the same time, smoking prevalence is higher among people experiencing serious psychological distress and lower socioeconomic conditions, and recent studies also report strong relationships between nicotine dependence and stress or broader mental health burdens.

This matters because once these realities are placed side by side, a serious interpretive problem emerges. Many people who frequently smoke manufactured cigarettes are already under considerable stress. They are not entering the picture as neutral, unstressed individuals who then simply become statistical examples of “smoking-related harm.” They may already be carrying one of the major conditions that independently contributes to cardiovascular burden. In such cases, stress and a particular pattern of cigarette use may both be present, both may matter, and both may be interacting.

So what exactly is the story the statistic is telling? Is it that highly stressed people become frequent cigarette users and over time develop dependence, while stress itself is already increasing cardiovascular risk? Or is it that dependence on frequent cigarette use amplifies stress, deepens dysregulation, and contributes further to cardiovascular harm? Some of the current literature suggests the relationship can be reciprocal rather than one-directional, meaning distress can contribute to uptake and continued use, while dependence and associated patterns can also maintain or worsen distress.

This is where the lurking variable problem becomes crucial. A lurking variable is a factor that sits in the background influencing both sides of an apparent relationship, making the surface interpretation look simpler than it really is. Stress can function that way. Socioeconomic disadvantage can function that way. Broader mental health burden can function that way. If these are not properly accounted for, a statistical association between cigarette smoking and cardiovascular disease may still be real, but the meaning extracted from it may become overstated, flattened, or philosophically lazy.

None of this means the association should be dismissed. It means it must be interpreted with greater discipline. Correlation is not self-explanatory. A measured association is not the same thing as a complete causal account. Once lurking variables, bidirectional effects, mediating mechanisms, and behavioural context enter the picture, the responsible conclusion becomes more demanding. One must ask not only whether two variables are associated, but through what pathways, under what conditions, with which populations, and in interaction with what other burdens.

There is also a further layer that public discourse rarely acknowledges. Data is not interpreted in a vacuum. Policy priorities, public messaging, moralisation, institutional incentives, and revenue interests all shape how conclusions are framed and repeated. In Australia, tobacco excise still contributes government revenue, even as its share of overall revenue has fallen and illicit-market dynamics have complicated the picture. That does not prove bad faith, but it does remind us that statistics enter systems of policy, enforcement, communication, and moral judgement that are never entirely neutral.

So the real issue is not whether one can find numbers linking cigarette smoking and cardiovascular disease. Of course one can. The issue is what one is claiming those numbers mean. If the categories are vague, if the patterns of use are collapsed, if stress and socioeconomic burden are insufficiently reckoned with, and if policy language then turns those associations into sweeping moral certainty, what has been produced is not merely science. It is interpretation dressed up as inevitability.

That is precisely why precision matters. Without it, the statistic becomes less a window into reality and more a tool through which reality is simplified until it says what one already wanted it to say.

The Misuse of Statistics and Public Claims

One of the most persuasive elements in public discourse is the use of statistics. Numbers carry an authority that words alone often do not. They appear objective, grounded, and difficult to challenge. Yet the interpretation of those numbers depends entirely on how the underlying categories are defined. When the categories themselves are imprecise, the conclusions drawn from them inherit that imprecision.

Consider the commonly stated claim that “smoking is one of the leading causes of cardiovascular disease,” followed by the observation that cardiovascular disease is a leading cause of death. At first glance, this appears clear and compelling. However, the critical question remains unasked. What form of smoking is being referred to?

In most cases, such claims are based on data that reflects specific patterns of use. These patterns typically involve frequent consumption of industrially manufactured cigarettes, active inhalation into the lungs, and repeated exposure over extended periods. These conditions are not incidental. They are central to the outcomes being measured.

When the term “smoking” is used in the conclusion without carrying forward these distinctions, an aggregation error occurs. The findings related to a specific subset of behaviours are presented as if they apply uniformly across all forms of tobacco use. The nuance present in the data is lost in the summary statement, and what remains is a generalised claim that appears broader than the evidence can fully support.

This does not mean the data is incorrect. It means the interpretation lacks precision. A statistically valid correlation within a defined group becomes, through language, a generalised assertion about an entire category. The shift is subtle but significant. It transforms a context-dependent finding into an apparently universal truth.

The result is that different forms of engagement, with different substances, patterns, and contexts, are implicitly treated as if they carry the same level and type of risk. Once again, the collapse of distinction leads to the expansion of claim. The authority of statistics remains intact, but the clarity of what those statistics actually represent becomes diluted.

If the aim is to inform rather than persuade, then the specificity of the data must be preserved in the way it is communicated. Without that, numbers can give the appearance of precision while quietly reinforcing the same conceptual compressions that have already distorted the conversation.

The Labelling Problem

Nowhere is this collapse of precision more visible than in official labelling. The intent behind such labelling may be to inform, to warn, and to reduce harm. Yet when the language used exceeds the precision of the underlying evidence, the result is not clarity but distortion.

Statements being mandated by authorities on packaging such as “cigar smoking causes lung cancer” appear definitive. They carry the tone of established fact, leaving little room for differentiation or inquiry. However, when examined more closely, the reality is more complex. Much of the research that strongly links smoking to lung cancer is grounded in patterns of cigarette use that involve active inhalation, high frequency, and prolonged exposure. These conditions are not incidental variables. They are central to the outcomes observed.

In the case of premium cigars, the mode of use is often different. Many users do not inhale, and the exposure pathways shift accordingly. The primary areas of contact become the mouth and throat rather than the lungs. Even here, the question is not whether there is risk, but how that risk is characterised, measured, and communicated. To move from a context-specific understanding of risk to a blanket causal statement without qualification is to extend beyond what the evidence can precisely support.

This is not an argument that cigars are harmless. It is an argument that risk must be expressed with proportional accuracy. A scientifically grounded statement would differentiate between types of use, levels of exposure, and relative risk compared to baseline conditions. It would indicate whether the increase in risk is marginal, moderate, or significant, and under what patterns of behaviour those risks emerge.

When labelling simplifies these distinctions into absolute claims, it often relies, whether intentionally or not, on an appeal to fear. The message becomes stronger, more immediate, and more likely to influence behaviour. Yet strength of message is not the same as accuracy of information. Overstatement may achieve compliance, but it does so at the cost of trust. Once individuals recognise that the language used does not fully align with the complexity of the evidence, the credibility of the broader discourse can begin to erode.

Effective communication of risk requires more than urgency. It requires fidelity to what is actually known, including the limits of that knowledge. Without this, labelling ceases to be purely informative. It becomes persuasive in a way that blurs the line between guidance and generalisation, reinforcing the very distortions that have shaped the conversation from the beginning.

Behaviour vs Substance

What begins to emerge, once these layers are examined, is that the focus on the substance alone is insufficient to explain the outcomes attributed to it. The leaf, in isolation, does not account for the full picture. What matters equally, and often more, is how that leaf is engaged with. The distinction between substance and behaviour becomes critical.

When tobacco is discussed as the primary cause of harm, it is often treated as if its effects areindependent of context. Yet the pattern of use, the frequency, the mode of delivery, and the surrounding conditions all shape the actual impact. A substance does not act in abstraction. It operates within a behavioural framework, and that framework determines how its properties are expressed.

A shift in pattern can transform the same substance into something functionally different. Slow, occasional engagement in a relaxed context does not produce the same physiological and psychological effects as repeated, high-frequency use tied to stress and interruption. The difference is not merely quantitative. It is qualitative. The experience, the internal response, and the long-term consequences are shaped by the pattern as much as by the material itself.

This is where the earlier notion of drift becomes central again. What is often being measured and critiqued is not the original mode of engagement with tobacco, but a drifted form in which the behaviour has changed significantly. The substance remains, but the way it is used has shifted into patterns that amplify certain effects while diminishing others. When these drifted patterns become dominant, they begin to define the substance in public perception.

The result is a form of misattribution. Outcomes that arise from a combination of substance and behaviour are attributed primarily to the substance alone. This simplifies the narrative but obscures the mechanisms involved. It also limits the range of possible responses. If the substance is treated as the sole variable, then the only apparent solution is elimination. If behaviour and context are recognised as co-determining factors, then a broader set of interventions becomes visible.

This distinction aligns with a more general principle. Human beings do not simply interact with objects. They engage in patterns. These patterns are shaped by intention, context, and capacity. When analysis focuses only on the object, it misses the structure within which the object operates. In the case of tobacco, it is not enough to ask what the leaf is. It is necessary to ask how it is being used, by whom, under what conditions, and within what patterns of living. Without that, the explanation remains partial, and the conclusions drawn from it remain limited.

The Clinical Question That Isn’t a Question

This collapse of meaning does not remain in abstract discourse. It shows up in everyday practice, often in ways that go unquestioned. A simple example is found in medical settings. During a general practitioner visit or at a dental appointment, a standard question appears on forms or is asked directly: “Are you a smoker?”

At first glance, this seems reasonable, even responsible. Yet when examined more closely, the question carries the same imprecision that has shaped the broader conversation. What exactly is being asked? The term “smoker” is used as if it were a sufficiently defined category, yet it does not specify the substance, the mode of use, the frequency, the duration, or the context. It does not distinguish between someone who occasionally engages in non-inhaled cigar use and someone who consumes multiple cigarettes daily with active inhalation. Both can answer “yes,” yet the underlying realities are entirely different.

The practitioner, in turn, often receives this answer and proceeds as if it provides meaningful clinical insight. A box is ticked, a mental category is assigned, and a conclusion is quietly formed. The exchange appears efficient, but what has actually been captured is a label rather than a profile. The granularity required for accurate assessment is absent, yet the process continues as though sufficient information has been gathered.

From a clinical perspective, what would actually be relevant are the specifics that the question omits. What substance is being used? How is it consumed? How often? Over what period of time? In what context? Are there patterns of dependency or is the engagement occasional and situational? Without these distinctions, the information collected does not meaningfully differentiate between vastly different risk profiles.

The issue here is not that practitioners are acting in bad faith. It is that the system itself has normalised a level of abstraction that is treated as adequate. A complex behavioural and physiological pattern is reduced to a binary response. The question is framed in a way that suggests precision, but in practice, it gathers a generalisation.

This reflects the same pattern seen throughout the discourse. A category is assumed to be coherent, a label is applied, and the appearance of understanding replaces actual understanding. In a clinical context, where decisions can carry significant consequences, this gap between appearance and precision becomes more than a theoretical concern. It raises a simple but important question. If the aim is to assess risk and inform care, should the inquiry not reflect the complexity of what is being assessed?

The problem is not that the question is asked. The problem is that it is treated as if it were enough.

What This Article Is Not

At this point, it becomes necessary to draw a clear boundary around what is being argued and what is not. Without that clarity, the critique itself risks being misinterpreted as advocacy, which it is not.

This article does not claim that tobacco is harmless. It does not deny that certain forms of use carry significant health risks, some of them well established. It does not seek to undermine scientific inquiry or dismiss public health concerns. There are real issues associated with tobacco, particularly in its industrialised and heavily modified forms, and these should be studied, communicated, and addressed with seriousness.

What this article challenges is not the existence of risk, but the way that risk is framed, generalised, and communicated. It questions the tendency to collapse distinct phenomena into a single category and then apply the most severe interpretation of that category across all instances. It questions the use of language that appears precise while masking important differences. It questions the extension of claims beyond the boundaries of the evidence that supports them.

There is a difference between recognising harm and overstating it. There is a difference between informing and persuading. When these distinctions are not maintained, the discourse begins to shift from explanation to assertion. The intention may remain aligned with reducing harm, but the method introduces distortions that carry their own consequences.

A critique of imprecision is not a defence of the object being discussed. It is a defence of clarity. It is an insistence that if conclusions are to be drawn, they should be grounded in distinctions that reflect the reality being examined. Without that, even well-intentioned efforts risk contributing to the very confusion they aim to resolve.

Closing — The Real Assault

What has been examined here is not merely a misunderstanding about tobacco. It is an example of how language, when used without precision, reshapes reality in ways that are rarely noticed. A word becomes a category, a category becomes a claim, and a claim becomes accepted truth. Along the way, distinctions are lost, and with them, the ability to think clearly about what is actually taking place.

The leaf, in this case, becomes a symbol of something larger. It is not only acted upon through regulation and judgement, but also through the meanings imposed upon it. When those meanings are constructed through collapsed categories, overgeneralisation, and imprecise use of evidence, the outcome is not simply a strong stance. It is a distorted one.

The consequences extend beyond this single domain. Once a pattern of thinking becomes normalised, it begins to replicate itself elsewhere. The same mechanisms appear in discussions about food, technology, behaviour, and even identity. Complexity is reduced, variation is ignored, and conclusions are drawn with a level of certainty that the underlying distinctions do not support.

To restore clarity does not require defending the leaf. It requires examining the structure of thought that has formed around it. It requires asking more precise questions, maintaining distinctions, and resisting the convenience of simplified categories when they no longer reflect reality.

An assault on tobacco may be justified in certain contexts, particularly where harm is clear and significant. But when the assault extends to language and meaning, something else is affected. The ability to discern, to differentiate, and to understand begins to erode.

In that sense, the deeper issue is not what is being consumed, but how we are thinking.

And that is where the real assault takes place.

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