Here's a physical challenge for you:
Grab a pencil and a piece of paper. Go ahead I'll wait.
Great. Now draw two triangles, one on top the other. The first triangle should have one corner pointed straight up. The second should have one corner pointed straight down. Shade in what you've drawn.
If asked, you'd probably say that you just drew a star, and you'd be right. But you wouldn't be totally right, because you haven't just drawn a star. While putting pencil to paper, you've actually created two things: a star and the space that isn't the star. The un-star. The non-star.
You have no choice but to do so, but we rarely think about the act of drawing something as the act of drawing two things. We rarely think about the negative space that is created by changing a blank piece of paper with a few pencil marks. But there it is. You've created a delineation. An image that's nothing but star, and its recursive image thats everything but star.
In art, the two images are called the figure (the star) and the ground (the empty space).
Now the mental challenge: think back to the last time you had to make a decision. It can be as simple as ordering water at a restaurant or as complex and meaningful as asking your girlfriend to marry you. The action that you took, and every action you've ever taken in fact, is just like putting the pencil to that paper. You've created something intentionally and created something else unintentionally, but unavoidably.
Unfortunately, real life isn't as simple as a blank sheet of paper. There are way too many moving parts. So when you make a decision, you might not just be creating two things, but three or four or nineteen hundred. It's difficult to imagine. Which is precisely why we tend not to think in those terms.
Let's say for example that you choose to head West to LA (to make yourself a star). In that instant, you are defining yourself and defining the environment you're in at the same time. You remove yourself from a place - which changes it. You add yourself to a new city - which changes it. And if you're ego wasn't large enough by then, realize that your actions directly define the world around you based on your presence.
You have no choice but to do two things at once. The most important thing to remember is that while you believe you are creating something beautiful, you may also be creating something negative at the same time. The only way to do that, is to not think only of the star you're creating as the artwork - but to focus on the entire sheet of paper. Start to see every action as drawing that star, and the world around you - your entire life - as the sheet of paper, and you'll be on the right track.
Now stop doodling, and go outside. There's a ton of cool stuff to do out there.
27 May 2008
19 May 2008
A Kite With No Wind
Outside, the mild rain is building its way up to a downpour. Thin nylon and cardboard caps are getting soaked steadily as several hundred graduates are piled on top of each other waiting for a keynote speaker to finish so they can hear their name being called. On the face, it seems like the worst possible cost/benefit analysis - three hours in the rain for twenty seconds worth of excitement. No matter the pompous nature of the event, or what anyone else says, there's a good chance that you and your parents are there just to hear your name and watch you walk across the stage with your diploma in hand.
Inside, a group of parents, friends and siblings who keep nodding off are watching the ceremony on closed circuit television. Everyone is just slightly damp, and there's not enough seats for everyone, but it's warm and the sound quality is pretty solid. From my spot standing in the corner, I can barely make out what's happening on the screen because of the angle I'm at, but I imagine it's a stuff white guy trying to look impressive and talking about the road of life. Open doors. New paths. Exciting times. He folds the last page of his speech and thanks the audience, and as he moves away from the microphone a strange thing happens: The people in my room start clapping.
They start clapping with abandon.
People are applauding a screen. They are applauding the flattened image of a man being displayed in a remote location. They are clapping at the sound waves coming through speakers several hundred feet away from the man's actual voice. At once, this seems both natural and unusual.
After all, what is the purpose of clapping? I venture to say that it's to show appreciation to a performer. Thus, it seems that, to be meaningful, a speaker should be able to hear the applause. If a speaker isn't aware of his applause, does it even matter to him?
I caught a glimpse of this feeling a while back when a friend and I were asked to perform a slam poetry piece for another friend's video project. Instead of delivering the words to a small crowd of coffee shop kids, the rumble of espresso machines and shuffling feet in the background, the occasional clap or holler coming from the sides - we were speaking into a camera on a sound stage. It was empty. It felt alien, like there was a lack of energy. What was worse was, I couldn't tell if we'd done well or done terribly because there were no boos or claps. There was just silence - no feedback. I imagine that if the man on the stage hadn't had a live audience, he wouldn't have felt nearly as comfortable as he did. And still, I'm guessing he doesn't even realize that there were more crowds clapping for him far off in the distance.
There's another side to clapping though - it's for the audience. In theater, the curtain call is really important because it allows the audience to give thanks to the performer. It's a two-way street. We get to show how much we liked something, and the performer gets that ego-shining praise. We all win. We all feel good about ourselves.
So what happens when the performer doesn't get the benefit of the applause?
Despite the speaker not being able to hear the applause (and, thus, it not really mattering), the audience still clapped because it was a natural response. We clap when speakers are done. Whether they are there or not. We feel good about ourselves, somehow engaged in the process of the performance, it reminds us that we're there.
I spent the entire graduation not clapping. I didn't even clap for my friend when she crossed the stage. It was arbitrary anyway. Her knowledge of the clapping, to me, was all that mattered, and since she couldn't know one way or the other, I chose not to. Plus, I'll admit it seemed silly to me to clap at a screen - an object that is part of the performance, but not actively engaged in it. I would have been applauding an inanimate object.
There are organizations out there that will swindle you out of your money. They are charity organizations that thrive on getting small and large donations utilizing a selling point of emotion while only delivering a fraction of your dollar to the people they claim to help.
A person calls, tells you they need money for children with cancer, and you gladly give $100. That $100 is split up so that $5.00 is given to the research, and $95.00 is given to the call center and the company for operating costs. It's criminal.
But I think of it in exactly the same terms as clapping at a screen. Applauding an image that isn't there.
The audience applauding feels incredible about itself because it's doing something good, something that comes naturally. But what they are doing doesn't really matter on the other end. We hide the fact that what we're doing doesn't matter so that we can enjoy and revel in the task of responding and appreciating the performer. If the solicitor told you that almost none of your money would actually go to charity, you wouldn't give any, so it's important that you believe what you're doing is good. That you're being a saint. And that's what the company is selling you - an easy chance to be a saint.
The audience applauding an image is engaged in an automated response that is rendered hollow by the technology we have. It really does not matter whether they clap or not. Not to anyone it should matter to - namely the speaker.
We will have to confront the oddities and ethical questions that technology brings along. We'll also get to note the weird behavior we see when people are faced with technology and don't have a socially normal response to give it (some people clapped, others awkwardly looked around before clapping and some refused to clap altogether). But now, we have to confront the ethical questions about doing the right thing in a meaningful way. It feels great to give money to charity, but if the money isn't being put to use, you're not doing anything meaningfully or actively good. You just think you are.
How many things in your life seem ethical and meaningful until you investigate further? We live in a time now where doing the right thing is becoming easier and easier. You can pick up Ethos Water at Starbuck's and pretend to be helping water conservation in third world countries. You can give your credit card number to someone who calls you and pretend to fund Leukemia research. You can add a facebook application that says you're reducing carbon emissions.
It all feels really good, but in the end, are you just applauding yourself or can the speaker hear you?
I challenge you to be heard.
Inside, a group of parents, friends and siblings who keep nodding off are watching the ceremony on closed circuit television. Everyone is just slightly damp, and there's not enough seats for everyone, but it's warm and the sound quality is pretty solid. From my spot standing in the corner, I can barely make out what's happening on the screen because of the angle I'm at, but I imagine it's a stuff white guy trying to look impressive and talking about the road of life. Open doors. New paths. Exciting times. He folds the last page of his speech and thanks the audience, and as he moves away from the microphone a strange thing happens: The people in my room start clapping.
They start clapping with abandon.
People are applauding a screen. They are applauding the flattened image of a man being displayed in a remote location. They are clapping at the sound waves coming through speakers several hundred feet away from the man's actual voice. At once, this seems both natural and unusual.
After all, what is the purpose of clapping? I venture to say that it's to show appreciation to a performer. Thus, it seems that, to be meaningful, a speaker should be able to hear the applause. If a speaker isn't aware of his applause, does it even matter to him?
I caught a glimpse of this feeling a while back when a friend and I were asked to perform a slam poetry piece for another friend's video project. Instead of delivering the words to a small crowd of coffee shop kids, the rumble of espresso machines and shuffling feet in the background, the occasional clap or holler coming from the sides - we were speaking into a camera on a sound stage. It was empty. It felt alien, like there was a lack of energy. What was worse was, I couldn't tell if we'd done well or done terribly because there were no boos or claps. There was just silence - no feedback. I imagine that if the man on the stage hadn't had a live audience, he wouldn't have felt nearly as comfortable as he did. And still, I'm guessing he doesn't even realize that there were more crowds clapping for him far off in the distance.
There's another side to clapping though - it's for the audience. In theater, the curtain call is really important because it allows the audience to give thanks to the performer. It's a two-way street. We get to show how much we liked something, and the performer gets that ego-shining praise. We all win. We all feel good about ourselves.
So what happens when the performer doesn't get the benefit of the applause?
Despite the speaker not being able to hear the applause (and, thus, it not really mattering), the audience still clapped because it was a natural response. We clap when speakers are done. Whether they are there or not. We feel good about ourselves, somehow engaged in the process of the performance, it reminds us that we're there.
I spent the entire graduation not clapping. I didn't even clap for my friend when she crossed the stage. It was arbitrary anyway. Her knowledge of the clapping, to me, was all that mattered, and since she couldn't know one way or the other, I chose not to. Plus, I'll admit it seemed silly to me to clap at a screen - an object that is part of the performance, but not actively engaged in it. I would have been applauding an inanimate object.
There are organizations out there that will swindle you out of your money. They are charity organizations that thrive on getting small and large donations utilizing a selling point of emotion while only delivering a fraction of your dollar to the people they claim to help.
A person calls, tells you they need money for children with cancer, and you gladly give $100. That $100 is split up so that $5.00 is given to the research, and $95.00 is given to the call center and the company for operating costs. It's criminal.
But I think of it in exactly the same terms as clapping at a screen. Applauding an image that isn't there.
The audience applauding feels incredible about itself because it's doing something good, something that comes naturally. But what they are doing doesn't really matter on the other end. We hide the fact that what we're doing doesn't matter so that we can enjoy and revel in the task of responding and appreciating the performer. If the solicitor told you that almost none of your money would actually go to charity, you wouldn't give any, so it's important that you believe what you're doing is good. That you're being a saint. And that's what the company is selling you - an easy chance to be a saint.
The audience applauding an image is engaged in an automated response that is rendered hollow by the technology we have. It really does not matter whether they clap or not. Not to anyone it should matter to - namely the speaker.
We will have to confront the oddities and ethical questions that technology brings along. We'll also get to note the weird behavior we see when people are faced with technology and don't have a socially normal response to give it (some people clapped, others awkwardly looked around before clapping and some refused to clap altogether). But now, we have to confront the ethical questions about doing the right thing in a meaningful way. It feels great to give money to charity, but if the money isn't being put to use, you're not doing anything meaningfully or actively good. You just think you are.
How many things in your life seem ethical and meaningful until you investigate further? We live in a time now where doing the right thing is becoming easier and easier. You can pick up Ethos Water at Starbuck's and pretend to be helping water conservation in third world countries. You can give your credit card number to someone who calls you and pretend to fund Leukemia research. You can add a facebook application that says you're reducing carbon emissions.
It all feels really good, but in the end, are you just applauding yourself or can the speaker hear you?
I challenge you to be heard.
15 May 2008
This Weakness
Just picture it.
You're lying on a beach, a light sweat struggling to form on your skin as the same breeze that's pushing a sailboat on the horizon along brushes over you.
You're inundated with an erupting crowd, standing at the free-throw line about to sink two buckets to bring your team within striking distance of the win. The net swishes once, twice. Your heart keeps pounding.
You're sitting relaxed in an office with a woman asking you questions, and you're nailing all of them. You know by the time you shake her hand and walk out, she'll be convinced that hiring you is the best option for her company.
Visualization is powerful. Within ourselves, we have a unique power to place our bodies in a different situation than the one we're presently in. We can even trick ourselves into having sense experiences that we're not having - that's how strong our imaginations are. You can smell the salt-sea air, you can hear the flash of cameras, you can hear the woman's voice.
Apparently it's also a strong tool for achieving goals. When you have a goal in mind, you're supposed to visualize yourself achieving it. Somehow, by seeing yourself doing it either 1) You believe that it is possible (or inevitable even) or 2) You become familiar with the sensual experience of achieving that goal which makes it easier to confront.
It's not uncommon to imagine what a job interview will be like. Or what taking a test will feel like. Almost every guy I know has practiced what he'll say to ask a girl out before actually getting in the same room with her. All of this gives us the most information possible so that we can go through with striving for a goal.
I wonder if we do this with ethics, though.
It seems obvious to want to see yourself achieving goals. It's a physical action, so the imagination can take over with ease. But what about envisioning yourself as the best possible ethical version of you? Do we walk through scenarios where we'll have to make a moral decision and choose the right path?
I'll take the most vivid example. Say, for a moment, that your moral code requires that you emulate another historical figure because that historical figure is the embodiment of perfection. Since emulating that person, and thus, acting ethically, is a goal (albeit an occasionally inactive one) it seems like someone would benefit from sitting down, closing their eyes, and imagining reaching that goal.
I see this breaking down into two parts - one easy and one more abstract. The first would be an active goal, like imagining yourself confronted with a lost wallet, finding the person's contact information, and returning it. By envisioning this, you should be able to recognize the situation and "repeat your actions" so to speak if and when the situation occurs in real life. You will have practiced being ethical in the imaginary world as a means to be ethical in the real one.
The second is more difficult, and that stems from imagining yourself as "being like" something or someone. Since the act of being is passive and active, imagining this is a little harder. But that, to me, seems to make it even more desirable to try to imagine. If it's more difficult a thing to imagine, wouldn't it follow that it would also be more difficult a thing to achieve in the real world? Taking the time to imagine such a thing could only help in truly emulating, truly being like an ethical figure that's worthy of striving for.
As for me, I'm headed back to the beach.
You're lying on a beach, a light sweat struggling to form on your skin as the same breeze that's pushing a sailboat on the horizon along brushes over you.
You're inundated with an erupting crowd, standing at the free-throw line about to sink two buckets to bring your team within striking distance of the win. The net swishes once, twice. Your heart keeps pounding.
You're sitting relaxed in an office with a woman asking you questions, and you're nailing all of them. You know by the time you shake her hand and walk out, she'll be convinced that hiring you is the best option for her company.
Visualization is powerful. Within ourselves, we have a unique power to place our bodies in a different situation than the one we're presently in. We can even trick ourselves into having sense experiences that we're not having - that's how strong our imaginations are. You can smell the salt-sea air, you can hear the flash of cameras, you can hear the woman's voice.
Apparently it's also a strong tool for achieving goals. When you have a goal in mind, you're supposed to visualize yourself achieving it. Somehow, by seeing yourself doing it either 1) You believe that it is possible (or inevitable even) or 2) You become familiar with the sensual experience of achieving that goal which makes it easier to confront.
It's not uncommon to imagine what a job interview will be like. Or what taking a test will feel like. Almost every guy I know has practiced what he'll say to ask a girl out before actually getting in the same room with her. All of this gives us the most information possible so that we can go through with striving for a goal.
I wonder if we do this with ethics, though.
It seems obvious to want to see yourself achieving goals. It's a physical action, so the imagination can take over with ease. But what about envisioning yourself as the best possible ethical version of you? Do we walk through scenarios where we'll have to make a moral decision and choose the right path?
I'll take the most vivid example. Say, for a moment, that your moral code requires that you emulate another historical figure because that historical figure is the embodiment of perfection. Since emulating that person, and thus, acting ethically, is a goal (albeit an occasionally inactive one) it seems like someone would benefit from sitting down, closing their eyes, and imagining reaching that goal.
I see this breaking down into two parts - one easy and one more abstract. The first would be an active goal, like imagining yourself confronted with a lost wallet, finding the person's contact information, and returning it. By envisioning this, you should be able to recognize the situation and "repeat your actions" so to speak if and when the situation occurs in real life. You will have practiced being ethical in the imaginary world as a means to be ethical in the real one.
The second is more difficult, and that stems from imagining yourself as "being like" something or someone. Since the act of being is passive and active, imagining this is a little harder. But that, to me, seems to make it even more desirable to try to imagine. If it's more difficult a thing to imagine, wouldn't it follow that it would also be more difficult a thing to achieve in the real world? Taking the time to imagine such a thing could only help in truly emulating, truly being like an ethical figure that's worthy of striving for.
As for me, I'm headed back to the beach.
08 May 2008
Who Isn't on First?
For whatever reason, the trick of implanting writing devices into a story makes it better. We believe that a story is more intelligent, has more depth, or has some great meaning when the writer uses - what are essentially - tricks.
Take a minute and think of three or four of your favorite movies or books. At some point in the story, there's a solid chance that the main character - the lovable rogue bucking the system, proving that heart wins out over money, handsomely wooing the young object of his love - there's a solid chance that a puppy or kitten shows him affection.
This is one of my favorite tricks. You denote which character the audience is supposed to love by having an innocent being - like a dog or cat or baby - show him a lot of love. Usually, the owner will note how unusual it is for their normally distant (or fussy) pet (or child) to be so sweet to a stranger. This let's us know that the main character is 1) naturally lovable 2) unique and 3) probably has bacon in his pocket.
This is one of my favorite tricks because of how easy it is and how prevalent in literature it is. It also works in reverse. You can easily show an audience your bad guy by having a really lovable pet growl and snarl at him. Or bite him in the trousers. Because that's telling and hilarious at the same time. Especially if he's wearing heart-covered boxers.
This got me thinking about the important we place on symbols and signifiers, the common ones anyway. I soon realized that I could make a heroic statement about almost any inanimate object.
The key here is that inanimate objects have no real ethical value - they don't commit acts of moral sin or acts of moral heroism. They can't, because they aren't living or cogent or active. But we can make it seem that way.
Some inanimate objects deserving of medals:
The Shoe: Steadfast and supportive, the shoe is always there when I need it. Reliable to a fault, it selflessly protects me from the elements - things that might harm me like rain puddles and errant nails. Even if I lose my temper and throw my shoe across the room, it never faults, never attacks me back, and always stays right where I leave it to be used again the next day.
The Computer Speaker - Without the incredibly versatile speaker, life would be a much more silent, dismal place. It fills the room with just the right amount of glorious music for me to enjoy without irritating the neighbors, and it even lets me know what actors are saying in movies. It, too, can be thrown across the room without retaliation.
The Fancy Feather Boa That My Friend Wore To This One Halloween Party - More than just a costume accessory, the boa became an icon for the night. It embodied the idea of the party, and idea that we could change ourselves for just one evening and grow into the realm of possibilities. That boa was soft and gentle, always willing to be close by in case it needed to comfort you. What's more, it was unselfish with its talents, allowing that comfort to be used by anyone who wanted to partake. Plus, it looked great.
It seems obvious that most good things we can say about inanimate objects involve inaction or defense. Since they can't do anything on their own, we have to bring them to life ourselves or notice the traits that they possess as something more than what they are.
But it's not hard. We essentially give human traits to these objects and they become more than objects - they become symbols or metaphors. We have to put that meaning into them, though. They don't come with it already installed. Thus, we could place almost any meaning into almost any object.
Obviously, the next step is to note that we can do that with humans as well. We can shape the meaning of our existence in almost any way. We can define ourselves beyond our usefulness or our skills our traits. We can inject meaning and symbolism into who we are or who are friends are or into the villains into our lives. This notion has a ton of implications about the roles we end up playing in life.
Of course, the obvious exception to the rule is The Brave Little Toaster - an inanimate object that actually is brave and little and, I think, is going on a journey to find its mother or something.
Which reminds me: call your mother. It's almost mother's day.
Take a minute and think of three or four of your favorite movies or books. At some point in the story, there's a solid chance that the main character - the lovable rogue bucking the system, proving that heart wins out over money, handsomely wooing the young object of his love - there's a solid chance that a puppy or kitten shows him affection.
This is one of my favorite tricks. You denote which character the audience is supposed to love by having an innocent being - like a dog or cat or baby - show him a lot of love. Usually, the owner will note how unusual it is for their normally distant (or fussy) pet (or child) to be so sweet to a stranger. This let's us know that the main character is 1) naturally lovable 2) unique and 3) probably has bacon in his pocket.
This is one of my favorite tricks because of how easy it is and how prevalent in literature it is. It also works in reverse. You can easily show an audience your bad guy by having a really lovable pet growl and snarl at him. Or bite him in the trousers. Because that's telling and hilarious at the same time. Especially if he's wearing heart-covered boxers.
This got me thinking about the important we place on symbols and signifiers, the common ones anyway. I soon realized that I could make a heroic statement about almost any inanimate object.
The key here is that inanimate objects have no real ethical value - they don't commit acts of moral sin or acts of moral heroism. They can't, because they aren't living or cogent or active. But we can make it seem that way.
Some inanimate objects deserving of medals:
The Shoe: Steadfast and supportive, the shoe is always there when I need it. Reliable to a fault, it selflessly protects me from the elements - things that might harm me like rain puddles and errant nails. Even if I lose my temper and throw my shoe across the room, it never faults, never attacks me back, and always stays right where I leave it to be used again the next day.
The Computer Speaker - Without the incredibly versatile speaker, life would be a much more silent, dismal place. It fills the room with just the right amount of glorious music for me to enjoy without irritating the neighbors, and it even lets me know what actors are saying in movies. It, too, can be thrown across the room without retaliation.
The Fancy Feather Boa That My Friend Wore To This One Halloween Party - More than just a costume accessory, the boa became an icon for the night. It embodied the idea of the party, and idea that we could change ourselves for just one evening and grow into the realm of possibilities. That boa was soft and gentle, always willing to be close by in case it needed to comfort you. What's more, it was unselfish with its talents, allowing that comfort to be used by anyone who wanted to partake. Plus, it looked great.
It seems obvious that most good things we can say about inanimate objects involve inaction or defense. Since they can't do anything on their own, we have to bring them to life ourselves or notice the traits that they possess as something more than what they are.
But it's not hard. We essentially give human traits to these objects and they become more than objects - they become symbols or metaphors. We have to put that meaning into them, though. They don't come with it already installed. Thus, we could place almost any meaning into almost any object.
Obviously, the next step is to note that we can do that with humans as well. We can shape the meaning of our existence in almost any way. We can define ourselves beyond our usefulness or our skills our traits. We can inject meaning and symbolism into who we are or who are friends are or into the villains into our lives. This notion has a ton of implications about the roles we end up playing in life.
Of course, the obvious exception to the rule is The Brave Little Toaster - an inanimate object that actually is brave and little and, I think, is going on a journey to find its mother or something.
Which reminds me: call your mother. It's almost mother's day.
05 May 2008
The Deeds are Left to Purchase
Is opportunity as good as having an actual experience?
I sat down and really thought about whether or not I'd be alright if I heard the news that the Mona Lisa had been burned. On the universal sentiment of great art being destroyed and the collective humanity lessened, sure, I'd feel sad. But on a personal level, I realized I didn't actually care.
I suppose that makes me heartless, but the key is a matter of experience. I will most likely never see the Mona Lisa. Therefore, I have no vested personal interest in whether it exists in the future or solely in the past. I'm sure there are plenty of manifest qualities about the Mona Lisa - perhaps my life is affected in some way that I can't directly connect, but affected nonetheless. On the whole, though, my life is unchanged whether the Mona Lisa is still in the Louvre available for viewing or reduced to ash.
My position comes from my not equating opportunity with experience. I can see a logical argument to contradict my personal feelings by saying that the "possibility of seeing the Mona Lisa" is as good or almost as important as "seeing the Mona Lisa". For example, let's say we were talking about economic growth instead of art. Isn't the opportunity to make as much money as possible better than not having the opportunity at all?
This, of course, is the American Dream.
Some quick problems with the dream of opportunity:
1) In order to equate possibility with the experience, I would also have to equate opportunity with failure. After all, without a guarantee of success - which opportunity doesn't have - it is as likely that I will succeed as that I will fail. Thus, there's no inherent value to opportunity that makes it as significant as experience.
2) There's reasonable doubt to claim that opportunity (or possibility) does not exist. It certainly doesn't follow from common sense, but there is also nothing in the way of proof that shows that possibility or true free will exist. In fact, there is also equally strong evidence that the world is predetermined (a thought that follows well with religion and with something like monism).
Of course there is a gut response to opportunity. It's obvious to me that living in the United States is better than living in Communist Russia. At least the chance exists to create a good life for myself. So then, what does opportunity really mean?
I suppose I'm starting to form "opportunity" into two types: Soft Opportunity and Hard Opportunity.
Soft Opportunity can come from the mere existence of an object or goal - The Mona Lisa exists, therefore I could go see it.
Hard Opportunity speaks to the mechanics of actually being able to do something - The Mona Lisa exists, I have the funds for air travel, the museum where its housed will be open, I can withstand the lines, I have eyesight, therefore I could go see it.
The reason I feel compelled to delineate between the two is because opportunity on its own means very little. Or, at least, there is a difference between real opportunity and perceived opportunity. I would argue, quite liberally, that the American Dream doesn't actually exist for many citizens. The fact that they live in the United States does nothing to make that "opportunity to make life good" exist in any real form in their lives. Because there are other factors that go into whether an opportunity can be utilized beyond the opportunities existence.
Therefore, since I (at the current moment and at no perceivable time in the future) have the funds to travel to France - it matters very little to me whether the Mona Lisa exists or has been sprayed with acid.
I'm getting back into how things affect us in the micro and macro, and this seems like an extreme view to take, but I still have to question what role a painting I will never see plays in my life. Still thinking, is the key phrase.
I sat down and really thought about whether or not I'd be alright if I heard the news that the Mona Lisa had been burned. On the universal sentiment of great art being destroyed and the collective humanity lessened, sure, I'd feel sad. But on a personal level, I realized I didn't actually care.
I suppose that makes me heartless, but the key is a matter of experience. I will most likely never see the Mona Lisa. Therefore, I have no vested personal interest in whether it exists in the future or solely in the past. I'm sure there are plenty of manifest qualities about the Mona Lisa - perhaps my life is affected in some way that I can't directly connect, but affected nonetheless. On the whole, though, my life is unchanged whether the Mona Lisa is still in the Louvre available for viewing or reduced to ash.
My position comes from my not equating opportunity with experience. I can see a logical argument to contradict my personal feelings by saying that the "possibility of seeing the Mona Lisa" is as good or almost as important as "seeing the Mona Lisa". For example, let's say we were talking about economic growth instead of art. Isn't the opportunity to make as much money as possible better than not having the opportunity at all?
This, of course, is the American Dream.
Some quick problems with the dream of opportunity:
1) In order to equate possibility with the experience, I would also have to equate opportunity with failure. After all, without a guarantee of success - which opportunity doesn't have - it is as likely that I will succeed as that I will fail. Thus, there's no inherent value to opportunity that makes it as significant as experience.
2) There's reasonable doubt to claim that opportunity (or possibility) does not exist. It certainly doesn't follow from common sense, but there is also nothing in the way of proof that shows that possibility or true free will exist. In fact, there is also equally strong evidence that the world is predetermined (a thought that follows well with religion and with something like monism).
Of course there is a gut response to opportunity. It's obvious to me that living in the United States is better than living in Communist Russia. At least the chance exists to create a good life for myself. So then, what does opportunity really mean?
I suppose I'm starting to form "opportunity" into two types: Soft Opportunity and Hard Opportunity.
Soft Opportunity can come from the mere existence of an object or goal - The Mona Lisa exists, therefore I could go see it.
Hard Opportunity speaks to the mechanics of actually being able to do something - The Mona Lisa exists, I have the funds for air travel, the museum where its housed will be open, I can withstand the lines, I have eyesight, therefore I could go see it.
The reason I feel compelled to delineate between the two is because opportunity on its own means very little. Or, at least, there is a difference between real opportunity and perceived opportunity. I would argue, quite liberally, that the American Dream doesn't actually exist for many citizens. The fact that they live in the United States does nothing to make that "opportunity to make life good" exist in any real form in their lives. Because there are other factors that go into whether an opportunity can be utilized beyond the opportunities existence.
Therefore, since I (at the current moment and at no perceivable time in the future) have the funds to travel to France - it matters very little to me whether the Mona Lisa exists or has been sprayed with acid.
I'm getting back into how things affect us in the micro and macro, and this seems like an extreme view to take, but I still have to question what role a painting I will never see plays in my life. Still thinking, is the key phrase.
01 May 2008
Red Sky in the Morning
The reason that there's a calm before a storm is because the way in which a storm draws energy from the air. When I was younger, the best surfing always happened during hurricane season in the gulf. The sky would be lit, the waves would be clean and monstrous, and there wouldn't be a raindrop in sight.
That's because all the rain was being called elsewhere. A swirling mass of energy (mostly electricity) was pulling all the moisture out of the air from miles and miles away. The magnetic attraction of the electron molecules was strong enough to force surrounding energy to leave its current state and head for where the collective was. That's also why the eye of a hurricane is so calm - all the energy moves so quickly in a circular motion that a focal point, a pivot point is created so that the motion throws all matter and energy outward from the center, leaving the center completely still.
I haven't had a thought in weeks. Not a real one anyway. Everything I write seems to be just a little forced, and that's because I haven't really been thinking. When I am, the flow takes over and everything fits together (even if it's all one big run-on sentence). Lately, everything is just rehashed versions of previous thoughts.
So I'm wondering if my brain is on a little vacation. A spring slump. Maybe it's needed elsewhere or maybe I haven't really had anything to think about. Maybe it's because I've been paying too much attention to the Presidential race, and there hasn't been any real substantive news in a while.
There's two feelings that come with this sort of thing, and I think we've all experienced them:
1) Boredom - it seems like we should be thinking and learning and growing and doing, but something internal just isn't working right. So we sit. And sitting around seems to be all we're up for.
2) Listlessness - the feeling, an itch, that we're wasting time and need to get moving because there's a world out there to save.
Is there a way to combat these feelings? Or do we have to wait for some natural changeover to happen inside us so we can get on with progression?
So far I haven't found a cure for not thinking. It bothers me though. I'm so used to analyzing and delving deeper into everything - I'm even analyzing the fact that I haven't been analyzing everything.
I take it as a natural flow of events - there has to be some down time for everything. So maybe I should just embrace the lack of mental stimulation and watch more television, sit around doing nothing for a while, find some zen in the whole situation.
But I only get this way, usually, for one reason. And it's a major one.
It means something big is on the horizon. I can't quite make it out, but I know it's there.
That's because all the rain was being called elsewhere. A swirling mass of energy (mostly electricity) was pulling all the moisture out of the air from miles and miles away. The magnetic attraction of the electron molecules was strong enough to force surrounding energy to leave its current state and head for where the collective was. That's also why the eye of a hurricane is so calm - all the energy moves so quickly in a circular motion that a focal point, a pivot point is created so that the motion throws all matter and energy outward from the center, leaving the center completely still.
I haven't had a thought in weeks. Not a real one anyway. Everything I write seems to be just a little forced, and that's because I haven't really been thinking. When I am, the flow takes over and everything fits together (even if it's all one big run-on sentence). Lately, everything is just rehashed versions of previous thoughts.
So I'm wondering if my brain is on a little vacation. A spring slump. Maybe it's needed elsewhere or maybe I haven't really had anything to think about. Maybe it's because I've been paying too much attention to the Presidential race, and there hasn't been any real substantive news in a while.
There's two feelings that come with this sort of thing, and I think we've all experienced them:
1) Boredom - it seems like we should be thinking and learning and growing and doing, but something internal just isn't working right. So we sit. And sitting around seems to be all we're up for.
2) Listlessness - the feeling, an itch, that we're wasting time and need to get moving because there's a world out there to save.
Is there a way to combat these feelings? Or do we have to wait for some natural changeover to happen inside us so we can get on with progression?
So far I haven't found a cure for not thinking. It bothers me though. I'm so used to analyzing and delving deeper into everything - I'm even analyzing the fact that I haven't been analyzing everything.
I take it as a natural flow of events - there has to be some down time for everything. So maybe I should just embrace the lack of mental stimulation and watch more television, sit around doing nothing for a while, find some zen in the whole situation.
But I only get this way, usually, for one reason. And it's a major one.
It means something big is on the horizon. I can't quite make it out, but I know it's there.
25 April 2008
The Different Sin
This is going to be fairly adult, so if you're younger than 100, you should probably leave the room. As some of you may know, this is also a personal topic for me.
We're at a turning point in our history. It's been growing for some time, but has finally reached a dull roar so loud that both sides of the argument cannot be ignored for much longer. Fairly soon, a tipping point will come and a decision will have to be made. For some, it is an almost unforgivable sin (more on that in a bit) and for others, it is a natural way of life. Thus, complete social and ethical discordance.
Homosexuality is viewed as a different type of sin altogether. Of course, God doesn't see it that way (since he views all sin equally) and I don't (because I don't believe it's unethical). This statement, to me, seems at the heart of why people cannot reconcile its existence in life or in our culture. It leads to this question: why is homosexuality viewed so differently?
I have several theories.
1) People view homosexuality as a "constant sin" - one that is always being committed if an individual simply by living. Concordantly, other sings are only committed from time to time and exist only within that moment. Once the sin is absolved, it disappears, and the person lives sin-free until the next act of ethical attrition. Thus, homosexuality is seen as a way of life - a choice that is mutually exclusive from living a religiously sanctioned life. Thus, it is far different, more concrete than lying occasionally.
2) Homosexuality is a sin of the Old Testament (in Xtianity). It is not a part of the Ten Commandments (also OT) and not mentioned after the New Covenant. It is listed as an abomination, though, and must be against the Lord's way. Treating like the Big Ten is difficult to figure out since it exists in a complete different context of the Bible. It is also not given a specific mode of absolution like other sins.
3) Homosexuality was first viewed as a social ill. Many people see homosexuality as immoral, gross, disgusting or sinful before they ever pick up a Bible. They are taught this in a social strata (granted, one that may be bolstered by the Biblical view). A person finds a dislike for homosexuality and supports that view with scripture instead of learning through scripture that it is wrong and applying that world view to reality.
And now, some responses (to myself.)
1) All sin is constant sin. We're getting into territory of action and thought here - as sin begins in the heart (or the mind) and is often acted upon. Homosexuality seems constant because it is a lifestyle, but so is lying, cheating, stealing. As humans, we are wretched waste that isn't deserving of grace - we are conditioned to be self-interested, to ensure our own survival, and that comes into conflict with every moral structure there is. We are programmed to want to lie if we have to, to steal resources if needed, and we often act on those urges, but mostly they live inside us. If we are not respecting our parents, or have had a falling out with them and failed to reconcile it, we are living in constant sin. If we walk through life with amassing wealth or power as a goal, we are living in constant sin. It is easy to see why the act of lying is seen as a one-shot while being homosexual is a constant state. But it is only because we view lying as a single act - "you committed the act of lying" v. "you are a homosexual". One is passive, the other active. We should, perhaps, view lying as a constant state - "you are a liar." v. "you engaged in homosexual sex".
There is a problem with intentions. The argument is that homosexuals aren't actively trying to stop sinning (as, apparently, that's necessary to be a follower). Unfortunately, speaking to intention is a difficult moral road I'm hesitant to walk down. I don't know what's in the heart of a liar - whether he's actively trying to stop lying all the time. Or any sinner for that matter. Some sins are more secretive, though, harder to see. Homosexuality happens to be easy to spot, and is judged because of it.
By scripture, we are all sinners even if we aren't constantly sinning. I see a good argument for viewing lying much in the same way most people in society view homosexuality.
2. Not knowing how to respond to homosexuality is a major problem, because it appears that people treat it as if the New Covenant never happened. Drawing ethics from the Old Testament is a dangerous game for several reasons. First, it's completely culturally obsolete. The laws are too specific to matter in our world now (most of them anyway). Secondly, homosexuality is cherry-picked because it is still culturally relevant. The Old Testament also explains the best way to go about trading slaves, stoning people to death if they eat pork and parading women who adulterate into the town square to be publicly ridiculed. We see no cultural relevance in these (even though adultery and that sinful, sinful pork still exist). Homosexuality isn't substantively mentioned in the New Testament, so arguing against it religiously because very tricky business.
3. This leads directly into my third concept - I argue that people have a problem with homosexuality and look to the Bible to support their belief. This, religiously, seems backward from how moral education works. We do not decide on what's wrong and choose scripture to support our idea. We look to scripture to tell us what is wrong and how to deal with it. It also seems foolish to take an arbitrary human construct and bolster it with scripture. If tomorrow, we culturally decided that all people who eat seafood with scales on it shouldn't be allowed to marry - we'd be able to find scriptural support. I go into hyperbole here, but only because it seems absurd to punish someone for doing such a thing even though there was a time in history when humans (with the same foibles as you and me) punished people for just that crime. An analogy: If existence is a building, the Bible is meant to be the cornerstone, not a decoration. It is meant to guide life, not give strength to how you already view it. I'm not sure what a critical reading of the book would yield, but it is clearly not cut and dry when it comes to homosexuality. Ancient Jews were, but they were also down with slavery.
That also leads me into a question of whether we can ethically outgrow certain parts of the Bible, but I'll leave that for another time. Maybe another time in twenty years or so.
I believe for these reasons that we treat the sin of homosexuality as different than all other sins. In fact, I see no sin that is treated quite like it, reviled with such vitriol that entire social movements are wagered against the people that practice it. How wonderful a place this world might be if half the effort and hatred put into stopping this apparent social ill was put into ending lying or murder.
I think the sun might come out right around then.
We're at a turning point in our history. It's been growing for some time, but has finally reached a dull roar so loud that both sides of the argument cannot be ignored for much longer. Fairly soon, a tipping point will come and a decision will have to be made. For some, it is an almost unforgivable sin (more on that in a bit) and for others, it is a natural way of life. Thus, complete social and ethical discordance.
Homosexuality is viewed as a different type of sin altogether. Of course, God doesn't see it that way (since he views all sin equally) and I don't (because I don't believe it's unethical). This statement, to me, seems at the heart of why people cannot reconcile its existence in life or in our culture. It leads to this question: why is homosexuality viewed so differently?
I have several theories.
1) People view homosexuality as a "constant sin" - one that is always being committed if an individual simply by living. Concordantly, other sings are only committed from time to time and exist only within that moment. Once the sin is absolved, it disappears, and the person lives sin-free until the next act of ethical attrition. Thus, homosexuality is seen as a way of life - a choice that is mutually exclusive from living a religiously sanctioned life. Thus, it is far different, more concrete than lying occasionally.
2) Homosexuality is a sin of the Old Testament (in Xtianity). It is not a part of the Ten Commandments (also OT) and not mentioned after the New Covenant. It is listed as an abomination, though, and must be against the Lord's way. Treating like the Big Ten is difficult to figure out since it exists in a complete different context of the Bible. It is also not given a specific mode of absolution like other sins.
3) Homosexuality was first viewed as a social ill. Many people see homosexuality as immoral, gross, disgusting or sinful before they ever pick up a Bible. They are taught this in a social strata (granted, one that may be bolstered by the Biblical view). A person finds a dislike for homosexuality and supports that view with scripture instead of learning through scripture that it is wrong and applying that world view to reality.
And now, some responses (to myself.)
1) All sin is constant sin. We're getting into territory of action and thought here - as sin begins in the heart (or the mind) and is often acted upon. Homosexuality seems constant because it is a lifestyle, but so is lying, cheating, stealing. As humans, we are wretched waste that isn't deserving of grace - we are conditioned to be self-interested, to ensure our own survival, and that comes into conflict with every moral structure there is. We are programmed to want to lie if we have to, to steal resources if needed, and we often act on those urges, but mostly they live inside us. If we are not respecting our parents, or have had a falling out with them and failed to reconcile it, we are living in constant sin. If we walk through life with amassing wealth or power as a goal, we are living in constant sin. It is easy to see why the act of lying is seen as a one-shot while being homosexual is a constant state. But it is only because we view lying as a single act - "you committed the act of lying" v. "you are a homosexual". One is passive, the other active. We should, perhaps, view lying as a constant state - "you are a liar." v. "you engaged in homosexual sex".
There is a problem with intentions. The argument is that homosexuals aren't actively trying to stop sinning (as, apparently, that's necessary to be a follower). Unfortunately, speaking to intention is a difficult moral road I'm hesitant to walk down. I don't know what's in the heart of a liar - whether he's actively trying to stop lying all the time. Or any sinner for that matter. Some sins are more secretive, though, harder to see. Homosexuality happens to be easy to spot, and is judged because of it.
By scripture, we are all sinners even if we aren't constantly sinning. I see a good argument for viewing lying much in the same way most people in society view homosexuality.
2. Not knowing how to respond to homosexuality is a major problem, because it appears that people treat it as if the New Covenant never happened. Drawing ethics from the Old Testament is a dangerous game for several reasons. First, it's completely culturally obsolete. The laws are too specific to matter in our world now (most of them anyway). Secondly, homosexuality is cherry-picked because it is still culturally relevant. The Old Testament also explains the best way to go about trading slaves, stoning people to death if they eat pork and parading women who adulterate into the town square to be publicly ridiculed. We see no cultural relevance in these (even though adultery and that sinful, sinful pork still exist). Homosexuality isn't substantively mentioned in the New Testament, so arguing against it religiously because very tricky business.
3. This leads directly into my third concept - I argue that people have a problem with homosexuality and look to the Bible to support their belief. This, religiously, seems backward from how moral education works. We do not decide on what's wrong and choose scripture to support our idea. We look to scripture to tell us what is wrong and how to deal with it. It also seems foolish to take an arbitrary human construct and bolster it with scripture. If tomorrow, we culturally decided that all people who eat seafood with scales on it shouldn't be allowed to marry - we'd be able to find scriptural support. I go into hyperbole here, but only because it seems absurd to punish someone for doing such a thing even though there was a time in history when humans (with the same foibles as you and me) punished people for just that crime. An analogy: If existence is a building, the Bible is meant to be the cornerstone, not a decoration. It is meant to guide life, not give strength to how you already view it. I'm not sure what a critical reading of the book would yield, but it is clearly not cut and dry when it comes to homosexuality. Ancient Jews were, but they were also down with slavery.
That also leads me into a question of whether we can ethically outgrow certain parts of the Bible, but I'll leave that for another time. Maybe another time in twenty years or so.
I believe for these reasons that we treat the sin of homosexuality as different than all other sins. In fact, I see no sin that is treated quite like it, reviled with such vitriol that entire social movements are wagered against the people that practice it. How wonderful a place this world might be if half the effort and hatred put into stopping this apparent social ill was put into ending lying or murder.
I think the sun might come out right around then.
Workin' in a Coal Mine
What is it that we don't know?
There's this old story that may or may not be true about an old woman who lived in the same house all her life, opting not to leave it at all for the last decade. Oddly enough, she lived to be 103, so the local newspaper would send reporters to her to get quotes and ask about how to live that long. She became a fluff piece, a feel good news story or blurb that comes at the tail end of a nightly broadcast. What was the secret of her longevity? Of course she didn't know. She just lived healthy and smiled a lot. But among the horde of local reporters that came to see her over the few years she lived pass 100, one finally asked her if there was anything she regretted.
She said that she'd never been sailing.
I always thought the answer was sort of mysterious and romantic. Mostly because as the reported delved on, it was revealed that she hadn't really done anything in her life at all. She'd never really left her city, never moved, stuck to a fairly regular routine and knew very little about the outside world or its consequences. That she would pick sailing as a dream seemed naive and genius at the same time.
As I was thinking about this story yesterday, it dawned on me that the woman represents two fears in life. She represents the unknown - being unaware of a large amount of what life has to offer, it was unclear as to why she had never experienced simple things like sailing or what it might have been like for her to do so. She represents death - as much as reporters tried to paint her as a picture of solid living and health, the truth was that she was a morbid curiosity. People were fascinated less in that she'd lived that long, and more with the fact that she hadn't died. When framed that way, it becomes clear that the focus was on her old age as an anomaly, reminding us that we're not going to make it nearly as far as she did.
Death is the ultimate unknown. We are afraid of it because it means non-existence. And all we've ever known is existence. We're not sure how to not exist.
But ultimately, death is a necessary thing, a part of life, and it's easy to celebrate the concept in the macro. But when it applies to us or our friends, it's desperately depressing. We try to deny that it will happen to us, we look beyond death for some kind of solace, or we accept it as a fact and try to find some humanity in it.
I tend to find it life affirming. What better proof of there that we are actually alive then the existence of an opposite state? "I think therefore I am" should be replaced by "I die therefore I am". It guarantees that we exist.
Nothing affects us so deeply that we know nothing about. It's about loss, peace, pain, disappearance, forgiveness, release, memory, family, friends, anger, laughter, despair.
It is all these things - a funeral is as much about a mother laying flowers on a child's casket as it is about a friend smiling through tears as he remembers the time his friend did a back flip off a balcony in front of the whole school. It's as much about pain as it is not feeling anymore pain. It's as much a part of life as life itself.
Some cultures celebrate death and revere it. Some religions worship it.
The most frequent question I get involving atheism is whether I am afraid of death. I can't say that I am. I don't understand death, and it's certainly been unkind to me so far, but I believe people mean my own death. Although I fear losing the people I love, I don't mind the idea of death for me because I see it as an ending. I also realize there was a time that I existed where I had no consciousness and that there was a time before I existed that I have know experience with.
In that sense, I'm no more afraid of death than I am of the 1960s.
I know that life is to be feared more than death. I fear ending up like that old woman who has never sailed (and never got to) more than I do not existing. Life, after all, is the longest thing I'll ever do.
There's this old story that may or may not be true about an old woman who lived in the same house all her life, opting not to leave it at all for the last decade. Oddly enough, she lived to be 103, so the local newspaper would send reporters to her to get quotes and ask about how to live that long. She became a fluff piece, a feel good news story or blurb that comes at the tail end of a nightly broadcast. What was the secret of her longevity? Of course she didn't know. She just lived healthy and smiled a lot. But among the horde of local reporters that came to see her over the few years she lived pass 100, one finally asked her if there was anything she regretted.
She said that she'd never been sailing.
I always thought the answer was sort of mysterious and romantic. Mostly because as the reported delved on, it was revealed that she hadn't really done anything in her life at all. She'd never really left her city, never moved, stuck to a fairly regular routine and knew very little about the outside world or its consequences. That she would pick sailing as a dream seemed naive and genius at the same time.
As I was thinking about this story yesterday, it dawned on me that the woman represents two fears in life. She represents the unknown - being unaware of a large amount of what life has to offer, it was unclear as to why she had never experienced simple things like sailing or what it might have been like for her to do so. She represents death - as much as reporters tried to paint her as a picture of solid living and health, the truth was that she was a morbid curiosity. People were fascinated less in that she'd lived that long, and more with the fact that she hadn't died. When framed that way, it becomes clear that the focus was on her old age as an anomaly, reminding us that we're not going to make it nearly as far as she did.
Death is the ultimate unknown. We are afraid of it because it means non-existence. And all we've ever known is existence. We're not sure how to not exist.
But ultimately, death is a necessary thing, a part of life, and it's easy to celebrate the concept in the macro. But when it applies to us or our friends, it's desperately depressing. We try to deny that it will happen to us, we look beyond death for some kind of solace, or we accept it as a fact and try to find some humanity in it.
I tend to find it life affirming. What better proof of there that we are actually alive then the existence of an opposite state? "I think therefore I am" should be replaced by "I die therefore I am". It guarantees that we exist.
Nothing affects us so deeply that we know nothing about. It's about loss, peace, pain, disappearance, forgiveness, release, memory, family, friends, anger, laughter, despair.
It is all these things - a funeral is as much about a mother laying flowers on a child's casket as it is about a friend smiling through tears as he remembers the time his friend did a back flip off a balcony in front of the whole school. It's as much about pain as it is not feeling anymore pain. It's as much a part of life as life itself.
Some cultures celebrate death and revere it. Some religions worship it.
The most frequent question I get involving atheism is whether I am afraid of death. I can't say that I am. I don't understand death, and it's certainly been unkind to me so far, but I believe people mean my own death. Although I fear losing the people I love, I don't mind the idea of death for me because I see it as an ending. I also realize there was a time that I existed where I had no consciousness and that there was a time before I existed that I have know experience with.
In that sense, I'm no more afraid of death than I am of the 1960s.
I know that life is to be feared more than death. I fear ending up like that old woman who has never sailed (and never got to) more than I do not existing. Life, after all, is the longest thing I'll ever do.
22 April 2008
To Serve Man
I think how you read a cookbook can be very telling.
For some people, it is a guidebook - giving them a host of possible temperatures and measurements that they use as a starting point only to end up adding paprika and subtracting squash, heating the oven to 375 degrees instead of 350 just to try to get it a bit more crispy. It's cooking as jazz improvisation. For others, it's about adhering strictly to the numbers and letters. It's about exactitude. Cooking as classical piano solo. Striving for perfection by following the rules as closely as possible.
I fail to see any real qualitative way to say which is better, but if ethics were applied, it's conceivable that there is a "best way" to cook. A correct way.
I suppose the main difference I see in the two methods is that the first, playing fast and loose, focuses on the cooking experience itself. It runs the risk of making a bad product, but the process is liberating and artful. The second method focuses on the time-tested result. Following steps A, B and C will yield a perfect meal every time. The process itself is strict and tiresome, but devoted.
Can you already see where I'm going with this?
I wonder if any religious text can or should be viewed as a guidebook or as a rulebook. I'm assuming that you can't view one as both at the same time. I'm also assuming that no religious text is inerrant - (I feel fairly safe in that assumption since Genesis contains two different creation accounts and, by definition, nothing self-contradictory can be inerrant. There are also examples for every major religious text).
My question is an important one I think, because I feel like we never question the way in which we use our religious texts. If they are to be the force of morality in our world, exactly how are they to act as such?
The Bible can be seen as a guidebook - that is, a general method of heading in the right direction - because it is extremely vague. It speaks of lofty ideals without detail and offers an incredible amount of subjective material, the proof of which is easy to see with hundreds of sects with differing opinions have sprung up since the first Pope existed. We disagree on the meaning of the Bible. Ergo, even if it is infallible, it is still subject to one's ability to interpret it.
The Bible can also be seen as a rulebook - that is, an exact prescription for living a moral life based on guidelines - because it has, well, rules. It speaks of exact scenarios and gives a reasoned method for dealing with them in the way that the Eternal Being would want you to. Breaking the rules also has a specific means of reconciliation.
I like to see it as a guidebook (perhaps because I like listening to classical but I like playing jazz) because of one major issue. I fail to see how a document can claim to be a rulebook if it doesn't cover every possible ethical scenario. To be fair, I fail to see how any book can live up to this measure, but a cookbook doesn't need to include every recipe in order to be a cookbook. A book purporting to be the ultimate in how to live an ethical life should include unquestioning rules for living.
Since the Bible is of the past, it fails that criteria. For example, it gives down-to-the-letter instructions for sacrificing a goat, but says nothing about how one should conduct herself while using the Internet. As a rulebook it lacks these specific instructions.
Imagine the Bible as a computer that answers your questions. If it were to claim it could give the right answer for every ethical situation, as a religious text should be able to provide, it would be sorely lacking. I might ask it, " Bible, if someone disrespects me in a public internet forum, what is the right way to contact them to rectify the situation - through email or by phone?" The computer might respond, "Answer not found."
But what's so critical about having exact answers for every possible scenario? Because the Good Life (as ethics dictates) is about the best way to live in even the small details. Theoretically, there is a correct or best way to brush your teeth. I don't require anything that strict, but I do see a need for more direct answers for modern day ethical problems. As we drift further and further into the future, the time of the Bible will begin to look more and more alien. Harder to relate to. Thus, when used strictly as a rulebook, it will become almost complete obsolete. For example, no one will need to know the proper way of bartering for a slave, but the Bible will still be there, offering up its silent advice on the matter despite the lack of anyone asking.
As a guide, it works marvelously. That's why I almost think the entire book could be erased, leaving only the word, "Love".
It would represent what the book is (as a noun) and a command of what you should do in life (as a verb). I imagine, it would also include a sweet saxophone solo.
It's about focus - following a rulebook is about doing the right things in order to reach a certain goal while following a guidebook is about taking a winding path to reach the same goal, not knowing sometimes if the path you're on is correct, but finding comfort in knowing that at least you're headed in the right direction.
Or maybe I've just never been one for being told what to do. Sorry Miss Manners.
For some people, it is a guidebook - giving them a host of possible temperatures and measurements that they use as a starting point only to end up adding paprika and subtracting squash, heating the oven to 375 degrees instead of 350 just to try to get it a bit more crispy. It's cooking as jazz improvisation. For others, it's about adhering strictly to the numbers and letters. It's about exactitude. Cooking as classical piano solo. Striving for perfection by following the rules as closely as possible.
I fail to see any real qualitative way to say which is better, but if ethics were applied, it's conceivable that there is a "best way" to cook. A correct way.
I suppose the main difference I see in the two methods is that the first, playing fast and loose, focuses on the cooking experience itself. It runs the risk of making a bad product, but the process is liberating and artful. The second method focuses on the time-tested result. Following steps A, B and C will yield a perfect meal every time. The process itself is strict and tiresome, but devoted.
Can you already see where I'm going with this?
I wonder if any religious text can or should be viewed as a guidebook or as a rulebook. I'm assuming that you can't view one as both at the same time. I'm also assuming that no religious text is inerrant - (I feel fairly safe in that assumption since Genesis contains two different creation accounts and, by definition, nothing self-contradictory can be inerrant. There are also examples for every major religious text).
My question is an important one I think, because I feel like we never question the way in which we use our religious texts. If they are to be the force of morality in our world, exactly how are they to act as such?
The Bible can be seen as a guidebook - that is, a general method of heading in the right direction - because it is extremely vague. It speaks of lofty ideals without detail and offers an incredible amount of subjective material, the proof of which is easy to see with hundreds of sects with differing opinions have sprung up since the first Pope existed. We disagree on the meaning of the Bible. Ergo, even if it is infallible, it is still subject to one's ability to interpret it.
The Bible can also be seen as a rulebook - that is, an exact prescription for living a moral life based on guidelines - because it has, well, rules. It speaks of exact scenarios and gives a reasoned method for dealing with them in the way that the Eternal Being would want you to. Breaking the rules also has a specific means of reconciliation.
I like to see it as a guidebook (perhaps because I like listening to classical but I like playing jazz) because of one major issue. I fail to see how a document can claim to be a rulebook if it doesn't cover every possible ethical scenario. To be fair, I fail to see how any book can live up to this measure, but a cookbook doesn't need to include every recipe in order to be a cookbook. A book purporting to be the ultimate in how to live an ethical life should include unquestioning rules for living.
Since the Bible is of the past, it fails that criteria. For example, it gives down-to-the-letter instructions for sacrificing a goat, but says nothing about how one should conduct herself while using the Internet. As a rulebook it lacks these specific instructions.
Imagine the Bible as a computer that answers your questions. If it were to claim it could give the right answer for every ethical situation, as a religious text should be able to provide, it would be sorely lacking. I might ask it, " Bible, if someone disrespects me in a public internet forum, what is the right way to contact them to rectify the situation - through email or by phone?" The computer might respond, "Answer not found."
But what's so critical about having exact answers for every possible scenario? Because the Good Life (as ethics dictates) is about the best way to live in even the small details. Theoretically, there is a correct or best way to brush your teeth. I don't require anything that strict, but I do see a need for more direct answers for modern day ethical problems. As we drift further and further into the future, the time of the Bible will begin to look more and more alien. Harder to relate to. Thus, when used strictly as a rulebook, it will become almost complete obsolete. For example, no one will need to know the proper way of bartering for a slave, but the Bible will still be there, offering up its silent advice on the matter despite the lack of anyone asking.
As a guide, it works marvelously. That's why I almost think the entire book could be erased, leaving only the word, "Love".
It would represent what the book is (as a noun) and a command of what you should do in life (as a verb). I imagine, it would also include a sweet saxophone solo.
It's about focus - following a rulebook is about doing the right things in order to reach a certain goal while following a guidebook is about taking a winding path to reach the same goal, not knowing sometimes if the path you're on is correct, but finding comfort in knowing that at least you're headed in the right direction.
Or maybe I've just never been one for being told what to do. Sorry Miss Manners.
17 April 2008
The Continuation of Last Night
Is there a difference between using a calculator to solve an equation and using your brain?
As a quick experiment, I want you to try to find the sum of 19, 27, 48 and 291 only using your brain. It took me eleven seconds to figure that out. With a calculator, it took me three. I'm not sure anyone would argue that a calculator isn't a helpful tool. As an extension of our own intelligence, it speeds up the process. It is not our brain, but it is still a tool that the brain can use in order to help itself function quicker, more efficiently, and to store more memory.
After all, a calculator is pretty harmless. We've been using them for decades - I've never been to school without one - so we feel comfortable using them. Computers are in the same realm. They are powerful machines that work beyond our brains. Now, not only can I find out the answer to a complex garble of equations in an instant, I can also find out who won the 1956 World Series and what a 'geoduck' is fairly quickly.
With computers, we are entering a broad age of instant knowledge. It's not such the case (yet) that we can download instructions on how to fly a plane directly into our brain, but we have a massive stockpile of information at our fingertips. And not many seem that freaked out, yet.
But let's change the question a bit:
What if the calculator you're using was in your mind?
Is there something wrong with taking a tool like a calculator and implanting it directly into the brain? Barring any physiological problems, it seems like there is little difference between punching keys with your fingers to add four numbers and simply thinking out the answer at a greater speed.
If the objection is that we would be artificially enhancing our bodies, I would counter by saying we already do that with tools. Man can run only as fast as 23 miles per hour, but we can travel much faster in a car. We lack the ability to fly physically, but we can do so by boarding a plane. I'm not exactly sure when Bishop Berkeley was born, but I can find out really quickly by using the internet. 1685, by the way.
I would also contend that I now know when Bishop Berkeley was born. I'm just housing the information on the internet, not in my brain. This may go a little far, since I could also argue that I "know" everything that's on the internet. Instead of being able to access it directly, I have to get to a computer to "remember" what I "know", but the information is almost as at my fingertips than as if it were stored in some memory cell in my brain somewhere.
I suppose the main problem is one of infiltration. We like our tools to be external. I can always throw my calculator in the drawer and forget about it, but I wouldn't be able to if it were hardwired into my brain. Although, I doubt most people with pace makers, with stints, with artificial heart valves or with cochlear implants mind having technology directly implanted into their bodies.
So what, if any, is the ethical problem with incorporating technology into our brains?
As a quick experiment, I want you to try to find the sum of 19, 27, 48 and 291 only using your brain. It took me eleven seconds to figure that out. With a calculator, it took me three. I'm not sure anyone would argue that a calculator isn't a helpful tool. As an extension of our own intelligence, it speeds up the process. It is not our brain, but it is still a tool that the brain can use in order to help itself function quicker, more efficiently, and to store more memory.
After all, a calculator is pretty harmless. We've been using them for decades - I've never been to school without one - so we feel comfortable using them. Computers are in the same realm. They are powerful machines that work beyond our brains. Now, not only can I find out the answer to a complex garble of equations in an instant, I can also find out who won the 1956 World Series and what a 'geoduck' is fairly quickly.
With computers, we are entering a broad age of instant knowledge. It's not such the case (yet) that we can download instructions on how to fly a plane directly into our brain, but we have a massive stockpile of information at our fingertips. And not many seem that freaked out, yet.
But let's change the question a bit:
What if the calculator you're using was in your mind?
Is there something wrong with taking a tool like a calculator and implanting it directly into the brain? Barring any physiological problems, it seems like there is little difference between punching keys with your fingers to add four numbers and simply thinking out the answer at a greater speed.
If the objection is that we would be artificially enhancing our bodies, I would counter by saying we already do that with tools. Man can run only as fast as 23 miles per hour, but we can travel much faster in a car. We lack the ability to fly physically, but we can do so by boarding a plane. I'm not exactly sure when Bishop Berkeley was born, but I can find out really quickly by using the internet. 1685, by the way.
I would also contend that I now know when Bishop Berkeley was born. I'm just housing the information on the internet, not in my brain. This may go a little far, since I could also argue that I "know" everything that's on the internet. Instead of being able to access it directly, I have to get to a computer to "remember" what I "know", but the information is almost as at my fingertips than as if it were stored in some memory cell in my brain somewhere.
I suppose the main problem is one of infiltration. We like our tools to be external. I can always throw my calculator in the drawer and forget about it, but I wouldn't be able to if it were hardwired into my brain. Although, I doubt most people with pace makers, with stints, with artificial heart valves or with cochlear implants mind having technology directly implanted into their bodies.
So what, if any, is the ethical problem with incorporating technology into our brains?
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