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.
25 April 2008
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?
16 April 2008
AC/DC
I'm a negative person.
I don't mean that in the bad way. Although, I've noticed that it can head in bad directions when it's not really monitored well. And part of me doesn't think I can turn it off. It's just that - I have the talent of seeing problems with things that most people can't see until they use hindsight. I point out potentially harmful situations, hurdles and roadblocks for plans and goals. I also see little reason to offer solutions since I'm not just pointing out the obvious. But, living completely in the negative on someone else's plans (or even your own) has its down side.
I have to wonder if it's so simple to place people into the two distinct camps. We do it in our storytelling - good v. evil is the most common theme out there. In the two basic story modes (Two Dogs, One Bone and The Hero's Journey) you have conflict that arises from a genuinely good person being pitted against a genuinely bad one.
Luckily, I think that we're starting to move away from how simple that is and to see stories with complex characters - good people that have bad traits and vice versa. Of course, from this thought, I'll segue into the most natural location: foreign policy.
If we really are inundated and influenced by media, it's a good thing that the types of stories we have are evolving. If we start seeing our characters as multi-dimensional, can we start seeing ourselves that way? Our friends? Our enemies?
Up to this point, our national history has reflected our stories in that inexorable way that art infiltrates life. Our wars are fought with evil enemies - Nazis, Communists, Terrorists. We find genuinely bad people to fight in order to play the genuinely good role. I imagine in some small part, this view of the world has been bolstered or encouraged by our art - our movies mostly. Millions of young people pile into a movie theater to see a Middle Eastern man play a terrorist hijacking a plane. They see incredible racial stereotypes and cultural discontinuities. They see these for one reason, and I think it has little to do with racism and more to do with the structure of our stories. There's no room for dynamic characters - only room for flat ones, people that represent something.
So we never learn about the terrorist's struggle back home, his family life, his remarkable traits, the better angels of his nature. Likewise, we never see the dashing hero's faults and flaws.
If this art has affected our racial opinions or our ideas about foreign countries, then it seems logical that the complication of that art will lead to better cultural understanding. Seeing more diverse people playing deeper, more rounded characters might give us sympathy to a different lifestyle. And it can extend to our personal experiences and to our dealings with other major countries.
Likewise, the proliferation of the internet, specifically its ability to connect us to other people can do nothing but shape our minds in a more global way. The thought here is that if someone can chat with another person in China, their view of the Chinese becomes more humanistic. It's not necessarily more real, or less racist, but it becomes more complex and more human.
Some contact will reinforce stereotypes, but in the broader sense of the worst consequences of foreign policy - having a friend in Iran makes it harder for me to want to bomb that country. For fear of her safety or because I have personal knowledge that good people are there.
Complex art and intricate characters make us think. And I still don't know of situations where thinking more is a bad thing.
Here's to getting to know one another.
I don't mean that in the bad way. Although, I've noticed that it can head in bad directions when it's not really monitored well. And part of me doesn't think I can turn it off. It's just that - I have the talent of seeing problems with things that most people can't see until they use hindsight. I point out potentially harmful situations, hurdles and roadblocks for plans and goals. I also see little reason to offer solutions since I'm not just pointing out the obvious. But, living completely in the negative on someone else's plans (or even your own) has its down side.
I have to wonder if it's so simple to place people into the two distinct camps. We do it in our storytelling - good v. evil is the most common theme out there. In the two basic story modes (Two Dogs, One Bone and The Hero's Journey) you have conflict that arises from a genuinely good person being pitted against a genuinely bad one.
Luckily, I think that we're starting to move away from how simple that is and to see stories with complex characters - good people that have bad traits and vice versa. Of course, from this thought, I'll segue into the most natural location: foreign policy.
If we really are inundated and influenced by media, it's a good thing that the types of stories we have are evolving. If we start seeing our characters as multi-dimensional, can we start seeing ourselves that way? Our friends? Our enemies?
Up to this point, our national history has reflected our stories in that inexorable way that art infiltrates life. Our wars are fought with evil enemies - Nazis, Communists, Terrorists. We find genuinely bad people to fight in order to play the genuinely good role. I imagine in some small part, this view of the world has been bolstered or encouraged by our art - our movies mostly. Millions of young people pile into a movie theater to see a Middle Eastern man play a terrorist hijacking a plane. They see incredible racial stereotypes and cultural discontinuities. They see these for one reason, and I think it has little to do with racism and more to do with the structure of our stories. There's no room for dynamic characters - only room for flat ones, people that represent something.
So we never learn about the terrorist's struggle back home, his family life, his remarkable traits, the better angels of his nature. Likewise, we never see the dashing hero's faults and flaws.
If this art has affected our racial opinions or our ideas about foreign countries, then it seems logical that the complication of that art will lead to better cultural understanding. Seeing more diverse people playing deeper, more rounded characters might give us sympathy to a different lifestyle. And it can extend to our personal experiences and to our dealings with other major countries.
Likewise, the proliferation of the internet, specifically its ability to connect us to other people can do nothing but shape our minds in a more global way. The thought here is that if someone can chat with another person in China, their view of the Chinese becomes more humanistic. It's not necessarily more real, or less racist, but it becomes more complex and more human.
Some contact will reinforce stereotypes, but in the broader sense of the worst consequences of foreign policy - having a friend in Iran makes it harder for me to want to bomb that country. For fear of her safety or because I have personal knowledge that good people are there.
Complex art and intricate characters make us think. And I still don't know of situations where thinking more is a bad thing.
Here's to getting to know one another.
14 April 2008
Accidental Sin
Two stories:
Yesterday, Richard Kelly walked into a store and robbed it. He threatened the store clerk and the patrons with a gun, asked for the money in the register, and sped off into the night with dollar bills flying loose from his brown paper bag.
When he was caught, he was charged with assault with a deadly weapon and armed robbery. But it just so happened that there was a young woman in the store at the time with an infant, so he was also charged with child endangerment - a crime that falls under the realm of child abuse - adding a particularly heinous dimension to his act and a few more years onto his jail time.
Last week, a group of high schoolers decided to ramp up their torment of a fellow classmate by beating her up, throwing her in a car and taking her to a house where they continued to verbally abuse her. After the young girl complained to police, the group was brought in and charged with assault and battery. But one small word added to their indictment - when the young girl was placed into the car, she asked to be let go, and one of her assailants said, "No", and pushed her back into the vehicle. Because of that small word and that act, the charge of kidnapping was added to the list.
I try to imagine the mindset of these people before they commit their crimes. We so often try to look at crime as some extenuating circumstance, a random act that came about from passion or from a failure to think things through logically. We forget how many crimes are done with forethought. With planning.
So I think of Richard Kelly in his apartment, cleaning his gun and going over his plans just one more time in his head. He knows when he'll strike, the route he'll take, and what he plans to say to the store clerk in order to speed the process up as fast as possible. He might have been methodical about this or might have been completely haphazard.
But it was only by chance that a woman was there with her child. This is something he could not and did not take into consideration, and it's something that destroyed any chance of leniency from a jury and will most likely add several years onto his sentence.
Isn't it always the crimes we don't mean to commit that get us in the end?
For the high schoolers, their deed was incredible. It's truly disgusting. They must have gotten together to plan it, probably a ring leader egging the others on, convincing them it was a good idea to jump this young girl. But something happened in the heat of the moment that they didn't plan on and didn't know could exacerbate an already growing list of violent crimes. Kidnapping. Unlawful imprisonment. In fact, if the district attorney felt like throwing the kitchen sink at them, he could at least try for a few counts of obstruction of justice since they threatened the young girl with more violence if she told the cops. I imagine doing so took a great amount of courage.
There's a third story here. One that you and I have. A time in our lives when we planned something, meant to do something or say something, but we failed to plan for that random occurrence that either kept it from being effective or made matters worse. I doubt even of us have had the occasion to plan a crime - except for me - but we certainly commit crimes on a daily basis. Whether it's as simple as not fulfilling a promise or saying the wrong thing to a friend. Maybe not calling your mother on mother's day or waiting until the last minute to file taxes. Maybe it's speeding or drinking one more beer than we really should have. Nothing that's going to throw us into a cement cell somewhere, but an act that we won't feel good about the next morning.
And it's usually something small that makes it worse. Something we didn't plan for.
I imagine we all have stories like that.
Yesterday, Richard Kelly walked into a store and robbed it. He threatened the store clerk and the patrons with a gun, asked for the money in the register, and sped off into the night with dollar bills flying loose from his brown paper bag.
When he was caught, he was charged with assault with a deadly weapon and armed robbery. But it just so happened that there was a young woman in the store at the time with an infant, so he was also charged with child endangerment - a crime that falls under the realm of child abuse - adding a particularly heinous dimension to his act and a few more years onto his jail time.
Last week, a group of high schoolers decided to ramp up their torment of a fellow classmate by beating her up, throwing her in a car and taking her to a house where they continued to verbally abuse her. After the young girl complained to police, the group was brought in and charged with assault and battery. But one small word added to their indictment - when the young girl was placed into the car, she asked to be let go, and one of her assailants said, "No", and pushed her back into the vehicle. Because of that small word and that act, the charge of kidnapping was added to the list.
I try to imagine the mindset of these people before they commit their crimes. We so often try to look at crime as some extenuating circumstance, a random act that came about from passion or from a failure to think things through logically. We forget how many crimes are done with forethought. With planning.
So I think of Richard Kelly in his apartment, cleaning his gun and going over his plans just one more time in his head. He knows when he'll strike, the route he'll take, and what he plans to say to the store clerk in order to speed the process up as fast as possible. He might have been methodical about this or might have been completely haphazard.
But it was only by chance that a woman was there with her child. This is something he could not and did not take into consideration, and it's something that destroyed any chance of leniency from a jury and will most likely add several years onto his sentence.
Isn't it always the crimes we don't mean to commit that get us in the end?
For the high schoolers, their deed was incredible. It's truly disgusting. They must have gotten together to plan it, probably a ring leader egging the others on, convincing them it was a good idea to jump this young girl. But something happened in the heat of the moment that they didn't plan on and didn't know could exacerbate an already growing list of violent crimes. Kidnapping. Unlawful imprisonment. In fact, if the district attorney felt like throwing the kitchen sink at them, he could at least try for a few counts of obstruction of justice since they threatened the young girl with more violence if she told the cops. I imagine doing so took a great amount of courage.
There's a third story here. One that you and I have. A time in our lives when we planned something, meant to do something or say something, but we failed to plan for that random occurrence that either kept it from being effective or made matters worse. I doubt even of us have had the occasion to plan a crime - except for me - but we certainly commit crimes on a daily basis. Whether it's as simple as not fulfilling a promise or saying the wrong thing to a friend. Maybe not calling your mother on mother's day or waiting until the last minute to file taxes. Maybe it's speeding or drinking one more beer than we really should have. Nothing that's going to throw us into a cement cell somewhere, but an act that we won't feel good about the next morning.
And it's usually something small that makes it worse. Something we didn't plan for.
I imagine we all have stories like that.
11 April 2008
This Fragile Piece of Paper
Where do the ideals of freedom come from?
We have that sweet little document resting in a bulletproof case at the Archives that tells us that we have rights. Freedoms. Of course, those rights and freedoms exist without the document. The document itself just points it all out for us in ink.
So where do the rights come from? Where do they stem from?
Growing up in the United States, we seem to think of this issue as an undebatable. We don't even question them. It makes sense. Why question something that's so advantageous for us? I'm guessing the only reason is because I like throwing everything into question.
The concept of things we owe has been floating around, and it naturally comes to - what are we owed without earning it? And why?
One has to wonder if their has to be a Creator in order for these rights to be bestowed upon us. It makes sense - for something to be given, there must be an entity to give it.
In fact, I find it difficult to find a strong argument for human rights without a Creator. One is even mentioned in the document that points out our rights.
One argument, I think, is to say that the rights aren't a natural birthright, but a manifestation of how we've evolved as humans. We've come to a certain point in our history where we believe we deserve these rights, and simply because we believe (and therefore demand them) we deserve them. A self-fulfilling manifesto of sorts.
Of course, it's not the case that these basic human rights have to be granted. There are cases all of over the world where people aren't given these rights. What's more, it's only one mindset - there are people that don't think they way Americans do, don't think that there are basic human freedoms granted to us simply because we're born and exist.
I don't think the argument comes close to fully explaining the existence of human rights, but I don't see a problem in calling into question whether they really exist outside the human social construct or if they are intractable and unalienable rights like our country's founding document claims.
And if they do exist outside of us, what are they exactly, and what are their limits? And why are we owed them?
We have that sweet little document resting in a bulletproof case at the Archives that tells us that we have rights. Freedoms. Of course, those rights and freedoms exist without the document. The document itself just points it all out for us in ink.
So where do the rights come from? Where do they stem from?
Growing up in the United States, we seem to think of this issue as an undebatable. We don't even question them. It makes sense. Why question something that's so advantageous for us? I'm guessing the only reason is because I like throwing everything into question.
The concept of things we owe has been floating around, and it naturally comes to - what are we owed without earning it? And why?
One has to wonder if their has to be a Creator in order for these rights to be bestowed upon us. It makes sense - for something to be given, there must be an entity to give it.
In fact, I find it difficult to find a strong argument for human rights without a Creator. One is even mentioned in the document that points out our rights.
One argument, I think, is to say that the rights aren't a natural birthright, but a manifestation of how we've evolved as humans. We've come to a certain point in our history where we believe we deserve these rights, and simply because we believe (and therefore demand them) we deserve them. A self-fulfilling manifesto of sorts.
Of course, it's not the case that these basic human rights have to be granted. There are cases all of over the world where people aren't given these rights. What's more, it's only one mindset - there are people that don't think they way Americans do, don't think that there are basic human freedoms granted to us simply because we're born and exist.
I don't think the argument comes close to fully explaining the existence of human rights, but I don't see a problem in calling into question whether they really exist outside the human social construct or if they are intractable and unalienable rights like our country's founding document claims.
And if they do exist outside of us, what are they exactly, and what are their limits? And why are we owed them?
08 April 2008
Upfront Costs
Alexander Pruss has a great question in mind.
"Suppose I have a transtemporal communicator. In the morning I come across a note from the future: "Alex: Send George a check for $100 per the promise of February 16, 2043. Best wishes, Alex". Maybe I really would be bound?"
I reprint it here without its preceding context because I feel like it stands alone fairly well. A simple question without a simple answer. Essentially, if you had the ability to communicate with your future self, are you bound to the promises that your future self makes?
I've spoken before about change - specifically finding it odd that I can't remember what my goals were at 18 years old and the absurdity of sticking to an ideal made at that age. So, unsurprisingly, I am of the camp that you're not bound to the promises made by a future-you.
My reasoning: because it's a different person.
We are constantly changing. Cell death and growth, hairstyles, desires. Even our DNA is being re-written from time to time by retro-viruses. Nothing is sacred apparently. But apart from physical changes and mental changes that occur so slowly that we don't really notice - there is a drastic, noticeable difference between who were are today and who were were a year ago, who we'll be in ten years, and who will be lying on our death bed.
From our perspective, time always lurches forward, but one has to question whether it exists at all or whether it's really "moving in one direction". And if the directionality of it is actually neutral, you'd be just as bound to fulfill a promise you made in the future as one that you made in the past.
I propose this complication, though:
Since we change so much throughout the course of a lifetime, it's possible that the Scott Of the Future (SOF) might become immoral! He might join a gang, a cult, start selling drugs, become a contract killer, or a Republican. Who knows what life events could set SOF down this path, but it's possible.
So let's say that Scott of the Future calls me on the time-phone and tells me that he (we, us, I?) owes $1,000 to a local gang leader who will use the money to buy weapons that he'll then use to murder several rival gang members. Am I ethically bound to the promises I make? Or to the general ethics of not funding murder?
Pruss's original post with the question is here. He uses the situation to question the asymmetry or symmetry of time, and I'm afraid I'm looking at it more morally. Go figure.
I suppose there are a ton of good questions that arise from being able to communicate with your future-self - could you avoid disasters? change the course of time with information? - but I think an important one just to wonder what it would be like to sit down with yourself at 50 to see the person you've become.
What would you tell yourself? What if you got to meet yourself at 16? How hard would you slap some sense into them? Would it be like meeting a stranger?
I feel like this fits perfectly into my recent mindset of questioning what we are owed. What we should expect to get out of life and out of our friends. What we owe ourselves is just an interesting twist on that idea. But it's an important one. And one I haven't quite figured out yet.
"Suppose I have a transtemporal communicator. In the morning I come across a note from the future: "Alex: Send George a check for $100 per the promise of February 16, 2043. Best wishes, Alex". Maybe I really would be bound?"
I reprint it here without its preceding context because I feel like it stands alone fairly well. A simple question without a simple answer. Essentially, if you had the ability to communicate with your future self, are you bound to the promises that your future self makes?
I've spoken before about change - specifically finding it odd that I can't remember what my goals were at 18 years old and the absurdity of sticking to an ideal made at that age. So, unsurprisingly, I am of the camp that you're not bound to the promises made by a future-you.
My reasoning: because it's a different person.
We are constantly changing. Cell death and growth, hairstyles, desires. Even our DNA is being re-written from time to time by retro-viruses. Nothing is sacred apparently. But apart from physical changes and mental changes that occur so slowly that we don't really notice - there is a drastic, noticeable difference between who were are today and who were were a year ago, who we'll be in ten years, and who will be lying on our death bed.
From our perspective, time always lurches forward, but one has to question whether it exists at all or whether it's really "moving in one direction". And if the directionality of it is actually neutral, you'd be just as bound to fulfill a promise you made in the future as one that you made in the past.
I propose this complication, though:
Since we change so much throughout the course of a lifetime, it's possible that the Scott Of the Future (SOF) might become immoral! He might join a gang, a cult, start selling drugs, become a contract killer, or a Republican. Who knows what life events could set SOF down this path, but it's possible.
So let's say that Scott of the Future calls me on the time-phone and tells me that he (we, us, I?) owes $1,000 to a local gang leader who will use the money to buy weapons that he'll then use to murder several rival gang members. Am I ethically bound to the promises I make? Or to the general ethics of not funding murder?
Pruss's original post with the question is here. He uses the situation to question the asymmetry or symmetry of time, and I'm afraid I'm looking at it more morally. Go figure.
I suppose there are a ton of good questions that arise from being able to communicate with your future-self - could you avoid disasters? change the course of time with information? - but I think an important one just to wonder what it would be like to sit down with yourself at 50 to see the person you've become.
What would you tell yourself? What if you got to meet yourself at 16? How hard would you slap some sense into them? Would it be like meeting a stranger?
I feel like this fits perfectly into my recent mindset of questioning what we are owed. What we should expect to get out of life and out of our friends. What we owe ourselves is just an interesting twist on that idea. But it's an important one. And one I haven't quite figured out yet.
07 April 2008
Commision for Breathing
The most frequent question I get regarding couch surfing is whether I get paid or not. After all, I let a stranger crash on my couch for a few nights - I'm bound to be earning something, right?
The answer is yes and no.
I'd love to paint a shining picture of philanthropy where rainbow-colored puppies follow me and my surfer around DC, checking out national monuments and getting free ice cream. That's just a bit off. Of course I don't get any money for hosting, but I'd be lying if I said there were only intrinsic perks. From time to time, I'll have dinner paid for or something of that nature - my cover charge, a round of drinks. The key is that I don't walk into the situation expecting it, and I've learned something because of it.
You should keep your expectations low.
That may sound negative, but I think it's a wonderful thing. Life is uncontrollable, so having specific expectations about what someone will be like or what someone will do really hampers the actuality of a relationship. It places shackles on a person before you even meet. Once you spend a solid amount of time with them, it's easy to get impressions and create expectations then, but I find that I struggle with placing them on people ahead of time. It makes things a lot easier to deny how complex a person is.
I started thinking about the concept of being paid when it comes to other things in life. As a basic law of physics, there's a reaction to every action - and that's where payment comes from at its core. An action it taken, and it is given its due. Some people call this karma - watching it supposedly ebb and flow in the long term, but I prefer to think of it more simply than that. Or maybe more complex - I see bad deeds rewarded positively and negatively, and I see good deeds rewarded the same way. Karma dictates that the bad comes to the bad and the good comes to the good.
So if we get paid, I have to wonder how much say we have in our own life salary and what type of compensation we should be asking for. If you could be paid anything for living your life - monetary, realistic, animal, vegetable, mineral, abstract concept - what would it be? What should it be?
The answer is yes and no.
I'd love to paint a shining picture of philanthropy where rainbow-colored puppies follow me and my surfer around DC, checking out national monuments and getting free ice cream. That's just a bit off. Of course I don't get any money for hosting, but I'd be lying if I said there were only intrinsic perks. From time to time, I'll have dinner paid for or something of that nature - my cover charge, a round of drinks. The key is that I don't walk into the situation expecting it, and I've learned something because of it.
You should keep your expectations low.
That may sound negative, but I think it's a wonderful thing. Life is uncontrollable, so having specific expectations about what someone will be like or what someone will do really hampers the actuality of a relationship. It places shackles on a person before you even meet. Once you spend a solid amount of time with them, it's easy to get impressions and create expectations then, but I find that I struggle with placing them on people ahead of time. It makes things a lot easier to deny how complex a person is.
I started thinking about the concept of being paid when it comes to other things in life. As a basic law of physics, there's a reaction to every action - and that's where payment comes from at its core. An action it taken, and it is given its due. Some people call this karma - watching it supposedly ebb and flow in the long term, but I prefer to think of it more simply than that. Or maybe more complex - I see bad deeds rewarded positively and negatively, and I see good deeds rewarded the same way. Karma dictates that the bad comes to the bad and the good comes to the good.
So if we get paid, I have to wonder how much say we have in our own life salary and what type of compensation we should be asking for. If you could be paid anything for living your life - monetary, realistic, animal, vegetable, mineral, abstract concept - what would it be? What should it be?
Let's Stifle it Down
Life wouldn't be this difficult if there weren't any people around. I've had these thoughts all my life about what the world would be like without anyone else on the planet to keep me company. I don't think I get as depressed about it as I'm supposed to.
I look at all of these books and films about some guy being the last man on earth and the perils he goes through.
Probably the best Twilight Zone episode of all time involves a man that only wants to read, but his job and his wife keep him from his passion. When an atomic bomb goes off and he survives, he wanders the destroyed city until he finds a library. With the rest of time on his hands to read all the books in a library, he settles down to live passionately. Until his glasses break, rendering him blind.
His last words - There was time now.
It's a great message. One that continually comes up, and should on a daily basis. Why waste another minute not living passionately? Doing what you love?
The answer: people.
They get in the way. Let's face it. They constantly destroy plans, want without compromise, create rules and social structures that deny freedom and art, insist that you do things their way, scoff at you when you tell them how you really feel, what you really dream of, what you'd like to sculpt yourself into.
People are the worst.
And yet without them, without some semblance of structure that they bring, the dynamic array of options they present - life would be much blander. After all, who would write all those books for us to read? Who would stay up until four in the morning with us talking about nothing at all? What would really shape our personalities and our philosophies?
It makes me wonder - even knowing that people are a powerful concept - if there's anything else in life that's so detestable, yet so sublime and necessary. Is there something that causes us such dissatisfaction from time to time that we still desperately need? Is there something that almost always lets us down that we can't live without?
Despite my romanticism of living alone on the planet, I find myself addicted to people. Or maybe I'm just addicted to frustration. And traffic.
I look at all of these books and films about some guy being the last man on earth and the perils he goes through.
Probably the best Twilight Zone episode of all time involves a man that only wants to read, but his job and his wife keep him from his passion. When an atomic bomb goes off and he survives, he wanders the destroyed city until he finds a library. With the rest of time on his hands to read all the books in a library, he settles down to live passionately. Until his glasses break, rendering him blind.
His last words - There was time now.
It's a great message. One that continually comes up, and should on a daily basis. Why waste another minute not living passionately? Doing what you love?
The answer: people.
They get in the way. Let's face it. They constantly destroy plans, want without compromise, create rules and social structures that deny freedom and art, insist that you do things their way, scoff at you when you tell them how you really feel, what you really dream of, what you'd like to sculpt yourself into.
People are the worst.
And yet without them, without some semblance of structure that they bring, the dynamic array of options they present - life would be much blander. After all, who would write all those books for us to read? Who would stay up until four in the morning with us talking about nothing at all? What would really shape our personalities and our philosophies?
It makes me wonder - even knowing that people are a powerful concept - if there's anything else in life that's so detestable, yet so sublime and necessary. Is there something that causes us such dissatisfaction from time to time that we still desperately need? Is there something that almost always lets us down that we can't live without?
Despite my romanticism of living alone on the planet, I find myself addicted to people. Or maybe I'm just addicted to frustration. And traffic.
The First of April
You'd imagine this would be my favorite holiday, but it really isn't. I've already rallied enough against the idea of holidays in the first place - I don't think I'd need to rail too much more on the concept of playing a joke on someone when they know it's coming.
My friends and I really never played April Fools jokes on each other - I think it's because we spent the other 364 days of the year harassing each other. And because we're lazy. I did pull one on my parents a few years ago that continues to be my favorite small-investment prank so far.
My senior year of college, I called my parents on April One while I was out with some friends eating lunch. My mother answered, and I told her that she should get my father in on the conversation as well. I then proceeded to tell them that because of some struggling I was doing with an exit-course, I wasn't going to be able to graduate on time. I wouldn't walk the stage in May. I had done everything I could with this class, but I had just gotten word that it was a mathematical impossibility for me pass it.
Graduation, like I'm sure for most, was a giant deal. My grandparents were coming into town from Arkansas along with my second-cousins (who had partially, and graciously funded my books while I was studying), and now all of that was ruined because I couldn't keep my head above water in a class within my major.
My favorite part was the level-headedness of my mother's response. I think sometimes that pranks are simple practice tests for bad news, litmus tests for how someone reacts to the unfortunate. My mother passed. She told me that all we could do was talk to the professor, look into taking the course over the summer and walking in August. The worst case scenario would be having to take it in the fall and walking in December. Of course, all of this was a major deal because of the investment that college is. I doubt seriously that my parents would feel any iota of shame if their son had spent an extra semester in school or 5 or 6 extra even. But it costs a lot. And we were hyper-aware of that.
I figured that was enough torture, so I told them both it was a joke. A great April Fools joke. They were obviously relieved.
I can think of nothing better to spend my time on than humor. It's a great psychological study. It shows what we fear, what we hope for, what shocks us. It's a study in humanity without fences. When someone is laughing, they are completely vulnerable. You can't hide yourself or put up a wall against something funny - whether you're on the giving or receiving end of the joke.
If you want to know who someone is, prepare them to laugh.
My friends and I really never played April Fools jokes on each other - I think it's because we spent the other 364 days of the year harassing each other. And because we're lazy. I did pull one on my parents a few years ago that continues to be my favorite small-investment prank so far.
My senior year of college, I called my parents on April One while I was out with some friends eating lunch. My mother answered, and I told her that she should get my father in on the conversation as well. I then proceeded to tell them that because of some struggling I was doing with an exit-course, I wasn't going to be able to graduate on time. I wouldn't walk the stage in May. I had done everything I could with this class, but I had just gotten word that it was a mathematical impossibility for me pass it.
Graduation, like I'm sure for most, was a giant deal. My grandparents were coming into town from Arkansas along with my second-cousins (who had partially, and graciously funded my books while I was studying), and now all of that was ruined because I couldn't keep my head above water in a class within my major.
My favorite part was the level-headedness of my mother's response. I think sometimes that pranks are simple practice tests for bad news, litmus tests for how someone reacts to the unfortunate. My mother passed. She told me that all we could do was talk to the professor, look into taking the course over the summer and walking in August. The worst case scenario would be having to take it in the fall and walking in December. Of course, all of this was a major deal because of the investment that college is. I doubt seriously that my parents would feel any iota of shame if their son had spent an extra semester in school or 5 or 6 extra even. But it costs a lot. And we were hyper-aware of that.
I figured that was enough torture, so I told them both it was a joke. A great April Fools joke. They were obviously relieved.
I can think of nothing better to spend my time on than humor. It's a great psychological study. It shows what we fear, what we hope for, what shocks us. It's a study in humanity without fences. When someone is laughing, they are completely vulnerable. You can't hide yourself or put up a wall against something funny - whether you're on the giving or receiving end of the joke.
If you want to know who someone is, prepare them to laugh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)