Sabbatical

Sorry fellow bloggers, I'll be out of town until early January, in a place with no internet. So no new posts until then. In the meantime though, try solving the first 12 levels of the Infinity Riddle at my website www.nosmalltalk.org!

Rich

On Strange Occurrences

One of the more peculiar things I’ve run into in my time begins with an Asian man showing up for one of my dinghy sailing lessons wearing complete formal attire. He arrived at the lesson in full yet awkward strides, speaking almost no English whatsoever, vocally out of focus in the city. Now, a well-dressed Asian man fits in almost anyplace in the world (in the aesthetic sense, if nothing more) yet here in my sailing lesson was where I had least expected one to show up. One certainly has no need for dress shoes and black socks in a boat that is more likely than not to tip over when you step inside. Furthermore, I know he wasn’t going for the aesthetic sense of his being there because the lighting wasn’t right, something any aesthete would have recognized immediately. I never did figure out exactly why he wore that suit to my sailing lesson. It could have been culture clash, I suppose, or maybe just downright silliness. In retrospect, though, I see that he probably just wanted to be treated with a little bit more respect. Maybe people were rude to him when he wore his flower shorts and baseball cap, maybe he could only command attention while wearing a tie.

The next person to show up was Spanish, or Guatemalan perhaps. A sailing instructor’s worst nightmare is when none of his students speak English, and so far I was two for two. Not only could they not understand me, however, they couldn’t understand each other either! Therefore, they impressed me when they decided to share a quarter-operated locker in which to store their things. (I doubt anyone at the big UN gatherings is this nice. I can’t imagine Russia ever sharing a locker with France, for instance.) This brings us to that peculiar occurrence I hinted at previously. I proceeded to observe two grown men who didn’t speak any of the same languages spending fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to work an American quarter-operated locker with very poorly written English instructions. Peculiar is really the only word for it.

Watching the two communicate with each other fascinated me. Two human creatures, brimming with unsurmountable intelligence, yet so linguistically isolated from one another, attempting to unlock this simple metal door. They first tried speaking in their native languages, which failed horribly, Spanish not remotely resembling Chinese. They then resorted to a combination of crippled English and lots of pointing for a little while, which helped somewhat, but the locker ended up eating a few of their quarters in the process. After that each of them in turn looked up at me for assistance, but I was left speechless. Here struggled two adults who probably could have educated me thoroughly on microscopic computational processing systems or gauge theory, and they were looking to me, an eighteen-year-old, for advice on how to open a quarter-operated locker.

Although I could argue much for the importance of always being aware of the present moment and exactly what is happening, it’s sometimes best to not completely analyze what’s going on just so that you don’t start laughing at exactly the wrong moment. And somehow watching two adults ten years my elder puzzle over a quarter-operated locker seemed exactly the wrong moment to laugh, especially when they were both staring at me and one of them was wearing a suit. When something like that occurs, it becomes necessary to take all the facts and store them away in your memory for later comic relief, and then try to only see the situation of the moment from a serious point of view. Of course, no matter how much I attempted to retain my poker face, I could not provide much help to two people who didn’t speak my language without at least giggling, and so I let them be and let the nature of human creativity run its course.

In my opinion, the one creepy thing that is alright to do is to look deep into someone’s eyes for a couple seconds and then try to imagine exactly what that person is thinking. I bet that the characters in my story, when trying to communicate with each other, experienced a feeling immensely similar to that which the earliest of humankind experienced when developing the first spoken languages. How frustrating to have an idea and be unable to express it! These two foreigners were reenacting the initial motions of humankind towards solving complex problems, and there I was witnessing it. How peculiar indeed!

People tend to understand one another best when in close proximity. Two foreigners to each other have at least half a chance of solving a problem when in the same room and given the opportunity to interact; however, they would have almost null chance were they solely able to communicate over the telephone, for example. It also helps when neither of the parties involved in the problem-solving situation will admit defeat; it forces them to think of some possible solution, no matter how long it takes, for who would give up so easily upon the task of opening the door to a coin-operated locker? And so after much trial and error; much isolation of variables such as when to insert the quarter, when to open the door, when to turn the key; many futile hand gestures and signals to each other; yet effectively after having not spoken a word to each other, the pair eventually opened the locker door, and a wave of relief and triumph passed over the three of us.

What I’ve noted from this situation is how remarkably the scenario seemed to represent every human conquest towards progress, every success, every giant step, every breath of satisfaction. The journey of two complete strangers unlocking the secrets that differentiated them and the secrets that made them similar, the agreement upon a goal, the blatant yet irrational first attempts to open the locker door, the analysis of the situation, the regard for the barriers of understanding and perception, the careful experimentation, the methodology of the techniques employed, it seems so eerily brilliant how such a simple and peculiar situation can represent in a matter of minutes the complete evolution of human creativity and logical problem-solving in our world. And so, I’ve realized that as soon as you start looking in just the right way, everything in the world suddenly becomes symbolic and aesthetic, and often the most peculiar occurrences take on the most oddly profound meanings.

On Scrabble

This one's a little off topic, I suppose, but what isn't these days?

Life is a lot like Scrabble. Or, if you like, Scrabble is a lot like life. I like the second one better, actually, because it's more practical, kind of like a guide to Scrabble.

In Scrabble, you have no choice over what letters you draw, only over what you do with them. Sometimes you get a bad rack, and it's tempting to just skip your turn and exchange all your letters. Every once in a while, this is the best choice, as all Scrabble masters might tell you. But usually, you just have to make the most of which letters you have. Having all vowels can seem like the worst, but in order to come out ahead in the end, you just have to look at the board a little differently. You might have to change your "playing high-scoring words" strategy to a "play vowel-dumping words" strategy, as frustratingly difficult as this may be. On the other hand, you may be stuck with a Q and no U. In this case, the idea is to realize that "quiz," "quizzical," and "quizzes," are not the only Q words in the dictionary. If you instead look at every possible word you can make with that horrible Q, you'll realize that "qi," "qat," "qaid," and "suq," among others, all somehow exist as well, and that sometimes you may have that special opportunity of playing "qi" on a triple-letter-score, perhaps even on a triple-word, and that furthermore, "qi" in the right spot may score much better than would have "quiz" anywhere else on the board.

This brings us to our next point. The tiles that are in your rack, the assets that you have, don't mean a thing unless you match them up with tiles on the board, the culmination of turn after turn of complex, intertwined human creation. A good word is only good if it fits in with the rest of the game. Sometimes it fits perfectly, sometimes it never fits, but most of the time, you just have to wait for the right time to play it! But be aware, if your heart is set on one word, one idea, one brilliant thought, and the opportunity for its wonderful debut never arises, you may have wasted your time. The antidote to this curse is to let that one word, one idea, one brilliant thought change as the board changes. It doesn't have to be much, and it usually just involves something as simple as changing the tense of a verb. But you've got to be flexible.

Our third point is about brute force. You can only make up so many words in Scrabble before you get challenged. You've got to spend some time reading the Scrabble dictionary. There is no alternative. You've got to be creative in Scrabble, but you've also got to accept that not everything you create is going to up and harmonize with the rest of the board. Neither Scrabble nor life allows every individual possible combination of the letters you have, but there are still a hell of a lot of the words in the dictionary. This doesn't amount to solely memorizing first-glance impressive words either, like "epizeuxis" and "zeugma." These are great words to know, and if the occasion ever arises, can yield mountains of points, but frankly, the chances that you will get an opportunity to play one of these words in a game are incredibly minimal. The most important words to learn are the short ones, the two-letter ones, the little quirks and mannerisms and everyday happenings in life. There are 101 two-letter words allowable in Scrabble, as of the 4th edition Scrabble Dictionary, and these are by far the most valuable to take the time to learn. Knowing these words, these simple solutions, and knowing how to use them in combination with each other during each play most importantly opens up new directions in which to play every one of your oh so precious words. Instead of playing each word perpendicularly to the rest of the board, you can begin to play them parallel to, alongside other words, and make them even more valuable. Unfortunately, when people look at life or at a game of Scrabble, they tend to see only the big words, the impressive ones, the bingos. And, as impressive and wonderful and useful as these golden words may be, without an underlying understanding of how to use the two-letter words, how to make use of the little things in life, how to tie the big words together; the eight-letter and nine-letter words, the golden philosophies and deepest truths, simply aren't even worth it.

Those are the most important tenets of Scrabble that relate to life, although there are many more, and with proper time and dedication, one could really investigate and find meaning in every single letter, every vowel combination, and every bonus square. However, that could take pages, volumes in fact, and I'd rather not waste paper on this blog. If you really want a happy note to end on, I suppose you could even say, "in the end, it's not your score that matters, it's the fact that you're having fun," but I think that might just be a little too optimistic.

On Art

I remember a day when paintings served the sole purpose of portraying beauty, when art was purely aesthetic, when novels were pages of nice sounding words strung together. Rhyming picture books lined my shelves; they encapsulated everything, appealing to both the eye and the ear. A drawing of Edward the Emu fascinated me much more than Van Gogh’s Starry Night. In television, Bugs Bunny’s wit and goofy animated portrayal kept me much happier than would have a movie like Citizen Kane. The simplicity of children’s art exuded an especially appreciable elegance.

When I was younger, my wee friends and I did not fight over the meaning of Edward the Emu’s expression and we did not joust over the possible societal ramifications of his words. We enjoyed them, they made us smile, they made us feel “warm and fuzzy” at times. Even when I would happen upon a big-people book and make it all the way through, I either enjoyed the story or I didn’t; I never thought twice about the symbolism within and the author’s interpretation of the work. However, as time passed and my superiors squeezed knowledge into my brain, I learned that some people considered literature and art to have deeper, subtler, hidden messages embedded within their texts, not immediately visible to the naked eye. In order to illuminate these hidden messages, they developed the art of analysis, a method of attempting to articulately interpret what is “hidden” within a work of art. Apparently, great works of fiction held secrets that could only be unlocked through careful nitpicking and a keen eye, secrets that, once understood, imbued the work with a much more grandiose existence. In my experience, it seemed that these secrets were supposed to be inherent, that with enough examination, anyone could glean the “true meaning” of nearly any artistic piece. Of course, when studying something like poetry, for example, I also came to understand that as long as I wrote an analysis well enough, most of my teachers would not dock points for an unusual interpretation. I learned in class to state what I thought a poem meant under the pretext of stating what it actually meant.

A question that often arose during an analysis session regarded the importance of an author’s own interpretation of his work. It seemed that the goal during analysis was to try to follow the author’s train of thought and see exactly which symbols and hidden messages the author had hidden for the reader to find. Success in analysis somehow amounted to agreeing with the author’s perspective on the world and understanding the intended message. After all, why would someone writing a book go to all the trouble of hiding a message within its pages if he did not intend his readers to find it. Somehow, it appeared, the author’s own interpretation carried much value. He provided us with a mess of jigsaw pieces and it was simply our task of putting them together to form a picture. But still, was the message actually present in the work, or was it just constructed by interpretation? Was there only one way to put the puzzle pieces together? After all, the author only gave us pieces, never a box to look at.

Because any novel, essay, or poem is just a series of letters and punctuation thrown together in an organized way, a computer can express it as a sequence of ones and zeros, just a long list of binary code, millions upon millions of puzzle pieces. Of course, though a computer can easily translate that code into letters and words again, it is impossible for a computer to detect the “hidden message” within its code; it can put the picture together, but never see it. We can never create any kind of scientific instrument or algorithm able to objectively measure the purpose of a literary or artistic work. Sure, a machine can measure its complexity, the level of vocabulary it used, but no constructed machine could ever “understand” it. Therefore, a specific interpretation cannot possibly be inherent to a piece of art; its meaning cannot possibly be objective. Meaning, symbolism, and the like must be subjective.

I think the idea of meaning being subjective is certainly more romantic than the contrary, and I am rather glad for that. If meaning were objective, we would find ourselves with a finite end to any literary discussion, and though the discussion itself might be of interest, once finished, we’d have nothing left to speak about. In fact, if our goal were to find an objective meaning, we’d be doing no more than simulating the work of a computer, and creativity would lose its purpose. Fortunately, meaning is not objective; it is determined by the interpreter. An interpretation of Slaughterhouse Five completely opposite to Vonnegut’s does not carry any less value than the Vonnegut’s own. The interpretations are simply two different ways to put the jigsaw pieces together, each yielding an equally lovely picture. Though the two pictures may differ in almost every aspect, we do not derive understanding solely from the book’s puzzle pieces. Some of this understanding must come from within us as well, from our own perspective, from our own mind-set. We must determine how to morph a pile of jigsaw pieces into an image. Everyone, of course, looks at the world through at least slightly different lenses, so everyone wields a unique interpretation, a unique image, and none is the superior. Even if the author intends a certain message within his work, that does not at all imply that that is the only message we can identify.

Nothing possesses an objective interpretation or meaning, so it is up to us to supply one. Typically we apply “meaning” to “art,” that is, to paintings, novels, poems, sketches, sculpture, anything created creatively by humankind. However, because it is subjective, artistic understanding can be no more inherent in a human-made work than it in a work of art created naturally. Because the value comes from within our mind-set and perception, no more meaning exists in a Hemingway short story than in a leaf falling from a tree, for example. In fact, one could write equally charming analyses of both.

Natural works of art constantly surround us, from sunrises to snowflakes, from lush valleys to barren mountains. Unfortunately, we often forget that even though nature did not consciously create sunrises or snowflakes, we can still elicit meaning from any object, any occurrence in life. Symbolism and significance are not any more present in works of fiction than in our own lives; we simply tend to spend all of our time looking for meaning in the former, and forget that we can glean just as much meaning from within the latter. Real life is also made up of jigsaw pieces, it just happens that a lot of them are upside down or under the couch.

Because they exist within our own minds, symbolism, connections, subtle relationships, static and dynamic characters, and hidden messages are all right around us all of the time. We just have to start looking for them. The people who realize this most, I think, are non-fiction writers. How non-fiction short stories or autobiographies yielded so much symbolic imagery always bewildered me. I believed that I could not write anything non-fiction remotely as deep as these works simply because my life was not nearly as symbolic, because things didn’t work out so perfectly fittingly all of the time as they did in the famous stories. However, the lives of good non-fiction writers are often not any more organized or planned-out or symbolic than my own life or that of anyone else. Good non-fiction writers just have a knack for knowing where in their lives to look for art.

Hidden messages, significance, and value are all subjective. We can and should supply them to each and every object and occurrence in our lives, for meaning is by no means explicitly confined to art crafted by humans. Deep understandings and interpretations surround us perpetually, and all we have to do is realize that. Of course, we should also realize that sometimes the deepest message of all is to not forget to recognize that most straight-forward loveliness in art and in life, the simple beauty that first makes us smile.

On Opinion

When the evolutionary volcano spewed its genetic lava thousands of feet into the air for no apparent reason, a certain hunk of cooling molten rock gathered itself together into a vaguely human-like shape and splashed down in a gentle mountain stream that imbued it with the majesty of conscious thought. The original thoughts and ambitions of our ancestors were simple; all arose in the single root of a trickling creek. The pure and unencumbered mountain spring breathed into our igneous pores the desire for food, shelter, warmth, and each other. And that’s all we had; we weren’t scathed by urges for pride or splendor, politics or style, purification or sanctity. We simply wanted to make it from one day to the next. But, as time passed, even the tame flow of the stream eroded our impermanent stone to six billion bits of dust, and the dust began to get stirred up and float randomly within the water that protected it, and it joined the stream in its continuance down the mountainside.

As the stream passed through its scenery, the particles of dust did not forget their initial desires, and as they traveled in generally the same direction they tended to agree upon the methods by which these desires could be sated. However, as a stream proceeds downward, it is unlikely that it will travel straight until it reaches the ocean. It is far more probable that it will do as this particular stream did and split into tributaries every once in a while. And so, as forks in the downward path opened up, some of the little bits of dust went one way and some went the other way; they still kept the same desires, but their methods of achieving these began to differ. Some took to hunting, some preferred gathering; some built houses of sticks, some slept in caves; some created their own fires, some borrowed the fires of others; some lived in families, some lived in societies. And such, out of this first fork in the stream of methodological evolution, opinion was born.

As time moseyed on, the stream split over and over again and the ideas of the people in this world began to stray far from one another; some of the stream’s branches became full with followers and others waned to merely stifled exhalations of diehard fans trickling down the mountainside. However, as each path diverged from all of the others, the little bits of dust floating within it tended to forget that not only had they originated at the same root spring, but also that they were all heading downwards to the same ocean. By the time the opinions of the world had become those of today, by the time ideas such as liberalism and conservatism and capitalism and communism had arisen, it became almost infeasible to see that the underlying goals of each ideology were still essentially the same. Still we yearn for food, shelter, warmth, and each other, and very little more. From this perspective, the nature of opinion is not overtly complicated. But of course, at times our opinions are so different from others that oftentimes the only intuitive conclusion seems to be that they originated from entirely separate streams of thought, perhaps even atop different mountains. Unfortunately this has created a nonsensical cloud that nowadays obscures the vital connections between opinions that at first appear so distinct. However, because opinions evolve as such, it logically follows that each pair of opinions indeed share a common ancestor, just as do any two species of organism. This, I believe, ought to underscore the nature of argument and debate. Rather than concentrating solely on what distinguishes two ideas, we ought first to acknowledge their similar motivations. By tracing their paths down the mountain stream in this manner, we can determine almost precisely where their trajectories diverge and therefore avoid the unconscious misunderstandings about underlying motivations that are commonplace amid argument and debate.

Opinion is one of the most powerful capabilities of the human mind. However, it can destroy just as easily as it can create. Opinion ought be used only to illuminate ideas, never to push them into shadow. Every pair of “opposing” ideologies share similar motivations on at least some level, for they were once part of that same mountain stream. We should therefore focus on the harmonies among opinions first and later analyze their discordances. A reasonable compromise to any controversy comes by studying not where two opinions finally end up, but instead where they initially diverge. We should not abuse the power of opinion, but instead use to progress, for the ability to have conscious thoughts and recognize their variations is a gift to be cherished.

On Magical and Confusing Things

It’s silly, isn’t it, that so many throughout history have asked such a silly question as What is Truth?, or the even sillier, What is The Truth? This, I admit, is one of the most curious aspects of human nature. Certainly, with enough research into biological and cultural evolution, most can understand the basics of how humans came to walk on two legs, develop tools, domesticate animals, etc., but I doubt a scientist today could ever have looked at Earth’s evolution from an outside perspective and predicted, “these strange beasts will not only learn to harness fire, hunt animals, and invent indoor plumbing, but they will also question the meaning of their own existence.”

Amazingly, entire fields of study have been devoted to the task of answering this seemingly impossible question. Philosophy and physics stand out most here, despite often appearing to approach the question from quite different directions. After centuries of thinking about What is The Truth? and proposing various hypotheses, the human race has certainly come quite far along in its journey, extending its arms, hands, and fingertips deep into realms we had not even considered until recently. However, it seems that the very “essence of Truth,” if you like, still remains infinitely far out of reach. Fortunately, we can indeed lock our fingers around a much simpler question than What is The Truth? and pull it towards us for closer examination. That question is Why The Truth?

So, why the truth? Why not lies? Why not just enjoy the simple things in life? Why not spend your days with your true love, laughing and walking hand-in-hand down the beach humming little-known Hawaiian tunes? Why spend hours and days and months and years searching for this odd entity called Truth, an entity that we humans named ourselves? I’d reckon that much of why we search for Truth is intuitive. I learned as child to be honest, to be objective, to be fair. I learned that understanding my surroundings was important, that misconceptions never led anywhere good. And such when I first began peering deeply into physics and metaphysics and philosophy, it seemed inherent that Truth was the ultimate goal and despite questioning everything I stumbled upon, I never bothered to question the nature of my quest itself. Truth was a great lion gracefully traversing the African plains, and I was its pursuer. I was not alone in my quest, but the paths of others had diverged early on enough that I could no longer see them, even when I squinted my eyes. It might as well have just been I and Truth in that open grassland, no one else. Determined to catch and tame this mighty beast, I relentlessly sought clues and hints regarding its whereabouts. Every once in a while I caught a glimpse of it, but it immediately dived off again into the savanna, leaving me unsure as to whether or not it might only have been a mirage. As my quest proceeded, I began to learn a bit about the lion’s nature, to predict a few of its delicate maneuvers. With relative accuracy I could anticipate how fast it ran and where it tended to hide when I approached. However, the creature was always full of surprises and every so often turned unexpectedly, leaving me bedazzled and wondering, for there is much to learn about why a lion behaves the way it does. Not until recently, though, did I begin to question the why of my safari, the why of the Truth.

The why of the lion was much different than the lion itself. Why was I chasing this magnificent beast? Why was I chasing this ever so evasive Truth? Was it only because of its beauty and splendor, because I already felt humbled by its presence, because to catch it would represent a great triumph? Or would it be better just to let it run free and unhindered through the vast expanse before me, so it would not end up caged and on display, where crowds of human eyes would only see its majestic exterior and hear its roar, unable to detect the intricacies of its character? Did the capture and dissection of Truth destroy its entire nature? One answer to the why emerges as at least partially feasible.

In the most elementary sense, we search out this so-called Truth because we seek Satisfaction. We seek Satisfaction in school, in work, in love, in Minesweeper, in everything in life. Feeling unsatisfied makes us feel, well, unsatisfied. By definition, dissatisfaction inspires the strive for Satisfaction. The quest for Truth, then, is simply synonymous with the quest for ultimate Satisfaction. That is what we’re after, ultimate Satisfaction.

Satisfaction is the one feeling for which every creature, every atom, every galaxy, every entity in this universe pines. The inanimate world expresses this Satisfaction as a form of stability. A boulder rolls down a hill until it stops; an ember burns until it has no more fuel; planets settle into orbits amid solar systems, which settle into orbits amid galaxies. Every physical system oscillates until the forces at work balance, and the system relaxes into equilibrium where it can finally release a sigh of Satisfaction. At times the Satisfied states are stationary like the cessation of a boulder’s roll, and at times the Satisfied states are cyclical like the motion of the planets. Either way, every system in the universe seeks out nothing more than ultimate Satisfaction, and then when it has found it, it stops. We humans are no exception; it is simply that our ultimate Satisfaction is Truth. Perhaps if we find it, we too shall “stop.” The mystical quest for this strange idea that once appeared to distinguish us among the universe’s various entities has in fact let us know that in that very respect, we are no different than any other essence around us. We just give our Satisfaction a more grandiose title.

The journey of entities of the universe towards Satisfaction serves not only as a strong unifying point amid external differences, but also as a standard of measurement of one of the most peculiar enigmas of nature: time. One of the most poetic, beautiful, and worthwhile things for everyone to do at some point in their life is to sit behind a large bay window and stare out into a quiet yard during a snowfall. As each snowflake tumbles toward the ground, you can see it as a tiny piece of patterned matter seeking out nothing more than Satisfaction. Unsatisfied hovering in the air, the snowflake descends softly to the ground until it rests upon all the others, finally reaching its long-awaited state of Satisfaction. Every other snowflake in sight mimics its brothers, the whole lot of them tranquilly touching down upon the crystalline sea below, each peacefully achieving its so treasured Satisfaction. And once all the snowflakes have landed on the ground that stretches out unmoving before us, placid and blank, it seems that time almost stands still. Not an insect twitches its wings and not a snowflake moves from its so carefully chosen resting place. In fact, if it weren’t for the rhythmic beat of your heart, your slow but deliberate winter breathing, and the various disconnected thoughts popping in and out of your head, there really wouldn’t be any way to tell that time was passing by at all. No entity around you would appear to be moving toward Satisfaction. Everything in sight would be perfectly Satisfied, no complaints, no qualms, no imbalance of forces, no uneasy tension needing to be resolved. Simply Satisfaction. In a more scientific sense, time would be no more than an acknowledgment of observable entities journeying towards this Satisfaction. If the universe itself were ever to reach complete Satisfaction, then, by definition, time would simply up and wither away. Some people may call this “peace,” but I don’t like to think of it that way. Personally, the journey seems much more fun to me than the destination.

Robert Prisig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, used a clever simile in describing his notion of the undefinable “Quality.” Quality, he argued, lies not atop the mountain but rather in the bristling life on it’s sides. But, of course, there could be no sides without a top. A destination is necessary, but it is not where the Quality exists. Something similar, I think, applies to our Satisfaction. Maybe we can only achieve Satisfaction by enjoying our the sides of its mountain. If we can be ultimately Satisfied simply by the quest towards ultimate Satisfaction, then maybe we can reach our destination while still enjoying the journey all the while. To be honest though, I really can’t say; I don’t even want to claim to be able to say; it just seems like kind of a nice thought. But isn’t that what everything’s all about, nice thoughts? And that’s all I want to suggest, a nice thought, a brief contemplation on Satisfaction and on Truth. Nice thoughts always seem to change the world, even if it’s usually in an inconspicuous way.

On Identity

Some of the behaviors that have developed amid humans simply confound the mind. Some are so peculiar, we tend to ask ourselves how on Earth they could even have arisen.

Whether it’s caused by cultural metamorphosis, evolutionary machining, or a clumsy mixture of the two, at some point in their lives, everyone asks the question who am I? The search for identity pursues us; in all of our daily goings-on, the question who am I? persists in our minds, and of course, we try to answer it. Because we are so plagued by this thought, it becomes nearly inconceivable to disregard it, and we carve out an integral part of our lives dedicated solely to this mechanical search for self. Although this vague concept of awareness and self begins to first doff its mask of incoherence at quite an early age, the process of organizing articulate interpretations of our own identities essentially starts with school.

On the first day of kindergarten I was asked to tell the class my name, my favorite animal, my favorite color, and my pets’ names (if I had any). I happily did so, though without realizing the grandiose implications of my actions. By disclosing those four facts about myself, I crudely shaped the first tower of my sand-castle identity. From that moment on, I was Rich, whose favorite animal was the shark, whose favorite color was blue, whose fish were three and unnamed. These four fragments of information, menial as they may have seemed initially, provided the first step in pointing me towards a future destination, giving me a direction in which I unfortunately I stayed pointed without question for a number of years later.

It took me eight years to realize blue did not necessarily have to be my favorite color, and in fact I really didn’t care for it much at all. After five more years, I realized one really needn’t even have a favorite color at all. Whenever we state a fact, a value, a belief, a principle, or anything about ourselves, whether we’ve selected it through random choice, social pressure, or even a complex series of logical deductions, we construct a tremendous bias towards that statement, and tend to do whatever is in our power to defend it and to keep it from changing. We assume our own selection from all possible options to be inherently superior and all others to be inferior. This is precisely why it is so hard to change favorite colors, or more practically, societal ideologies.

Memorizing those four facts for fourteen other students, of course, was more than enough to occupy a class full of kindergartners for the rest of the day. By the end of the week though, we could all walk along the beach and easily pick out everyone's sand-castle towers, each unique in height, width, and uneven parapets. The foundation for the rest of our lives had been set, and the trend did not cease to continue.

On my first day of high school, I was assigned to write an essay in my freshman English class that instructed me to introduce myself and to write on anything I thought was important about my character. To supply us with a nucleation site for our thoughts, our teacher encouraged us to write about sports, interests, hobbies, or personality traits. In other words, in our paper we were to illuminate any of our significant characteristics. Not only were we continuing to build new towers of sand, but we were etching more detail into the old ones. As we mature, we begin to more solidly define ourselves in many ways, one of the most fundamental being through the use of language. This makes sense, because language is the most practical way within society by which to communicate our definitions of self, and such explains why its teaching is emphasized so forcefully in high school. The lamentable aspect of this practice, however, lies in the permanence of what is writ in ink. Writing developed as a record-keeping tool, as a method to concretely engrave words, sentences, thoughts, and descriptions such that they would last for a relatively long period of time. Thus, when we write about ourselves in high school (or at any point during life), we add a kind of permanence to our descriptions of self; the words that we use to depict our individual nature again lock us onto a specific path, and as we define ourselves further and more deeply, it becomes increasingly difficult to veer from that path when opportunity for change arises. The words we use to distinguish ourselves become ingrained in our subconscious, and they become a distinctive part of who we are. With a wrench in the gears of self-change, rather than seek out new tenets of identity, we instead subtly attempt to conform to our already transcribed definitions.

Countless other “identity” essays followed after that first as I progressed through high school. In no way could I escape the emphasis on the development of my ability to be able to tell the world who I was, and to do so in clear, unambiguous terms. Crudely shaped sand towers were no longer acceptable methods of building an identity. With each essay or story or short paragraph that I wrote, I imprinted finer and finer detail into the walls of my sand-castle edifices, and I shaped them more and more carefully so that their architecture might end up as aesthetically pleasing as possible. The rigidness and static nature of my identity was beginning to show itself. It was detailed but incredibly resistant to change. I even began to mold a new type of structure into my growing sand palace, composed of words, definitions, labels, phrases, and anecdotes. As the essays and conversations about myself became more numerous, I found that I tended to repeat certain descriptions quite frequently, whereas others dissolved away. This is what led to the construction of a moat around my sand-castle; my identity's first line of defense had been built. No longer could the incoming tides reach the towers within the center of the castle as easily, for they would simply spill into the moat and their mighty power dissipate before they could brush up against the tower walls. After we define a terminology with which to describe ourselves, we deepen our moat, and the various outside forces that once influenced so strongly each and every one of our actions begin to reach our inner castle more and more infrequently. We become impervious, resistant, and the dynamic nature so key to human experience starts to disappear. Our sand-castles become rock solid in the hot sunlight, and no longer can they even subtly feel each others’ presences. They might as well be made of stone, unyielding, unresponsive, and to the casual observer, unconscious.

The beauty of sand-castles lies most primarily in their short-lived existence. Children will spend endless hours building the most well-planned-out and intricate sand-castle, knowing all the while that it won’t even last past high tide; the next day, they simply and happily start anew, filled with new ideas of how to make it better, or at least different. The beauty of any edifice, whether physical like a mound of sand, or psychological like a our own identity, comes not from any snapshot of the construction itself, but from an analysis of how it has changed over time and from an appreciation of all of the possible variations in its design. Whenever we examine our concepts of self, we ought to view our towers and buildings not from within the walls of the castle itself, but from the perspective of a passerby on the shore. We ought to envision how changing certain aspects of ourselves might in fact lead to a more sound or at least a more aesthetic make-up of our identity.

Before wrapping up, I think it seems relatively important to also touch on the concept of I at least briefly. After all, an understanding of what the pronoun I describes is a crucial part of being able to understand the question who am I? I is one of those words that has arisen in every language, simply out of practicality (I imagine it would be a trifle difficult for a society to function were there no way to reference the first person singular), and it has unfortunately come to take on connotations derived solely from its practicality. In the most straightforward sense, it refers to whoever the speaker; this is a necessary practice in order for a society to communicate about the relationships among its members. In its practical use, however, I needs only to designate the speaker in the brief period of time surrounding the current moment of speaking. What matters is where I am now and what I am doing this week, or this month, not where I will be in fifty years or what I will be doing when I am eighty, at least in immediate and pragmatic conversation. However, in the more philosophical sense of I, the one we most often attempt to procure when answering the question who am I?, I must refer to one’s entire self, not just oneself during the present week, or during the present moment. Most people have somewhat of an understanding of this, and thus when answering who am I? talk about their existence in the present, as well as the events in the past that have led up to how they perceive themselves now. However, this still represents only a portion of the description of I, for a significant piece of everyone’s life lies in the future. This piece of life, of course, is impossible to describe, as the future is unpredictable at best. Therefore, by simple logic, whenever someone attempts to answer who am I?, the most he or she can do is to begin with the qualifier so far... This person, though not fully answering the question, will at least not try to pretend to have responded completely.

To completely respond to the question who am I? is impossible. Still though, we try in vain. We attempt over and over again to describe ourselves more accurately and definitively, to fortify our interior identity so strongly that the ocean tides can no longer reach it. But in fact, if we open up our walls, and fill in our moats with sand, and let the tides pour in over our towers, we may discover new forms, and new sandy architectures that are even more aesthetic than we had ever imagined. Instead of building up our identities linearly, only adding more to what was previously there, we ought to experience the variations of our thoughts, our ideals, our beliefs. If our towers start to crumble we ought to let them fall. Only then can we see how to more beautifully reconstruct them.

A New Perspective on Ideas

Assumptions:
There exists a fifth dimension, invisible to the human eye (bear with me please!), expanding itself not through space, but through the infinite realm of physical possibilities.

This post is not entirely derived from logic, for I am beginning to feel that although logic may be one of the most fundamental arteries of truth, it may not be the only one. The primary reason the following thought is not inspired by logic is because it is based on the assumption of the existence of a fifth dimension entailing all of physical possibility, a hypothesis that, though surprisingly fitting in many scientific circumstances, has yet to be proved with substantial physical evidence. This post about ideas was inspired by theoretical physicist David Deutsch, who in turn was inspired by geneticist Richard Dawkins.

In his book, The Fabric of Reality, British theoretical physicist David Deutsch argues strongly for the existence of parallel universes, each representing a different physically possible cosmos. This hypothesis describing the nature of reality is one of the more notorious explanations regarding quantum mechanics and interference phenomena. In essence, according to the theory, every time a quantum event occurs (i.e. a particle moves from one location to another, though the latter location is not certain; rather it is described as a probability wave of possible locations), the universe in which it occurs splits into many different universes, each corresponding to one of the possible measurable outcomes of the quantum event. For more information, I would highly recommend reading Deutsch's text, as it presents a much more elegant argument for the hypothesis than I could describe here. Again, this theory has not yet been tested (but perhaps may be soon, through the advent of quantum computation), so we cannot know for sure that it is true. However, what I would like to do is for now pretend that it is indeed true and examine how different aspects of reality may be viewed through this new and uncanny perspective.

Although the "multiversal" theory of reality yields several important implications in regard to physics and computational theory, what fascinated me most in reading The Fabric of Reality was Deutsch's application of his theory to genetics. When I picked the book up off the shelf at Borders, sandwiched in between Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time and Lee Smolin's Three Roads to Quantum Gravity, the last place I imagined Deutsch would journey was to the inner workings of DNA. However, in his writing, Deutsch presents a conjecture, which, whether true or not, describes the science of genetics in an unexpectedly beautiful manner. He begins by addressing the all too often questioned nature of "junk" DNA, or DNA that has no impact on the structure of the organism in which it resides. He states that in the one-universe understanding of reality, there can easily be a long sequence of A's, C's, G's, and T's that is present both in a gene paramount to the survival and reproduction of the organism as well as in a seemingly random sequence of junk DNA. Upon inspection, absolutely no physical difference distinguishes the gene's sequence from the junk DNA's sequence. Each is composed of the exact same number and type of atoms in exactly the same arrangement. They are objectively identical. This problem has plagued genetics since DNA was first discovered. However, when Deutsch applies the multiversal lens to this problem, a peculiarly elegant image of the gene comes into focus, one that clearly distinguishes between the two "identical" sequences described above. Deutsch's logic is based on the fact that a particular sequence existent within a gene has complete control over the reproduction of the organism, and more specifically the reproduction and survival of the gene itself. Therefore, if a gene is mutated in copying at one point or another, it is likely that that mutation will prevent the reproduction of that gene; the gene will cease to exist. In other words, the preservation of a sequence of a section of DNA within a gene is key to that gene's own survival. That same particular sequence present in junk DNA, however, will continue to exist no matter how it is mutated, for it has no impact on its own survival. Applying the multiversal lens to this, Deutsch argues that a copy of a gene in millions of different universes can and does only exist if its sequence is preserved exactly; if the sequence had become mutated, it would have stopped its own reproduction long before. This is not true of a segment of junk DNA, which will exist no matter how its constituent nucleotides are arranged. Deutsch therefore describes a gene as a type of multiversal, or five-dimensional crystal, an absolutely stunning representation of the Earth's most fundamental unit of reproduction. It will have no deviations in its form, for the genes with imperfections simply cannot exist. Every cross section of this five-dimensional crystal will contain the exact same sequence of DNA.

Deutsch's application of the multiversal theory of reality to Dawkins' work on genetics is absolutely brilliant, and even if not provably true, it is an incredibly beauteous illustration of the nature of the gene itself. Dawkins, however, described a new type fundamental evolutionary unit, different than, but quite analogous to the gene. This unit he called the meme. According to Dawkins, and all current and past memetics specialists, a meme is defined simply as an idea that is passed on and reproduced, by humans in particular. The reproduction of a meme is not necessarily simpler, but certainly much quicker than the reproduction of a gene. In order for a gene to be reproduced, a series of intricate biological workings must occur, and though this may be a fast for an individual gene, in order for a gene to really spread itself across a large area, we must give it quite a while. This is the fundamental reason why the mechanism of evolution grinds along so slowly. A meme, however, can be spread across the entire Earth incredibly quickly. In ages past, a book or pamphlet could spread a thought to a huge number of people in less than a few months. Today, all one must do to spread an idea (even one simple enough to be described in a single sentence) is simply to post it on the internet, where it can be accessed and interpreted seconds later by people all over the world. Memetics also goes through a very similar evolutionary process, in which interesting or successful memes reproduce and live on for epochs, but uninteresting and unsuccessful memes can die out almost immediately. The main difference is that, with memes, it happens much more quickly. A culture can change overnight, but that same change in a species takes centuries. Deutsch did mention memetics a bit in his musings; however, he did not apply his multiversal theory to the study.

The multiversal approach to understanding the gene describes it as a five-dimensional crystal, uniform in composition. Because of the incredible relation between memetics and genetics we have just mentioned, therefore, it seems natural to apply the same type of understanding to the meme. However, certain obvious differences between the meme and the gene must be accounted for prior to proceeding. The most important difference, of which I have not yet spoken, is that memes are much more likely to undergo subtle and unquantifiable mutations as they are reproduced. A gene is mutated one nucleotide at a time, and this happens relatively rarely. A meme, however, is changed at least somewhat almost anytime it is passed from one conscious mind to another. Even two people reading the exact same sentence, or looking at the exact same picture almost consistently will interpret it differently. However, unlike as is with the gene, only significant mutations will prevent a meme from being reproduced. Therefore, a meme can be present through the vast expanse of the multiverse in all of its variations and still exist. This primarily distinguishes the gene from the meme.

Let us now attempt to look at the meme as a five-dimensional object just as Deutsch did with the gene. We can still look at a meme, or an idea, rather, as an extended crystal through the multiverse. Each slice of this crystal, however, is not a physical one like a gene, but rather an entity that exists solely within one's conscious mind. Representations of an idea, of course, can be scribed upon paper or canvas, but the idea itself still only exists when someone is present to interpret it. Because these ideas exist and reproduce despite their variations though, we must realize that this crystal that comprises them is no longer uniform like that of a gene. Each cross section is indeed different, and no two are exactly alike. If we furthermore imagine an infinity of possible, yet existing universes in which the idea spreads, it follows that every single possible interpretation of the idea exists as well. Ergo, every pair of variations on a single idea can be linked through a seamless fabric containing each idea in between the two (this is kind of like a function's continuity and smoothness in mathematics). When we view this crystal from afar, we can see now that it is not rigidly inflexible like the crystal of a gene, but instead constantly changes as we travel from one slice to the next. Furthermore, because of the seamlessness between every slice, the crystal's sides are not jagged, as one might initially expect, but smooth. If this crystal were a physical entity, we could easily run our finger down the entire length of it without fear of splinters.

Thus, though the concept of an "idea" on some levels seems simple and on some overwhelmingly complex, when we look at it through this multiversal perspective (which may in due time be proven by quantum mechanics and quantum computational experiments), what arises is a beautiful crystaline structure of ever-changing, yet fluid consciousness, which I must say, seems just too elegant to be untrue.

On Awareness

Assumptions:
Awareness is a significant part of reality.
Self-awareness is defined as the ability to recognize oneself as an object, and to be conscious of this recognition.

An often pondered question (yet perhaps not so often pondered as the meaning of life) regards the idea of awareness, or more specifically self-awareness. The main debate lies in whether or not one entity can be more aware than another. We ask ourselves what it means to be self-aware, whether we could possibly be more self-aware, and whether we are the only creatures that are truly self-aware. For example, is a dog aware that it is a dog? Is a pebble aware that it is a pebble? Is the Earth aware that it's the Earth? Is your neighbor even aware that he is a human being? Or are you reading this now perhaps the only one in the universe who is actually self-aware?

Indeed most people would agree that humans are much more self-aware than rocks or rivers or blades of grass. However, this perception stems primarily from intuition. Perhaps a basic rationale does exist, as neither rocks nor rivers nor grass blades have brains as part of their anatomical structure, and through various scientific experiments, we certainly can reason that the brain plays a key part in the thinking process for humans. Still, this is no more than an inductive line of thought, and there is no way we can prove in this manner that pebbles aren't thinking and judging us as we speak. As odd and counter-intuitive the notion of rocks thinking may seem, the point here lies in the fact that without deductive reasoning, we can't logically dispel this possibility. We cannot logically prove that a rhododendron, for example, is not aware that it is a rhododendron simply because we can never experience what it is like to be a rhododendron. Sure, we can imagine blooming up from the ground or sapping up sunlight for food or being sniffed by passersby, but we can never truly state what that experience feels like to the rhododendron itself. As far as concrete evidence is concerned, every plant may well be quite aware of its own existence, whether we like it or not. However, what we can do is legitimately reason that the chances of this are slim. Now, it may seem awfully silly to attempt to prove that rocks can't think, but the reason for presenting this argument brings us back to our original quest for understanding awareness. With a fuller understanding of the properties of awareness on the most fundamental level, we can bring ourselves closer to an understanding of conscious reality.

As stated earlier, it is impossible for one of us to occupy the existence of two independent entities in space. I cannot be a man and a flower at the same time; neither can I alternate between existing as each. However, it is possible to occupy the existence of two independent entities in time. Namely, you occupy your body and mind right now, yet you occupied a different mind and body ten years ago. Surely, at least to my knowledge, I am much more self-aware than I was ten years ago. Ten years ago I did not know that every piece of matter in the observable universe, including me, was made up of elementary particles, whose very existence is often completely unpredictable. I was just me, and these thoughts seldom crossed my mind. A few years ago, however, I began a slightly more driven search for self, and though I am of course far from reaching my destination, I can at least hope that I am slightly closer to it than I was ten years ago. In other words, I am slightly more aware now of my own existence and place in the cosmos than I was in the past. Likely, you as well are slightly more self-aware than you were in the past (even if you felt more aware of yourself ten years ago, the idea is that you have still gotten a taste of two differing levels of awareness). The proof lies in your memories. You actually experienced being less self-aware and you actually experienced being more self-aware. Therefore, without any scientific experiments or measurements of brain activity, you have proof than one entity can in fact be more aware than another!

This brings us back to pebbles. Are pebbles aware of their existence or not, and how can we rationalize one way or the other? From the above argument, we have proved, or at least reasoned that different levels of awareness certainly exist within reality. Therefore it makes sense to assume that if different entities in time can possess different levels of awareness, then different entities in space probably can as well (even Einstein proved that time and space are inseparable). So, it is overwhelmingly likely that certain entities in this universe are very aware, and that some are not aware at all.

As of yet we have simply illuminated the idea that self-awareness exists in different varieties, but we have not examined its true nature. This topic, because of its deep intricacy, deserves many pages on its own, and therefore I shall not discuss it presently in detail, but rather return to it on a later occasion. However, I ought to mention one of its more intriguing perplexities. If consciousness is simply an evolutionary effect, which has arisen solely because of chance and long periods of time (though continues to reproduce itself as time goes by), then it should follow that with the right technologies and patience, it should be possible to hypothetically "build" a conscious being. For example, let's say that scientists decide to assemble a conscious creature one atom at a time. If consciousness indeed stems from the interactions between neurons and electrical signals within the body, then there should logically be some exact, measurable and detectable point at which the scientists' creation becomes conscious; there would have to exist some specific nth atom, without which the "being" would not be self-aware, yet with which the creature would suddenly be able to recognize its own existence. Whether or not this is true, it seems incredibly exceptional that whole existence of consciousness could be governed by an arbitrary number of atoms in an arbitrary arrangement.

A second conclusion, though, could be that consciousness slowly grows as the entity is constructed; as atoms are added to the creation, it sluggishly but surely becomes more aware of itself. In this case, it would follow that the consciousness would slowly decrease as well if the entity were to be deconstructed one atom at a time. As it became less and less conscious and aware, it would either reach another arbitrary point in which its consciousness suddenly evaporated, or else its level of consciousness would constantly approach zero, but never in fact reach it. If true, the latter scenario would imply that each individual atom actually embodied a miniscule portion of the creature's total consciousness, and thereby that each individual atom in our universe actually embodied a tiny bit of consciousness.

Again, though both of these conclusions seem "far-out," so-to-speak, and they are likely not the only conclusions that could be drawn from this "build-a-human" thought experiment, the point is simply to show that both consciousness and awareness are quite complex abstractions whose true nature is far from being well understood. However, I believe it is reasonable to assume that, according to either of the above possibilities, awareness is certainly strongly related to the complexity of the interactions among the fundamental constituents of each entity being examined. In other words, the more complex an entity, the more likely it is to be self-aware. Thus, we can rationally justify that though we as humans are self-aware, it is highly probable that many of the simpler entities in the universe are not as self-aware as are we.

Our universe therefore teems with various levels of consciousness and of awareness, and we as humans are lucky to be among the few types of entities complex enough to realize it.

A Peculiar Application Of Dreams

Assumptions:
Lucid dreaming is an art that can be improved with practice and discipline.
Remembering dreams is an art that can be improved with practice as well.

Sleep and dreams have always been among the most spiritual, yet enigmatic subjects studied by humankind, and they have fascinated us since ancient ages. Although throughout history we have performed numerous experiments and suggested countless hypotheses in an effort to debunk the true nature of sleep, the fundamental aspects that give sleep its distinguishing mysteriousness have yet to be understood. However, from what we do know, much can still be accomplished, sans a complete and ultimate understanding. As inductive as this may seem (inductivism is technically not a basis for creating new knowledge, according to Karl Popper), it can perhaps serve as a link to powerful applications.

Though the notion of dreams and sleep has always captivated humanity, it has done so due primarily to our incredibly curious nature. Seldom do we ever consider the practical implications of dreams and the like. The hypothesis at the end of this argument may seem a touch "bizarre," even "far out" if you like, but I promise that even though it is based on certain assumptions, from thereon after each step and conclusion is logically derived.

The dreams that we experience in our nightly lives often involve simple problems, such as being chased by a villain or perhaps trying to discern why we are the only one taking our science exam without any clothes on. While these scenarios may seem inane or even ridiculous, the whole point herein lies in the fact that in a certain sense we can find simple solutions while still in "the dream world." The "solution" to being chased could be to run away and the "solution" to why you're naked in class may be that you forgot to put any clothes on in the morning (the dream morning, of course). As simplistic as the solutions to these problems may seem, the amazing fact lies in that we can in fact solve problems in our dreams! True, we may not always be able to choose which problems we solve in our dreams, but we can in fact solve them.

One way to sneak our way around this particular flaw of not being able to choose lies in the practice of lucid dreaming. For some at least, it is possible to develop the ability to control the act of dreaming. True, it is difficult work, but in many cases it is surely possible to be aware and in full control while dreaming. Therefore, it logically flows that it ought to be possible to choose which problems we attempt to solve while asleep. These problems could hence range from something as simple as counting your fingers to a complex math problem to a grand philosophical mystery.

If this practice is hypothetically plausible, its implications would be absolutely remarkable. Ergo, if the average person sleeps 8 hours per night, and perfects the ability to control the act of problem-solving while dreaming, then theoretically that person could increase his or her conscious lifespan by fifty percent. Great feats could theoretically be accomplished, and great mysteries could be solved. Whether or not this discipline would provide the dreamer with a good night sleep, however, has yet to be determined.

On The Need To Belong: Part IV

Assumptions:
There is much pleasure in feeling proud.

I apologize now, if my criticisms of society have seemed too harsh. I must remind the reader that this is not a doctrine calling for drastic change or one that is directly attacking the underlying fundamentals of society. Instead it is simply meant to be taken as a consideration. If the reader can pull just one thought-provoking idea from these writings, then I will have completed my goal. Obviously, it would be impractical and nearly impossible for everyone to stop using "we" or "us" in conversation, and even I admit that this is nonsense. However, this is meant to serve as a theoretical ideal. If my assertions are at least somewhat sensible, then one would agree that the an ambition for world I have represented, not necessarily free from subjective thought, should be an immense emphasis on objective reasoning (much more so than it is emphasized today). It is something we as humans ought to strive for, but one that we can never reach. Although this may sound a bit paradoxical, as mentioned before in the opening words of this blog, just because we cannot reach our destination does not mean that we cannot keep getting closer.

Amazing is the feeling of pride, yet terrifying in one's recognition of it. In an enormous crowd of peers, trapped together in a great hall and listening intently to a powerful speech, it becomes easy and feels so natural to cheer with them. So fluidly does our mind regress into the notion that only the people immediately surrounding us exist, and so quickly do we forget that there are so many others beyond those four encompassing walls. The feeling that arises when placed within a group exhilarates the soul so powerfully and bites into the essence that comprises our instinct. And we give in, because the sensation drugs us, we are lured by its siren-like call. It is ironic how heartily we emphasize our individuality, but then clump ourselves together and throw it away! Pride corrupts the mind and we follow it. But alas, our only hope is to recognize this and fight against it. If we continue to pride ourselves by labels, culture, nationalities, or the like, then even though we may unite with those who share our labels, we may end up falling apart as a human race. But again, this is not meant to be pessimistic! This discussion simply exists to serve as a warning and perhaps to help guide us in the right direction.

On The Need To Belong: Part III

Regarding the topic of "us vs. them," we have arrived at the fact that almost every time one uses the pronoun "us" rather than "I" instead, that person necessarily differentiates him/herself and those similar from the rest of the world, or even the rest of the universe. Of course, I have been constantly using "we" to describe some group of individuals, those who I am describing in this blog. I suppose "we" could refer to all human beings, or it could mean all who read this. I, in fact, do not know exactly to whom "we" refers, but I would like to think that it applies at least to all human beings. However, so long as humans are not alone in the universe as sentient creatures, it is likely that all beings capable of thought, consciousness, and awareness have at some point formulated the concept of "we," and have at some point gathered themselves into groups as well. Therefore, we see that it is not only difficult to escape the use of "we" or "us" in every day conversation, but that it is also difficult to even pinpoint where we can safely and objectively define the border between "us" and "them." In the most extreme case, "us" could refer to everything in the universe. In this case, simply by definition, there can be no "them" for the universe encompasses all of reality (disregarding a few theories of cosmology, for now). Ergo, perhaps this is the most "pure" use of "us." Unfortunately, for the present purposes of this argument, it is impractical to define "us" as the entire universe. Our main concern currently, however selfish it may seem, ought to be the preservation of humanity, so that humankind may progress even further in its understanding of itself and of the universe. Ergo, if we continue to assume that division and subjective biases are "bad things," then logically this argument arrives at the point that "we" should refer to all humans. Using "we" or "us" to describe a nation, sports team, school, or culture, sadly yet implicitly erects an invisible wall that slices through the very arena of humanity.

It may seem as though so far, these writings have seemed awfully pessimistic. However, this is far from my intention. Obviously there are times when behaving in groups does not lead to all out war. For example, in the United States, state borders divide up the country, yet it is infrequent that states actually go to war with each other (except of course during the civil war). Also, surely peewee soccer teams do not overtly hate each other with passion. The inherent problem, therefore, regards the subtleties of the changing mindset that occur as a person dons a label or joins a group (they are, of course, effectively the same thing). As we mature and grow up in society, we become used to the group mindset, and we regrettably learn to judge any situation we may happen upon first from our own group's perspective. Of course, as all groups are guilty of this same practice, clearly no particular perspective prevails. But still, we continue to view the universe primarily through the lens that we have always held pressed against our eye. Nearly no one considers another's opinion without his or her own opinion constantly in mind. When we learn in high school to write argumentation essays, we are told to do much research about the opposing side, so that we can write an objective paper. Ironically though, the purpose of gathering data from the opposing side is not to expose the truths or good ideas of the other side, but rather to poke holes in the other side's arguments, to find flaws in their reasoning. As humans, we are unique (among animals, at least) in our ability to simulate a situation from a perspective other than our own, to view it pretending to wear someone else's shoes. It is utterly sad, then, that so many of us hide away that ability in exchange for the incredible high we get in trying to prove our own opinions as right.

On The Need To Belong: Part II

Assumptions:
Many people are eager to label themselves and their beliefs.
Our goal as a species is to survive.

Let us now return to the question of why, rather than how, we as humans are so compelled to organize ourselves in groups. Sometimes the protection given by the group is neither obvious nor direct. However, what we may not realize is that we are constantly allying ourselves with others, whether they are present or not. Each time a person dons a label, such as Republican, Democrat, Christian, Jew, American, Swede, Intellectual, Passive-aggressive, or anything of the type, that person associates him or herself immediately with others who bear the same title. Therefore, it is truly unfortunate that we are so often pushed in society to "take a stand," "have strong opinions," "pick a side," "fight for what you believe in," etc. We thus ill-fatedly result in assuming labels that only partly encompass our actual beliefs (whether they are concrete or not). By branding ourselves with the insignia of groups, we inherently associate each of our own beliefs with the "package" of beliefs dictated by the group. Why must every presidential candidate with a reasonable chance of success represent a political party? Anyone who calls him or herself a moderate is scorned by others as indecisive, or as not having strong enough opinions, even if that person has strived to take only the good from each "side." Surely not everyone who bears the title "Republican" is a fanatic religious zealot, and surely not everyone who bears the title "Democrat" likens him or herself to a "communist pig-dog."

Yet, as we age and mature with bias implanted in our neurons, we separate ourselves from others, and group ourselves accordingly. We nearly always slip down into the categories of "us" and "them." Every moment that we associate ourselves with a group of people or a "type" of person, each of our "I"'s becomes an "us." Unfortunately, and here is the key point of the whole argument, every time an "us" comes into existence, a "them" is implicit. By unifying ourselves based on ideas, interests, and beliefs, we immediately separate ourselves from those who do not share those ideas, interests, and beliefs. As cliché as this may sound, this is how wars start, albeit indirectly. The old saying "united we stand, divided we fall" carries much reason. When a school unites, or when a country unites, it is able to stand strongly and firmly for what it "believes in." However, as soon as one group of people (so long as it is not all people on Earth), label themselves as "united," they build a wall between themselves and all the others. If anything, if we are to survive as a species, then our species must unite, not separate ourselves into countries, religious groups, cultures, or even peewee soccer teams.

On The Need To Belong: Part I

Assumptions:
Most humans feel an innate need to group themselves.
One of the goals of society is progress.
Certain statements can be closer to the truth than others.
Truth is important.

One of the most unfortunate, yet inherent human desires is the need to belong. Throughout all of human history, people have sought to become part of a group, have sought to fit in with others. The "blame," of course, rests on no one's shoulders in particular, for it is no more than instinct and evolution at their finest. However, even though all animals succumb often to the will of their instincts, we as humans have the ability to recognize this fundamental part of our nature (whether we as humans can uniquely recognize this is a subject for later debate), and we have the ability to act on it. We as a species on earth are in fact self-aware. We as a species are no longer bound by instinct in our behavior. We can consciously take almost any of our "animal-like" instinct and reverse it. Yet, undeniably there exist certain instincts upon which we almost always fall back. One of these instincts is the need to belong. I am of course a human being, and therefore no exception at all. I constantly feel the pull towards groups of people, as most others probably do as well. In fact, I have not yet even mentioned why something so natural ought not be such the important part of our existence as it is today, and truthfully, it is hard to at first imagine why anyone might have such qualms with this issue. Although this is a key factor in the present argument, I shall discuss it later.

First, we must ask ourselves why. No rational progress can ever be made without first understanding the fundamental "why" behind the behavior. Why do we sit with friends at lunch? Why do we join sports teams from such an early age? Why do so many people have their nation's flag waving in their front yard? The answer is in no way obvious. Dawkins would say that we evolved this way, that our species slowly changed in a way such that those genes for congregating in groups managed to survive through the course of history, while those for solitude withered away. More specifically, those individuals that lived in groups gained protection from said groups, and therefore survived, whereas those that roamed alone were more easily done away with by environmental influences.

In a more societal context, the protection idea boils down to the fact that people enjoy being supported ideologically by their peers much more than they enjoy being regarded as nonsensical outsiders. We humans thrive on others agreeing with our viewpoints and our notions. That is the reason why we gather around with our likenesses at political rallies and why we memorize chants to scream at our favorite (or least favorite) sports teams. As soon as we have others on our "side," it becomes much easier to face our "enemies" or to laugh sans guilt or shame at rival sports teams. Quite rarely does anyone want to be the sole supporter of an idea or team or country when the opposition carries 10,000 supporters. When we are protected by others, the chance of being the first to be knocked down in battle dramatically decreases. This is evolutionary. However, as the technological era has progressed (especially due to the advent of modern medicine), we humans have managed to stave off evolutionary advancement.

The unfortunate aspect of all of this lies in the very essence of our need to have our ideas agreed upon by others. Nearly every paper written, speech given, or editorial published is created for a solitary purpose. Each one of these forms of expression carries with it the goal of convincing the reader or listener to agree with the author or speaker regarding whatever subject matter is being presented. We (myself included) receive such an incredible high from being "right" and such an incredible low from being "wrong," or at least from perceiving that we are right or wrong. This in itself may be the hardest aspect of human nature to overcome if we are to transcend our instinctual, evolutionary qualities. The goal of any conversation ought not to be to pick one side and burn down the other, but rather to measure each side objectively and perhaps arrive at a slightly more valid truth.

We learn in school (at least these days) to be as objective as possible. However, we also learn how to pose a convincing argument, by taking objective truths and exploiting them as tools to propogate certain opinions. Herein lies an extraordinary, yet almost perpetually overlooked contradiction! On the one hand, we are expected to use real and reliable facts, but on the other hand we are simultaneously expected to use them to convey personal opinions instead. All too often do we search and study only the "pros" of one "side" and only the "cons" of the other. Whether or not each fact in an argument is true means almost nothing if they are used in such a subjective way. The purpose of argument ought to be to expose truth, whether or not the writer agrees with his own statements (for if his findings are indeed proven true, he shall come to accept it). The debate over whether or not there can exist absolute truth is irrelevant at this point and will be dealt with later. Any conversation, though, which does not bring its creators closer to truth, has no impact on either society, intelligence, or the universe as a whole.

On Logic

Much of this blog is based on logic and rationale. As of now, I am going to assume that this is a fair method of argument, perhaps the most pure that we know of today. Of course, even things such as simple logic may one day be disproved. Even something as simple as an "if, then" clause may indeed be false, no matter how intuitive it seems. Logic, of course, has allowed us to derive the entire study of mathematics as well as all of its emergent counterparts. And we do have much reason to put faith in logic, for when we build bridges that are mathematically designed, they stay up, and with enough calculations, we can even predict the motion of the stars. Logic as of now has yet to fail us (disregarding quantum mechanics, perhaps?). However, as pure and golden as logic may seem, we can never truly prove that it will always hold. Hopefully though, for the time being, I can reasonably assume that logic is a good basis for argument. Again, if anyone disagrees with this, then he or she is more than welcome to disagree with anything else I may have to say, and the disagreement will be reasonable. I will try my best to, at the beginning of each entry that presents an argument, note all of the assumptions I am using, such that with hope any disagreements with my conclusions can be traced back to disagreements with my initial assumptions.
With those words of caution, let us proceed!

The Untitled Church

The name of this blog is Untitled Church, mostly for lack of a better one. However, this name does in fact carry with it certain implications. Foremost, it is far from a church, and I am hesitant to even call it a school of thought. The following is instead a collection of ideas meant not to serve as any sort of doctrine, but rather to simply present themselves for consideration. Many of the ideas and goals presented from here on out are obviously unreachable. That is without question. However, just because you can never build a ladder that reaches the stars does not mean that you can't keep getting closer one rung at a time. The goals presented often represent ideals, truly existent only in a utopia. But naturally, by definition, a utopia is unreachable by the hands of humankind. (In a way, this is amazing, for if perfection were attainable, by the time we reached it, purpose would have run out, and we would be left with nothing more for which to strive.) Of course, I have just implied that the ideals outlined in this blog represent perfection. To say that would go against most of what this whole scripture is about. A significant part of this also deals with objectivity, so I would in no way like to imply that the following ideas are indeed pure or correct. Instead, as I have previously mentioned, they are to be considered, at least. Perhaps they will seem original and thought-provoking, and perhaps they will seem timeworn and drab. It is up to you to decide. Moreover, if at anytime you find yourself at odds with the words on this blog, I warmly accept your disagreement, so long as it is logical and respectful. If this does occur, please email me, for I would love to hear the ideas of others, as that is one of the most fundamental tenets of the nature of discovery and of progress.

That being said, let us begin. (Note: the organization of this blog is not at all final, for I am writing down thoughts simply in the order that they come to mind!)

- Reverend Richard K. Pang