Actually I would, if the circumstances were right. Let me explain:
There's been a lot of hoopla about copyright law, copyright infringement, pirating, etc. One of the common arguments I hear from the other camp is that infringing copyright is the same as stealing. Now, there are several problems with this, but in this post I will focus on just one: Google Books, specifically those books which it allows you to see the full book online through their application, but doesn't allow you to download the text for offline viewing.1
Some might argue that this policy of allowing you to view the work, without letting you keep it, makes Google Books like a library. Let's go with this analogy for a bit. A library has one or more copies of a book in its possession. When you borrow a book from the library, that is one less copy of the book that they have. Books cost money, and there are lots of them, so in all probability the library has only a few copies of a single book relative to the possible number of people who would be interested in reading it.
If after borrowing a book from the library I decided not to return it, I am depriving the library of one of its relatively scare resources. Either I have cut short others people's access to the same book, or I have cost the library money because they had to buy the book again. If a significant sub-population of people did this sort of thing2, the library would at some point have to close down, and the net good for everybody would be significantly diminished.
Here's the thing, however: strong proponents of copyright law might make this argument, which I completely agree with, and then say this is exactly the same thing as what I would be doing if I found a way to download full preview copies of Google Books, and this I strongly disagree with. This analogy is either very misinformed, or very, very dishonest. Equating these two actions - stealing a book from the library and downloading a copy of a full-preview book which Google and the book's publishers don't want me to have except through the online application - only works if the person you are describing this to doesn't really understand how computers and the Internet work3. Thankfully, I am a student in the field of Computer Science, and while I am not an expert on the subject of networking, I am smarter than the average citizen/bear about how these things work.
If Google Books were a library, this is how it would operate: this library would maybe have about one copy of each book it possesses4. When you go to this library and check out a book, instead of handing you their one and only version of this book, they instantly create a copy of this book for basically nothing. Seriously. In this analogy, act of making a new copy of the book and handing you this copy is essentially the same act, and probably costs even less than it would to pay a minimum wage hourly worker for the time they went to the shelf and brought back the book5. The librarian then instructs you to destroy this copy of the book once the allotted time for viewing has passed.
Yes, you read me right. But that's not quite right, because just like it's improbable that you would actually destroy the book in this scenario, you probably wouldn't delete a pdf of the same book, either. So instead, the library makes self-destroying books. Not only this, but it's actually much harder and much more expensive to add and enforce this self-destroying feature than it is to just give the copy of the book to you! And best of all, it's almost impossible to perfect - someone like me, who in this case is an expert on bookmaking, is almost always going to be able to find a way to preserve a copy of the book6.
What's the purpose of all this, then? A library usually serves the purpose of a public good; the reason you feel wrong about stealing their books is that lots of people would be negatively affected by your actions. In contrast, these limitations do not apply to Google Books and its partner publishers. The only purpose I can perceive in their actions is the desire to control a resource7, for the purposes of making a profit from it.
Returning to the first statement in this post: if the people who owned the content were actively trying to limit access to information and eradicate certain books/ideas from the world, you had better believe I would steal a physical book. I would then make as many copies as I could, and distribute them to as many people as I could, without demanding charge. For the greater good of society.
1: I discovered this while I was looking for an online version of the New Oxford Annotated Bible. Why was I looking for this? I could tell you "intellectual curiosity," but the truth is far less noble - I have a bad habit of debating with Creationists and other Christians online.
2: In game theory, we call actors who behave like this defectors, and those who behave altruistically cooperators.
3: I'm of the opinion that at least some content holders know this, and are therefore guilty of deceiving the public. This is a well-observed consequence of ignorance - getting duped
4: OK, probably more, what with backups and other redundant copies
5: UNSUBSTANTIATED CLAIM ALERT (based on an educated guess)
6: Needless to say, this is not an admission of guilt and I am not condoning any actions which lead to copyright infringement. |:-|
7: There are of course objections you might make: "How will the authors of these works be paid if this isn't enforced?" Needless to say, I believe there are plenty of satisfactory alternatives, which I will talk about in later posts. The only people who are harmed by these are the publishers and content owners, not the authors and content creators.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Symbol 00: "Emily" by Joanna Newsom
This past summer, some good friends of mine introduced me to the music of Joanna Newsom. Her style is difficult to pin down - baroque 'n' roll, psy folk1. Her voice is something else altogether, sometimes sweet and melodious, often warbly and shrill, and in my opinion, always absolutely beautiful.2 I could tell on my first listen that I loved her music.
Unfortunately, for whatever reason it takes quite a long time for me to actually sit down and listen to something once I already know about it. Because of this, even though I knew about her for the entire summer, I did not get around to listening to "Ys" until nearly midway through October. You may recall that this is about the same time my grandmother died. Naturally, for this reason this album has taken on a completely different dimension of emotional significance to me.
I am not fond of going to "song meaning" websites because I dislike reading entries which are based entirely on the person's projection of personal significance onto a work, with little or no justification or even logical connection. There are some passages in "Emily" that move me deeply entirely for the external meanings I associate with them, but elaborating them contributes nothing to someone else's understanding of the song. Therefore, I will concentrate only on themes I think Joanna develops within the work. It would be too ambitious for me to say I know what "Emily" means. But I will say this: throughout the song, Joanna seems suggest that language is inadequate for dealing with certain experiences.3
To lay the groundwork, we might first notice the image-rich language of the song. Descriptions are in some sense clear, told in the language of physical objects and sensory impressions.
In the song, Joanna dreams that Emily, her sister who is an astrophysicist, is "skipping little stones across the surface of the water." What's of interest to me is this next bit: "Frowning at the angles where they were lost and slipped under forever." Though talking about insignificant stones, the image suggests a troubling sense of loss. In the second stanza, Emily tries to teach Joanna "the names of the stars overhead." Joanna, for her part, seems conscious of her own limited understanding of the subject, and eager to hold onto the pieces of knowledge her sister is sharing with her. ("Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December / I promised you I'd set them to verse so I'd always remember.") Another way of saying this: she turns what her sister says into a song so that she won't forget or lose it. It's seems to me that whether or not she retains everything her sister said is in question; though Emily is an expert in the subject, Joanna's versification is rather simplistic (as far as astronomical facts go, anyway.)
Faced with the contemplation of the Universe and the prospect of our eventual death, we again seem to have words: "Told take this / And eat this." The words of someone concerned with our health, who loves us, maybe, but not words which help us "come to grips with a sky that is gaping and yawning." Even more poignant, Joanna leaves us with the simplistic words of someone who struggled to remember the basic facts of astronomy, and this verse, this effort, doesn't even begin to address the issues she's just brought up, sounding childishly simple.
1: http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2006/oct/15/folk
2: To be fair, I have a real soft spot for unusual female vocals.
3: An ironic, though not uncommon, claim for a writer to make, given the medium.
Unfortunately, for whatever reason it takes quite a long time for me to actually sit down and listen to something once I already know about it. Because of this, even though I knew about her for the entire summer, I did not get around to listening to "Ys" until nearly midway through October. You may recall that this is about the same time my grandmother died. Naturally, for this reason this album has taken on a completely different dimension of emotional significance to me.
I am not fond of going to "song meaning" websites because I dislike reading entries which are based entirely on the person's projection of personal significance onto a work, with little or no justification or even logical connection. There are some passages in "Emily" that move me deeply entirely for the external meanings I associate with them, but elaborating them contributes nothing to someone else's understanding of the song. Therefore, I will concentrate only on themes I think Joanna develops within the work. It would be too ambitious for me to say I know what "Emily" means. But I will say this: throughout the song, Joanna seems suggest that language is inadequate for dealing with certain experiences.3
To lay the groundwork, we might first notice the image-rich language of the song. Descriptions are in some sense clear, told in the language of physical objects and sensory impressions.
There is a rusty light on the pines tonightWhile the objects themselves are described directly, what they mean and how things relate to each other, is much less clear. What, for example, were the Pharisees doing when they "dragged a comb through the meadow?" How would your heart "up and melt away"(warmth) from "that snow in the nightime"(chill)? Joanna has stated that everything, every bit of imagery, has some personal symbolic meaning,1 and I take that statement in good faith. However, she also seems to admit that it's not necessarily the case listeners will understand what she means from the words alone. This is much softer than the claim I've made - let's turn from the general to some specific instances.
Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow
Down into the bones of the birches
And the spires of the churches
Jutting out from the shadows
In the song, Joanna dreams that Emily, her sister who is an astrophysicist, is "skipping little stones across the surface of the water." What's of interest to me is this next bit: "Frowning at the angles where they were lost and slipped under forever." Though talking about insignificant stones, the image suggests a troubling sense of loss. In the second stanza, Emily tries to teach Joanna "the names of the stars overhead." Joanna, for her part, seems conscious of her own limited understanding of the subject, and eager to hold onto the pieces of knowledge her sister is sharing with her. ("Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December / I promised you I'd set them to verse so I'd always remember.") Another way of saying this: she turns what her sister says into a song so that she won't forget or lose it. It's seems to me that whether or not she retains everything her sister said is in question; though Emily is an expert in the subject, Joanna's versification is rather simplistic (as far as astronomical facts go, anyway.)
That the meteorite is a source of the light
And the meteor's just what we see
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee
And the meteorite's just what causes the light
And the meteor's how it's perceived
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee
This casts the reference to a century in a much darker light - this is of course the approximate amount of time we humans are expected to live. It's not "could" in the sense of a hypothetical; it's also "could" in the sense of this is what is physically possible, and not longer.
Faced with the contemplation of the Universe and the prospect of our eventual death, we again seem to have words: "Told take this / And eat this." The words of someone concerned with our health, who loves us, maybe, but not words which help us "come to grips with a sky that is gaping and yawning." Even more poignant, Joanna leaves us with the simplistic words of someone who struggled to remember the basic facts of astronomy, and this verse, this effort, doesn't even begin to address the issues she's just brought up, sounding childishly simple.
ToldI can't help when listening to this but to think of how my own words fall helpless and empty when when it comes to the hole the death of my grandmother has left in my family.
The meteorite is the source of the light
And the meteor's just what we see
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee
And the meteorite's just what causes the light
And the meteor's how it's perceived
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee
1: http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2006/oct/15/folk
2: To be fair, I have a real soft spot for unusual female vocals.
3: An ironic, though not uncommon, claim for a writer to make, given the medium.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Meta 03: Introducing "Symbol"
For anyone out there who has been reading my blog (besides myself, of course)1 one unanswered question must still bother them: what the hell is this blog about? Unfortunately, the short answer is "me." Not only is this a terrible way to get people to read my blog (for one thing, it sounds really egotistical, if not extremely boring) but it's also not entirely true, or at the very least misleading. This blog serves mostly as a platform for me to formalize my thoughts on topics which interest me, and (when I made it public) open myself to possible criticism or additional points of fact. This does very little to cohere the themes of the blog, and now I am going to make the problem worse, by adding an additional theme: Symbol
"Symbol" will consist of critiques of art, most often probably music and literature, since these are the art forms I know most about. If you recall, in a previous "Meta" post I described my use of "Symbolism" in making up my fundamental worldview as valuing the ability to make abstractions, and to use one particular abstraction - language - to communicate. It seems to me that language is not the only form of communication, that all or almost all forms of art express something, link to something, represent something or intentionally fail to be a representation.
This greatly interests me; the experiencing of a piece of artistic work, the internalizing of its use of symbols and the expression of meaning inside the mind of the audience. Earlier in my life, I had intended on becoming a fiction writer. The more I learned of the craft, however, the more I felt I was not nearly well versed enough to contribute anything meaningful to the field. There is still a story I wish to write, however, and so I am glad for the opportunity to cut my critical chops on other works of art as I learn the tools of the trade from bits of articles that I've read.
You can expect the following soon: an analysis of the song "Emily" by Joana Newsom, and the highly ambitious and controversial claim that in the "Legend of Zelda" video game series, "Majora's Mask" is a better work of interactive fiction than "Ocarina of Time."2 Maybe talking about my generation's favorite game in such an unpopular way will generate some comments for me?
1: The empty set?
2: Some of you will not be surprised to hear that I've actually gotten into shouting matches with people about this topic!
"Symbol" will consist of critiques of art, most often probably music and literature, since these are the art forms I know most about. If you recall, in a previous "Meta" post I described my use of "Symbolism" in making up my fundamental worldview as valuing the ability to make abstractions, and to use one particular abstraction - language - to communicate. It seems to me that language is not the only form of communication, that all or almost all forms of art express something, link to something, represent something or intentionally fail to be a representation.
This greatly interests me; the experiencing of a piece of artistic work, the internalizing of its use of symbols and the expression of meaning inside the mind of the audience. Earlier in my life, I had intended on becoming a fiction writer. The more I learned of the craft, however, the more I felt I was not nearly well versed enough to contribute anything meaningful to the field. There is still a story I wish to write, however, and so I am glad for the opportunity to cut my critical chops on other works of art as I learn the tools of the trade from bits of articles that I've read.
You can expect the following soon: an analysis of the song "Emily" by Joana Newsom, and the highly ambitious and controversial claim that in the "Legend of Zelda" video game series, "Majora's Mask" is a better work of interactive fiction than "Ocarina of Time."2 Maybe talking about my generation's favorite game in such an unpopular way will generate some comments for me?
1: The empty set?
2: Some of you will not be surprised to hear that I've actually gotten into shouting matches with people about this topic!
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Mental 03: The Anxiety Unto Death
On 14 October, 2012, my mother returned home from running some brief errands to find my grandmother, her mother, fallen outside. She suffered severe brain trauma; she was 90 years old. My mother did everything she thought to do - called the ambulance, stayed by her side, notified family (including me) as she rode with my grandmother in the ambulance to the hospital, etc. 2.5 traumatic days later, Beatrice Weiss passed away, never having regained consciousness, surrounded by family.
I'm not very ashamed to say it - I fear death. Most of us do. It is a final, inevitable end to our subjective experience. Many of us deal with this fear by turning to our religious beliefs - heaven, reincarnation, spirits, etc. I however can have no recourse in these beliefs - I have vowed for myself the ideal of a rationalist, evidence-based world philosophy, and so far I have been presented with no compelling evidence for any here-after. These arguments have been beaten to death, as it were, and I feel no need to get into them here. Similarly, I will not take up space justifying the nonsense question of "why do you live, then, since you don't believe in a higher power?".1
My beliefs have been a source of contention between my mother and me, and so far I am glad that we have not fought over the details in the time since my grandmother passed. But, as a humanist, interested in what the effects of something as traumatic as death has on our psyche, and always curious about the belief systems people create to contextualize themselves in the larger universe, I cannot help but speculate about the relationship between death and religion. Especially in the light of the events I mentioned, pondering humanity's relationship with death has become the next best thing to a consolation for the deaths of my loved ones and my own death.
I am of the opinion that religion serves partly as a coping mechanism for our fears of death. I have heard it speculated that, at some point in our evolutionary history, we became sufficiently cognizant to forecast our own death. The anxiety this caused must have been great. Religion, whenever it developed, came to serve, among other functions, a way of identifying our ego, our sense of self, with something eternal, thereby relieving us our fear of death, of ourselves and of others.
Whether or not this is true historically, something of it seems to be true today. A recent study implies that, when primed with thoughts of their own death, non-believers are unconsciously less certain of their own disbelief, even when they are consciously more adamant about it.2 For religious folks however, this prompting increases both conscious and unconscious conviction of their belief.
This, of course, is no evidence for any religious claims, much like the claim that "there are no atheists in fox-holes" fails to be rationally convincing. A good friend whose opinions I highly value once told me that he most resists adopting those beliefs which he is most emotionally inclined to agree with. Emotion is no substitute for reason in deciding what you believe is true.
As an atheist, what greater, lasting purpose(s) do I identify with, if any? I don't actually think it is necessary that we identify ourselves with some eternal project - religion, fame, lasting benefit to mankind - in order to deal with our anxiety about death. For myself, I take some comfort in the fact that I appear to be made of the same matter, the same cosmic star-stuff, as everything around me; that I am "the Universe, expressing itself as a human for a little while,"3 looking into and reflecting on itself. When I die, I am returning to being diffused into the whole of existence.
Contemplating death does not just make you more religious; it can also makes you more considerate of others, and more likely to engage in healthy behaviors.4 Far from devaluing life, death seems to make us find it more precious, and care about the lives of ourselves and others. This is why I found my grandmother's funeral service somewhat disturbing. My mother wrote the only work celebrating her life and her experiences - her compassion for others, loyalty to family, and yes her quirks and faults. This reading contrasts sharply to the sermon give by the pastor, the message of which seemed mostly to be that life only exists so that we prepare for death, and that Beatrice was an example to us for preparing her funeral before hand, just as she had prepared her immortal soul for the afterlife. I was reminded of why Nietzsche considered Christianity nihilistic.
Preparing for death is important, of course. My mother is already making plans to walk myself and my brother through the medical and legal procedures we will need to know when she passes away. To do otherwise is to ignore reality, something which I fear my brother may prefer (he has expressed strong reservations to learning this process). However, I see this process as a wake up call to really take control of my life, to take better care of my physical and mental self, to love and cherish those around me, to move on from a recent and somewhat painful end to a relationship and just throw myself into the things I love - programming, music, art, food, etc.
We are very brief, very small, very beautiful improbable things. Let's make the most of it together.
1: If you're interested, however, here's a start
2: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/04/120402094322.htm
3: Eckhart Tolle
4: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/04/120419102516.htm
I'm not very ashamed to say it - I fear death. Most of us do. It is a final, inevitable end to our subjective experience. Many of us deal with this fear by turning to our religious beliefs - heaven, reincarnation, spirits, etc. I however can have no recourse in these beliefs - I have vowed for myself the ideal of a rationalist, evidence-based world philosophy, and so far I have been presented with no compelling evidence for any here-after. These arguments have been beaten to death, as it were, and I feel no need to get into them here. Similarly, I will not take up space justifying the nonsense question of "why do you live, then, since you don't believe in a higher power?".1
My beliefs have been a source of contention between my mother and me, and so far I am glad that we have not fought over the details in the time since my grandmother passed. But, as a humanist, interested in what the effects of something as traumatic as death has on our psyche, and always curious about the belief systems people create to contextualize themselves in the larger universe, I cannot help but speculate about the relationship between death and religion. Especially in the light of the events I mentioned, pondering humanity's relationship with death has become the next best thing to a consolation for the deaths of my loved ones and my own death.
I am of the opinion that religion serves partly as a coping mechanism for our fears of death. I have heard it speculated that, at some point in our evolutionary history, we became sufficiently cognizant to forecast our own death. The anxiety this caused must have been great. Religion, whenever it developed, came to serve, among other functions, a way of identifying our ego, our sense of self, with something eternal, thereby relieving us our fear of death, of ourselves and of others.
Whether or not this is true historically, something of it seems to be true today. A recent study implies that, when primed with thoughts of their own death, non-believers are unconsciously less certain of their own disbelief, even when they are consciously more adamant about it.2 For religious folks however, this prompting increases both conscious and unconscious conviction of their belief.
This, of course, is no evidence for any religious claims, much like the claim that "there are no atheists in fox-holes" fails to be rationally convincing. A good friend whose opinions I highly value once told me that he most resists adopting those beliefs which he is most emotionally inclined to agree with. Emotion is no substitute for reason in deciding what you believe is true.
As an atheist, what greater, lasting purpose(s) do I identify with, if any? I don't actually think it is necessary that we identify ourselves with some eternal project - religion, fame, lasting benefit to mankind - in order to deal with our anxiety about death. For myself, I take some comfort in the fact that I appear to be made of the same matter, the same cosmic star-stuff, as everything around me; that I am "the Universe, expressing itself as a human for a little while,"3 looking into and reflecting on itself. When I die, I am returning to being diffused into the whole of existence.
Contemplating death does not just make you more religious; it can also makes you more considerate of others, and more likely to engage in healthy behaviors.4 Far from devaluing life, death seems to make us find it more precious, and care about the lives of ourselves and others. This is why I found my grandmother's funeral service somewhat disturbing. My mother wrote the only work celebrating her life and her experiences - her compassion for others, loyalty to family, and yes her quirks and faults. This reading contrasts sharply to the sermon give by the pastor, the message of which seemed mostly to be that life only exists so that we prepare for death, and that Beatrice was an example to us for preparing her funeral before hand, just as she had prepared her immortal soul for the afterlife. I was reminded of why Nietzsche considered Christianity nihilistic.
Preparing for death is important, of course. My mother is already making plans to walk myself and my brother through the medical and legal procedures we will need to know when she passes away. To do otherwise is to ignore reality, something which I fear my brother may prefer (he has expressed strong reservations to learning this process). However, I see this process as a wake up call to really take control of my life, to take better care of my physical and mental self, to love and cherish those around me, to move on from a recent and somewhat painful end to a relationship and just throw myself into the things I love - programming, music, art, food, etc.
We are very brief, very small, very beautiful improbable things. Let's make the most of it together.
1: If you're interested, however, here's a start
2: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/04/120402094322.htm
3: Eckhart Tolle
4: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/04/120419102516.htm
Monday, November 19, 2012
Meta 02: The Semantics of "Symbols for Secular Humanism"
Let me begin by discussing a phrase that's popular with my generation: When asked what they believe, people often respond, "Oh, I'm spiritual but not religious." I said this once, without really thinking much of it, to a good friend of mine to (who happens to be religious) when she asked me about my beliefs. I was quite surprised to get a response along these lines: "Chris, please don't tell me you're just another cliche!"
I was quite taken aback (and thought this was a little rude), and muttered something back in my usual, flustered1 way whenever I'm surprised. It's been a moment that's stuck with me for 2.5 years now, for a while because I thought it was a moment of uncharacteristic unpleasantness from an otherwise good friend. Lately however, as I've been thinking about this blog, I've realized that the reason I haven't forgotten this exchange is part of me thinks she's right - that is a rather cliched answer.
It's not that I think there's anything wrong with being spiritual without religion, but the problem is that this is given as an answer when it answers nothing. It's a short, accessible, and generic meme2 for a very personal question. Were I in her shoes, my current self would have asked this earlier version of me, "OK, but what do you believe?" And here is how I might respond if asked that today.
I have three isms which make up my foundational beliefs: humanism, skepticism3, and symbolism. Let's look at each of these in turn.
Humanism: in its simplest terms, this is simply a belief in the value of human life and dignity. Everything about humans fascinates me - human interactions, achievements, intelligence, love, social organizations, and even just the experience of being human. This is a highly biased position to take - I am, after all, human myself. This does not mean I approve of everything humans do - for instance, groups are often very quick to "de-humanize" other groups, and use this to justify war, violence, and genocide. I do find the psychological mechanisms by which we are able to do so fascinating, but the actions themselves, which deny the human nature of the "Other", misguided and appalling.
Skepticism: this is an attitude of doubt or caution when assembling new knowledge. This includes "strong skepticism", which is the denial that we can know anything about reality at all. While we must be able to entertain this point of view if necessary (bearing resemblance to the the position of "philosophical absurdity"), practically it is very unsatisfying and epistemologically it is a dead-end. I therefore often entertain the empirical assumption (the idea that our senses are valuable methods of discovering truth, and are sometimes correct) again because I am strongly biased for it. Taken together, this means that I try my best to make the strength of my belief in the trueness or falseness of some proposition proportionate to the evidence I have for my position.
Notice a consequence of this: I do not believe Humanism or Skepticism or Empiricism themselves to be true. I pull either Skepticism or Empiricism to truth-hood by pulling them up by their bootstraps (aka circular logic). Similarly, no amount of evidence can ever support the claims "Mustard is objectively delicious" or "Humans are objectively valuable." I can make persuasive arguments - describe the tastes of mustard and occasions for use, or argue that Humanism is a natural philosophical extension of human empathy - but these cannot be 100% logically satisfying for a consistent4 yet resistant opponent.
Symbolism: my favourite, since this is, as far as I'm aware, my own personal philosophy, and not one already established. At some point in our development, the human species gained an unprecedented ability - the ability to communicate using the abstraction of language. We developed other abstractions - logic, mathematics, scientific theory yes, but also art, literature, and music. We are creative analogy makers, over-active pattern recognizers. It is not simply that we draw truth from our senses - we are able to generalize, notice patterns, and make predictions. These abstractions let us touch the infinite, the eternal, the total. Our ability to contemplate these through the use of abstraction is transcendental, and is (bringing us back to my original answer, those years ago) the source of my spiritual feeling.
Throughout our history, we have looked to some higher power - religious, familiar, social, etc - to give our lives meaning, but it is always our own self which crafts this meaning. I believe that this ability of abstraction lead us to contemplate our own death, and the anxiety this caused prompted proto-religious feelings of identifying your own self somehow with something eternal. But I do not think this is the only response - mine, for instance, is the realization that I am just bits of the universe, expressing itself as a human for a while, and the values I hold and the meaning I give to my life are human, tempered with respect for and interest in that which I am a small part of, and filled with awe about what we know, what we do not yet know, and what we can never know.
This is how I am spiritual without religion.
1: I'm often not nearly as eloquent "live" as I am "rehearsed", like these blog posts.
2: I have a theory about memes and thoughts. Briefly, the effects of the former on the latter can be both good and bad, and this would be an example of bad.
3: So why not "Symbols for Skeptical Humanism"? I wanted to emphasize my non-religiosity and my belief that magical thinking has negative consequences. Plus, I wasn't sure if it would come across that I was skeptical of humanism, which is not what I mean.
4: It's a different matter if you present a perfectly logical syllogism, but your opponent fails to grasp the logic of your argument, or denies logic altogether. Either of these would make the individual rationally inconsistent.
5: Don't think this is the only form of communication - many mamals, like dogs, have "body language" just like us.
I was quite taken aback (and thought this was a little rude), and muttered something back in my usual, flustered1 way whenever I'm surprised. It's been a moment that's stuck with me for 2.5 years now, for a while because I thought it was a moment of uncharacteristic unpleasantness from an otherwise good friend. Lately however, as I've been thinking about this blog, I've realized that the reason I haven't forgotten this exchange is part of me thinks she's right - that is a rather cliched answer.
It's not that I think there's anything wrong with being spiritual without religion, but the problem is that this is given as an answer when it answers nothing. It's a short, accessible, and generic meme2 for a very personal question. Were I in her shoes, my current self would have asked this earlier version of me, "OK, but what do you believe?" And here is how I might respond if asked that today.
I have three isms which make up my foundational beliefs: humanism, skepticism3, and symbolism. Let's look at each of these in turn.
Humanism: in its simplest terms, this is simply a belief in the value of human life and dignity. Everything about humans fascinates me - human interactions, achievements, intelligence, love, social organizations, and even just the experience of being human. This is a highly biased position to take - I am, after all, human myself. This does not mean I approve of everything humans do - for instance, groups are often very quick to "de-humanize" other groups, and use this to justify war, violence, and genocide. I do find the psychological mechanisms by which we are able to do so fascinating, but the actions themselves, which deny the human nature of the "Other", misguided and appalling.
Skepticism: this is an attitude of doubt or caution when assembling new knowledge. This includes "strong skepticism", which is the denial that we can know anything about reality at all. While we must be able to entertain this point of view if necessary (bearing resemblance to the the position of "philosophical absurdity"), practically it is very unsatisfying and epistemologically it is a dead-end. I therefore often entertain the empirical assumption (the idea that our senses are valuable methods of discovering truth, and are sometimes correct) again because I am strongly biased for it. Taken together, this means that I try my best to make the strength of my belief in the trueness or falseness of some proposition proportionate to the evidence I have for my position.
Notice a consequence of this: I do not believe Humanism or Skepticism or Empiricism themselves to be true. I pull either Skepticism or Empiricism to truth-hood by pulling them up by their bootstraps (aka circular logic). Similarly, no amount of evidence can ever support the claims "Mustard is objectively delicious" or "Humans are objectively valuable." I can make persuasive arguments - describe the tastes of mustard and occasions for use, or argue that Humanism is a natural philosophical extension of human empathy - but these cannot be 100% logically satisfying for a consistent4 yet resistant opponent.
Symbolism: my favourite, since this is, as far as I'm aware, my own personal philosophy, and not one already established. At some point in our development, the human species gained an unprecedented ability - the ability to communicate using the abstraction of language. We developed other abstractions - logic, mathematics, scientific theory yes, but also art, literature, and music. We are creative analogy makers, over-active pattern recognizers. It is not simply that we draw truth from our senses - we are able to generalize, notice patterns, and make predictions. These abstractions let us touch the infinite, the eternal, the total. Our ability to contemplate these through the use of abstraction is transcendental, and is (bringing us back to my original answer, those years ago) the source of my spiritual feeling.
Throughout our history, we have looked to some higher power - religious, familiar, social, etc - to give our lives meaning, but it is always our own self which crafts this meaning. I believe that this ability of abstraction lead us to contemplate our own death, and the anxiety this caused prompted proto-religious feelings of identifying your own self somehow with something eternal. But I do not think this is the only response - mine, for instance, is the realization that I am just bits of the universe, expressing itself as a human for a while, and the values I hold and the meaning I give to my life are human, tempered with respect for and interest in that which I am a small part of, and filled with awe about what we know, what we do not yet know, and what we can never know.
This is how I am spiritual without religion.
1: I'm often not nearly as eloquent "live" as I am "rehearsed", like these blog posts.
2: I have a theory about memes and thoughts. Briefly, the effects of the former on the latter can be both good and bad, and this would be an example of bad.
3: So why not "Symbols for Skeptical Humanism"? I wanted to emphasize my non-religiosity and my belief that magical thinking has negative consequences. Plus, I wasn't sure if it would come across that I was skeptical of humanism, which is not what I mean.
4: It's a different matter if you present a perfectly logical syllogism, but your opponent fails to grasp the logic of your argument, or denies logic altogether. Either of these would make the individual rationally inconsistent.
5: Don't think this is the only form of communication - many mamals, like dogs, have "body language" just like us.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Mental 02: Identity, Part 02: Towards a Solution
As the title gives away, I am not ambitious enough to say I know a full solution to the problem of philosophical identity. I do hope, however, that I have laid sufficient groundwork, in identifying the problem, to point to a possible solution.
I do wish to point out one more kind of identity important for our own self-conception before proceeding: conscious identity. For instance, consider our friend S. Another copy have been made of S1. Both remember exactly what was on their minds at the time of the S-singularity, and to both it seems that was a moment ago. However, if we claim that both are consciously identical to the single-S, we get a violation of the principle of transitivity, as follows
This would be denying the sensibility of ci, and therefore hypothesis 1) and 2). The other approach would be to argue that either or both 1) and 2) were false, depending on whether S-Right or S-Left or both were constructed. If S-Right were the only one constructed, we might argue that while S-Right believes themself3 to be the same self as S-Single, that in reality S-Right's consciousness only began at the moment of construction. You could do this by arguing that conscious identity is linked to animal identity, or that a significant break of consciousness, like deconstruction/reconstruction, cannot be bridged by the ci relation.
To those whom believe the first: do you believe you are consciously identical to yourself at age 3? 5? 15? a year ago? If so, how do you define ci? (Remember that I have made a distinction between personal and conscious identity, so if you're argument relies on being the same person, you have to refute that first). To those whom believe the second: how do you qualify the "break"? Does it occur when we pass out? sleep? are knocked unconscious? How about when we shift our focus of attention?
I wrap this discussion up with two more things. First, I don't think, despite what some Eastern philosophies may hold, that identity through time doesn't make sense for people. This simply requires a highly nuanced understanding of ourselves, especially our psychology and biology, one I think we do not yet have. The identity relation we're looking for may not take the form we expect. Do you remember my "in the same room" relation? That's not at all like an identity relation we're accustomed to, yet it does satisfy our intuitive definition of what identity is.
Finally, I want to offer a tool for use while we lack (and may always lack) an exact model: fuzzy logic. Fuzzy logic is like mapping 'true' and 'false' to numbers 1 and 0, and allowing all versions of grey in between. We might re-state the requirements of identity relations like so.
For objects x,y,z and for fuzzy margins f,u,v each between 0 and 1, inclusive
1: This is the version in which S is not deconstructed, only constructed at the other end
2: I concede that working memory might be necessary for consciousness to occur at all
3: Before you get upset about my bad grammar, allow me to justify myself in a later post for this intentional decision.
I do wish to point out one more kind of identity important for our own self-conception before proceeding: conscious identity. For instance, consider our friend S. Another copy have been made of S1. Both remember exactly what was on their minds at the time of the S-singularity, and to both it seems that was a moment ago. However, if we claim that both are consciously identical to the single-S, we get a violation of the principle of transitivity, as follows
- S-Left is consciously identical (ci) to S-Single, hyp
- S-Right is ci to S-Single, hyp
- S-Left is ci to S-Right, 1,2, transitivity of c.i.
- S-Left is not ci to S-Right, since the former is aware of being on the left, and the latter of being on the right, definition of consciouness
- Contradiction, 3,4
This would be denying the sensibility of ci, and therefore hypothesis 1) and 2). The other approach would be to argue that either or both 1) and 2) were false, depending on whether S-Right or S-Left or both were constructed. If S-Right were the only one constructed, we might argue that while S-Right believes themself3 to be the same self as S-Single, that in reality S-Right's consciousness only began at the moment of construction. You could do this by arguing that conscious identity is linked to animal identity, or that a significant break of consciousness, like deconstruction/reconstruction, cannot be bridged by the ci relation.
To those whom believe the first: do you believe you are consciously identical to yourself at age 3? 5? 15? a year ago? If so, how do you define ci? (Remember that I have made a distinction between personal and conscious identity, so if you're argument relies on being the same person, you have to refute that first). To those whom believe the second: how do you qualify the "break"? Does it occur when we pass out? sleep? are knocked unconscious? How about when we shift our focus of attention?
I wrap this discussion up with two more things. First, I don't think, despite what some Eastern philosophies may hold, that identity through time doesn't make sense for people. This simply requires a highly nuanced understanding of ourselves, especially our psychology and biology, one I think we do not yet have. The identity relation we're looking for may not take the form we expect. Do you remember my "in the same room" relation? That's not at all like an identity relation we're accustomed to, yet it does satisfy our intuitive definition of what identity is.
Finally, I want to offer a tool for use while we lack (and may always lack) an exact model: fuzzy logic. Fuzzy logic is like mapping 'true' and 'false' to numbers 1 and 0, and allowing all versions of grey in between. We might re-state the requirements of identity relations like so.
For objects x,y,z and for fuzzy margins f,u,v each between 0 and 1, inclusive
- x is identical to itself, with fuzzy margin 0, (where f > 0, of course)
- If x is identical to y with fuzzy margin u, then y is identical to x with fuzzy margin u, where
f > u - If x is identical to y with fuzzy margin u, f > u, and y identical to z with fuzzy margin v,
f > v, then x is identical to z if and only if f > u + v
1: This is the version in which S is not deconstructed, only constructed at the other end
2: I concede that working memory might be necessary for consciousness to occur at all
3: Before you get upset about my bad grammar, allow me to justify myself in a later post for this intentional decision.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Mental 01: Identity, Part 01: Sounds like a Personal Problem
Consider the following scenario: you know a couple, both of whom are very kind, funny, intelligent, have many memories together, love each other, etc. Well call them A and B1. One day, a horrible tragedy occurs; they are in a car accident. B makes it out with relatively few injuries, and none of them serious, but A suffers severe brain trauma. It manifests itself quite strongly in A's personality in some way, although I am not concerned too particularly about how - A becomes vegetative, or can no longer remember anything about his past (including B), or some fundamental aspect of A's personality changes - say, A becomes terrible cruel or constantly angry, in ways never shown before. You're talking to and trying to console B, who is devastated. You hear B say: "A just isn't the same person anymore!"
What are we to make of this? There are many reasons we could argue that the A in the hospital bed shares identity with ("is identical to")2 the A prior to the car accident - sharing the same genes, being the same organism, being the same legal entity, etc. Disregarding the fact that it would be incredibly insensitive to be so coldly rational in the presence of B's grief, we would also be missing the point of what B said: pre- and post-accident A differ in fundamental ways, which are rather crucial to B's conception of the "person" A - dissimilar memories, dispositions, responses, etc.
Locke outlined three different types of identity: the physical, the animal, and the personal. In this hypothetical conversation, it seems as though there is confusion between "animal" identity - is A the same organism as before the accident (I'm thinking yes) - and "personal" identity - is A the same person as before the accident (not so sure about this one, either way).
Here's another example: consider a human test subject of the very first teleportation device, called S. The device scans the configuration of every particle3 of the subject, deconstructs the physical subject, sends the scans of the configuration to the other end of the machine, and reconstructs the individual. Imagine the subject goes through the process relatively satisfied - no experience of pain or abruptness. One moment over here, the next over there. S remembers everything those close would expect S to.
Would you use this device? Would you let someone you loved? Despite our possible reservations, we would be hard pressed to say S pre- and post-teleportation were not the same. If a close friend were not aware of the experiment, not only would they not think to questions S's S-ness, but from this scenario, no consequence of the act of teleporting could never possibly inform someone of post S's non-identity to the person of pre S. I am making a careful distinguishment. We can conceive of a phenomenally skilled imposter, R, who pretended to be S, memorized all facts about S's life, and somehow thwarted every DNA test made, etc, etc, to convince us all that R is S. But we could conceive of what it would take to recognize that R is not S - R is revealed as an imposter, willingly or otherwise, or has a memory of something S could not have, etc. There is only one thing which might call us to question post S - the teleportation - and even so the ground is not as certain as with R.
Again, a strictly physical response is unsatisfactory - whether or not post-S was re-assembled from the same particles seems immaterial4. We could argue that S is no longer shares "animal" identity, but our first example shows that, at the very least, a good argument needs to be given to couple "animal" and "personal" identity.
A final pair of examples: suppose that the teleportation machine malfunctions. No, S will be fine. In one scenario, the machine correctly scans S, and S is assembled in the other platform - all this without first deconstructing S! So who is the real S? Similarly, imagine that S is deconstructed, and reconstructed at both ends of the teleportation machine? Is this substantially different from the first case? If so, why? What if no one noticed S's initial deconstruction in the starting chamber? Then the first scenario would be nearly identical to the second, would it not?
More in a third, and final, post.
1: Notice I'm trying to avoid any assumptions about what constitutes a "normal" couple
2: In the last post, I sketched an argument for why exact physical identity is not incredibly enlightening.
3: Please ignore Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. This is philosophy, not physics
4: A really, really bad joke.
What are we to make of this? There are many reasons we could argue that the A in the hospital bed shares identity with ("is identical to")2 the A prior to the car accident - sharing the same genes, being the same organism, being the same legal entity, etc. Disregarding the fact that it would be incredibly insensitive to be so coldly rational in the presence of B's grief, we would also be missing the point of what B said: pre- and post-accident A differ in fundamental ways, which are rather crucial to B's conception of the "person" A - dissimilar memories, dispositions, responses, etc.
Locke outlined three different types of identity: the physical, the animal, and the personal. In this hypothetical conversation, it seems as though there is confusion between "animal" identity - is A the same organism as before the accident (I'm thinking yes) - and "personal" identity - is A the same person as before the accident (not so sure about this one, either way).
Here's another example: consider a human test subject of the very first teleportation device, called S. The device scans the configuration of every particle3 of the subject, deconstructs the physical subject, sends the scans of the configuration to the other end of the machine, and reconstructs the individual. Imagine the subject goes through the process relatively satisfied - no experience of pain or abruptness. One moment over here, the next over there. S remembers everything those close would expect S to.
Would you use this device? Would you let someone you loved? Despite our possible reservations, we would be hard pressed to say S pre- and post-teleportation were not the same. If a close friend were not aware of the experiment, not only would they not think to questions S's S-ness, but from this scenario, no consequence of the act of teleporting could never possibly inform someone of post S's non-identity to the person of pre S. I am making a careful distinguishment. We can conceive of a phenomenally skilled imposter, R, who pretended to be S, memorized all facts about S's life, and somehow thwarted every DNA test made, etc, etc, to convince us all that R is S. But we could conceive of what it would take to recognize that R is not S - R is revealed as an imposter, willingly or otherwise, or has a memory of something S could not have, etc. There is only one thing which might call us to question post S - the teleportation - and even so the ground is not as certain as with R.
Again, a strictly physical response is unsatisfactory - whether or not post-S was re-assembled from the same particles seems immaterial4. We could argue that S is no longer shares "animal" identity, but our first example shows that, at the very least, a good argument needs to be given to couple "animal" and "personal" identity.
A final pair of examples: suppose that the teleportation machine malfunctions. No, S will be fine. In one scenario, the machine correctly scans S, and S is assembled in the other platform - all this without first deconstructing S! So who is the real S? Similarly, imagine that S is deconstructed, and reconstructed at both ends of the teleportation machine? Is this substantially different from the first case? If so, why? What if no one noticed S's initial deconstruction in the starting chamber? Then the first scenario would be nearly identical to the second, would it not?
More in a third, and final, post.
1: Notice I'm trying to avoid any assumptions about what constitutes a "normal" couple
2: In the last post, I sketched an argument for why exact physical identity is not incredibly enlightening.
3: Please ignore Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. This is philosophy, not physics
4: A really, really bad joke.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)