On morally-warped anti-bullying sentiments

I strongly agree in the wrongness of bullying in any form, but I’m also frightened and saddened by the number of morally-warped anti-bullying articles on the web. I don’t think it’s bullying that is the only cause of suffering in many situations. It’s also the fault of this emerging “complete sexual liberation” culture that’s encouraging young people to think about their natural sexual attractions in specific ways, such as:

1. It defines you, it’s part of you.
2. You should tell people about it and be completely open about it.
3. You should actively pursue it; you should not feel guilty in gratifying your desires as long as you don’t hurt anyone else.
4. People who don’t support this gratification are evil; it means they don’t support you as a person.

Each of these is so morally warped, it should not be surprising that many minds naturally struggle against them, shy away from even thinking about them at all, or agree with them so strongly that, when questioned about them, their minds bubble into a boiling rage.

Think about if, instead of sexual attractions, the four points above were about the natural feeling of envy. Who would agree that any of the four things listed above are good?

I offer these corresponding corrections instead:

1. If a desire pops into your mind naturally, it is not part of you at all. You had no choice in the matter. How can it be said to define you?
2. This is really just a precursor to number 3.
3. The idea is that if you harm no one, no harm is done. This is obviously false, as you can easily harm yourself just by letting your mind linger on the wrong sorts of thoughts. After all, a feeling of despair and self-doubt doesn’t directly hurt anyone else, does it? But who argues that that is OK? The next question is: how can fulfilling your sexual desires be harmful to yourself? That’s a huge question that, if one were seriously interested, one could Google around and find answers more carefully and logically written than I have time to write. But it should not be hard to understand why letting yourself be a slave to your uncontrolable natural desires rarely leads to good things in the long run, whether sexual, social, or material in nature.
4. This is just completely illogical. Otherwise there would be no such thing as forgiveness. (Well, I guess some people don’t even really believe in that.)

There are stories out there about young people telling their loved ones about their sexual attractions and then their loved ones being accepting, “I still love you,” and that’s it. Is that it? Are there no stories of parents and children having talks on the morality of sex? Of how one doesn’t have to fear being hated even in the case of strong moral disagreements?

Society is sliding down a pretty scary slope, and it’s all the more nightmarish because so many people are closing their eyes and smiling.

On giving too much credit to literary fiction…

This struck me as a strange blog post. You might have to read the whole thing to understand my response. It says:

In my worlds, metaphors have to be consistent with the worldview of a character.

Then I wrote a story (out on submission now) where a metaphor got a little out of hand – in a cool way.

I suppose you could think about it like a piece of art that has the same color in multiple places across the composition. It’s almost like hiding a beautiful pattern in the story for the reader to find if they’d like – not letting it be the whole point, or letting it take away from the main conflict, but picking something that will play into the main conflict and allow the different parts of the story to link together. Even if a reader isn’t consciously aware of it, their subconscious probably will be on some level, allowing it to contribute to the “feel” of the story.

Um … yeah … um … how is that “literary” as opposed to “science fiction and fantasy”? (I don’t understand why the word “literary” is used to describe a separate genre of writing, as if all writing wasn’t “literary” but that’s a different issue. I don’t cringe at the word “literary” but I do cringe at it’s sometimes strange use.) All metaphors should add to the mood and tone of the story and the worldview of the characters. That’s the point of metaphors! That’s not a device borrowed from “literary fiction.” Similarly, using “extended metaphors” or motifs or recurring themes or irony or any other literary device does not mean that these devices come from “literary fiction” just because some writer doesn’t see them often in his pile of pulp sci-fi stories. The notion that use of this “literary stuff” should be surprising, or would be considered to be mainly from the realm of “literary fiction” just strikes me as rather silly.

In films, there are quite a few storytelling choices that can (and should) be utilized to help tell the story: for example, there’s the music (use of silence, use of rhythm, use of harmony and melodic themes), there’s the sound (what we hear and how loudly we hear it), there’s the cinematography (how characters and settings are positioned in a frame, how much space they take up, where they’re looking in relation to the camera, how the camera moves), there’s the editing (how and when cuts are made), there’s the color, lighting, costumes, acting choices, etc. It all adds to the clarity of the emotion the director is trying to communicate.

A writer doesn’t have so many elements to worry about, but it’s still all about (at least on its most basic level) communicating emotion. A good writer of any genre will use every element he knows to effectively communicate the emotions he’s after. (Though that effectiveness will still be subjective, of course.)

Secondly, the blogger writes:

And I’m realizing that while we may not intend to give things extra meaning, a lot of times those meanings sneak in anyway.

In a sense, yes. I think all artists naturally tend to work at least hints of their life philosophies and interests into all their artwork. But I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say that “meaning” can be added without intent. If you didn’t intend it, then it’s not meaning, at least not on your part. It might be a pattern, but it’s not meaning. That doesn’t mean that the audience can’t get meaning out of it. Just because I find meaning in a piece of art doesn’t mean that the artist put it there, consciously or subconsciously. This is because meaning doesn’t come from artwork. Meaning is inferred by the pattern-finding mind of an audience member. If we wish to communicate ideas to each other, such as directions to the nearest gas station, we must use a language we both have already established patterns for in our brains (that is, we both speak the language). You do not inject meaning into sentences; rather you order the words in a feedback loop, so that the meaning you intend to communicate is reflected in the words and order you choose. The listener can not know your intent; he has to guess it based on the words and order you chose using the pattern-knowledge he already has.

It’s really not that difficult of a concept, but most people don’t seem to think like that. Most people seem to think meaning is injected into artwork and then extracted by smart-enough audience members. But then what if people disagree on the meanings they extract? Either one of them is wrong (or both are), or the artist can be said to magically inject beauty and meaning without intending to. I don’t understand how anyone can honestly accept this notion.

Anyway, that’s a complete digression…

Let’s see, new novel, new novel. What’s it about? A guy who loses everything, but finds his soul in Canada. Alright, cooking now. And the whole book is an e-mail to his daughter who’s dead. And his name will be Norm Hull, ’cause he’s just a normal guy. But not everybody will get that. That’s just for the scholars a hundred years from now.” ~Brian on Family Guy

On complete non-objectivity in art

While most people will agree that art is subjective and that it’s OK for tastes to be somewhat different, there’s often also this underlying belief that there are certain objective standards that make certain works of art objectively greater than others. For example, an English teacher might understand how his students might have different opinions on Shakespeare’s best work. But if a student considered a Batman comic to be of greater artistic value than Hamlet, the English teacher, along with his colleagues, may consider the student to be objectively wrong in his opinion, and blame his opinion on lack of education.

I would claim, however, that the teacher in the above example is wrong, as are all who judge the student’s opinions to be inferior. I think the problem stems from how people mix their honest emotional responses to pieces of artwork with what they think about a piece’s influence and apparent complexity. That is, if something is clearly popular, acclaimed by academics and critics, or seemingly more complex, people will hold their emotional responses in less regard and form opinions based on these alternative standards.

Influence is perhaps the most obvious factor in determining an artwork’s level of “objective greatness.” If a piece of art has influenced many, clearly there must be something objectively good about it. How else could it have such influence? And the more influential a piece is considered, the more influential it seems to become, as new audiences are introduced to and become influenced by the work by the mere virtue of its being considered influential.

Complexity may also be taken into account when determining the artistic value of a work of art. There may be a natural bias towards the complex. I have not thought about this strange bias enough to have any good guess as to why it may exist. My current guess is that people assume that more complex works are the results of a greater care and thought on the creator’s part, and are therefore more naturally valuable. It’s a completely illogical bias, as audiences can never truly know how much thought went into something, and what seems complex to one person may not seem so complex to another.

I don’t mean to claim that works of art can’t or shouldn’t be judged by these standards. While I don’t think there’s any objective way to do it, I’m not sure there’s any reason or method to stop ourselves from doing it naturally. What I argue against is the natural but illogical tendency of supposing that these qualities determine (or should determine) emotional responses and the validity of the emotional responses of others.

An emotional response is a natural emotional reaction to an experience of art. To simplify, an audience member will, after experiencing the artwork, love it, like it, be indifferent to it, dislike it, or hate it. It is a bit more complicated than that, of course, because we don’t judge our experiences as a whole; we judge them in pieces and sometimes in separate factors. For example, we can enjoy the music and acting of a film, but hate its storyline. We can love a singer’s voice, but hate the song they sing. Our emotions are also biased by factors outside of our experience of art, such as: our emotional state before experiencing art, peer pressure, tastes and preferences, background knowledge of the art’s production, and even our sense of self and social status. No emotional response can be evoked only by a piece of art; no emotional response bursts into existence out of a vacuum.

My argument is that, because these emotional responses are natural, they can never be invalid. There is no such thing as fake joy or sadness. Influence and complexity do not necessarily infer more pleasing emotional responses, and they certainly don’t create them. If a Batman comic fills one with more interest and inspiration than a Shakespearean play, that interest and inspiration is not somehow lower or worse. If a pop song fills one with more joy than Beethoven’s Ninth, that joy is not somehow less valid or less real because more professors hate the pop song.

“Oh, sure,” you may say. “Of course art is subjective! But the people who love Beethoven’s Ninth are of course more educated people.” If that is your response, you have clearly not understood my points at all, and I’m not sure how better to explain them.

By this line of logic, there is also no such thing as “high art” (as I’ve argued before). There is certainly “popular art” (whether that popularity is academic, professional, commercial, etc.), but to claim such art is therefore objectively better or higher than other art, or should evoke more greater or more valid emotions, is terribly pretentious and completely illogical.

It’s natural for us to not understand what it’s like to be other people or experience the same emotions that other people claim to be experiencing. But that does not mean that they’re lying or that the emotions you know you’re feeling are more real or justified than theirs. Your opinions can never be better or more justified than anyone else’s.

“I really wanted to like it, but…”

Sometimes when I read reviews, the reviewer will say something like: “I really wanted to like this, but… blah, blah, blah.”

This phrase really annoys me. Taken at face value, it seems like an attempt of the reviewer to place the ultimate blame for his disliking on the creators. After all, how can it be the reviewer’s fault if he wanted or tried to like it? What more could be asked of an audience member?

I would ask audience members to be not so self-conscious of whether or not they like something; just let the artwork affect you in whatever way it will, and you’ll find whether or not you like it by the end without even having to think about it.

You don’t get any credit for wanting to like something. Of course you wanted to like it; finding some kind of pleasure in the experience of art is the reason we put ourselves in the position to experience it in the first place. But one should always realize that the possibility of disliking something is there and beyond one’s control. You can’t predict how certain pieces of art will affect you; that’s one of the really fun things about experiencing it.

Ideally, one shouldn’t go in expecting to like something. That way, one won’t be disappointed with the occassional but inevitable disliking. Of course, this is easier said than done; there’s always some reason we’re interested in a particular piece of art; there’s always some quality about it we think we have a good possibility of liking. But we can and should still manage our expectations realistically, realizing that they won’t always be fulfilled exactly as we naturally daydream them to be. (Mentioning this reminds me of my older post about goals.)

When you dislike something, the fault is yours and the creator’s. That’s OK. You don’t have to be ashamed of that. You don’t have to make excuses about how you “tried” to like it. Everyone has different tastes and backgrounds they bring to the experiences they have, and while some would like to think of their tastes as being better or more sophisticated or more real than someone else’s, there really is no basis for thinking such things. We can claim another person’s tastes are immoral if there’s something someone else likes that we think they shouldn’t on moral grounds, but this has nothing to do with sophistication or intellect (as we tend to assume it does because of observed behavorial correlations, but that’s another matter). There’s also the possibility that you won’t like something because you’re not experienced enough with the piece’s background, or what material it references, or what historical influence it had. Some academic snobs might look down on your opinions for your “misunderstandings” of such great works of genius and claim that your low opinions of the piece are invalid because you are dumb, but they’re wrong. Yes, your ignorance (and your past experiences) will affect how you respond to a piece, but how does that make your natural emotional reaction any less valid? The validity of your liking or disliking does not get to be decided by a show of hands or a scholar’s analysis. How much your liking or disliking might predict someone else’s future emotional reaction can certainly be debated (such as: “Oh, I disagree with Roger Ebert 70% of the time, so I’m not worried that he didn’t like this film I want to see…”), but not your opinion’s validity. It’s not as if your emotional reaction is somehow faked by your ignorance.

Finally, how do you actively “try” or “want” to like something while experiencing it anyway? Do you consciously ignore stuff you don’t like in hopes you won’t notice them anymore? Do you think of pretty ponies prancing through the praries in your head? Do you eat loads of candy hoping to trick yourself into thinking that the joy of devouring sugar is actually from the art you wish to like?

My main point is this: you can’t control your emotional reactions to works of art, and should therefore not be ashamed of liking or disliking something. It may be informative for you to think about what specifically you didn’t like and what you think would’ve made something better. But you never need to try to justify your response. Such justifications will be invalid anyway; nothing justifies your response other than the fact that it was truly your response. Your desire to like something is irrelevant, and it’s silly (if not just plain stupid) to mention it.

Thanks for reading this post; I hope you liked it, or at least tried to…

It’s A Religiously Misguided Life : On the worth of life

Re-watching the old film It’s A Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve, the classic ending really bothers me.  An angel, sent by God, helps a man change his mind about committing suicide by showing him what life would be like for his loved ones if he had never been born.  The key to the plot is that life turns out to be bad for them, and some people are even dead.  What if life had been better for them?  What if his wife had married some other man, had had different kids, and had been just as happy?  Would that have justified George Bailey’s suicide?  That is, how do we value the worth of a man’s life?  It’s A Wonderful Life does it by showing what effect that life has on other lives.  I suppose it works in the dramatic sense — it makes for a good and touching story with a good and touching closing scene.  But it doesn’t really espouse an honest message.  Instead it encourages a sort of “if-it-weren’t-for-me” sense of self-worth, which I think risks being more warped and prideful than honest.

When we ask “what is the worth of a man’s life?” it’s really an incomplete question, because worth is not an objective value.  What is a man’s life worth to whom?  To another man?  To himself?  To God?

The great thing about the worth of a man’s life to God is that it never changes.  There’s nothing you can do to make God think less of you.  He created you and knows you too completely.  The bad thing about the worth of a man’s life to God is that it’s hard to detect.  It’s not apparent.  God doesn’t tuck you into bed at night or give you flowers or shower you with love songs.  And while we might still feel God’s love in some ways, we can never feel it completely, and it’s easy to forget about it and/or doubt it exists at all.  And even if we do believe it, we can’t understand it.  It’s hard and unnatural for us to value others in some unchanging way like that.  It may be a comforting thought to know our worth to God is more than we can understand, but we can’t relate to it.  So someone like Hitler had worth to God?!  A man who murdered millions and millions of people?  Yes.  That is not to say that actions don’t matter, but they don’t matter to God’s sense of your worth.  Hitler, and any wicked man you can think of, is worth just as much to God as you are.  Can’t accept that?  Join the majority of humans.

This concept is completely ignored in the It’s A Wonderful Life ending.  Instead, George Bailey is encouraged to change his sense of self-worth by being frightened by the conveniently poor circumstances of his community had he not been born.  In the real world, that just might not work.  Without you being born, the world might very well be much the same, if not better.  If that’s where you’re getting your sense of self-worth, of course you will have problems.

The angel in the movie, Clarence, leaves George with this quote: “Dear George, remember: no man is a failure who has friends.”  It reminds me of another quote from The Muppet Christmas Carol that the reformed Scrooge sings in his final song: “If you want to know the measure of a man, you simply count his friends.”  I don’t like these quotes; they’re placing more emphasis on the value of friendship than the value of being a good person, as if having friends somehow makes you a good person.  If you’re a good person, it doesn’t matter how many friends you have.  Certainly it’s nice to have them and it’s good to be thankful for them, but they should not be sought out for the sake of themselves.  Friends are not a vital recipe to life.  A man should be honest and virtuous first.  If being honest and virtuous costs him friendship, so be it.  A moral man with no friends is better than a wicked man with many friends.  I suppose the problem is that it’s natural for a man to get a sense of self-worth by trying to see himself through the eyes of others, and the more friends he has, the better he feels about himself.  I think that is very misguided.  It would be better if Clarence had written: “Dear George, remember: no man is a failure who follows the way of the Lord” or “Dear George, remember: no man is a failure who trusts in God” — maybe those are a bit more cheesy, but they’re much more truthful, which Clarence, being an angel, should know.

What George Bailey really needed was not a change in his sense of self-worth.  He needed to be reminded of his priorities.  He got way too emotional about money, and the awful consequences of not having enough (like going to jail).  He needed to be reminded of how important his friends and family were to him.  His problems had nothing to do with him being born or not.  And that’s what made the alternate reality effective; the absence of his loved ones as he knew them, not the remembrance of the virtuous deeds of his past.  That’s just messy screenwriting.

Merry Christmas!

Science… and that other thing

(I actually typed this up a few years ago and never posted it for some reason.  I’m not sure I remember my original frame of mind, but I think I still agree with everything I wrote.  I edited it a bit and am posting it now, even though I guess it may seem a bit random.  I found it today while backing up files in safe mode, fearing a hard-drive failure.  But that’s another story.)

This is a huge philosophical topic that there are probably mountains of books about, probably with much more to say and better writing than I provide below, but here are some of my brief thoughts on the matter.

I write about this because I recently heard someone who is semi-religious express doubt in their future church-going habits due to the wonders of science.  It’s probably a laughable thought to most people, theist or not, but even an atheism’s “faith in science” sometimes confuses me, as if he thinks science naturally trumps religion, or that science is as logical as 2+2=4 (as if math=science).

That is, sometimes it seems like people talk about “science” without really considering what it is.  Science really only explains phenomena as much as we can infer cause-and-effect relationships from repeated experiments.  It is still very easy to infer the wrong thing with an incompletely or poorly designed experiment.  Scientific knowledge still depends on one making a choice as to whether or not to take certain experimental results as evidence of a certain inferred relationship.  Simply put, all cause-and-effect relationships are inferred.  That is, all scientific explanations are based on inductive reasoning.  That is, we plan to do something, and we guess what will happen.  Then we do it, and observe what happens.  Then we change variables, and see what happens.  Etc.  We keep doing this over and over.  We predict, experiment, observe, and attempt to explain these observations based on what we’ve learned to make another prediction.  That’s all.

In schools, I think it can be easy to get the wrong notion of science because students spend more time studying the conclusions rather than how those conclusions were decided upon.  Science is not just about pulling conclusions out of the air based only on observations, but nor is it as infallible as a math equation; it still depends on human choices and decisions, and, when there are conflicts, faith.  Of course, it would be impractical to study the history and processes of all experiments, and many things we can intuitively understand anyway, like the effects of gravity and friction.  That is, doing labs every week to learn simple physics equations is a huge waste of time, which is probably why my high school AP Physics teacher, who thought differently, isn’t teaching anymore.  (On another side note, to include creationism in a lesson on evolution is illogical; I’m surprised that certain humans are so dumb as to consider it necessary even to appease certain others.  That said, I’m also annoyed that so many humans don’t even seem to understand what theories of evolution actually state, as if “God didn’t create humans” is one of their principles.)

There are many things we can’t conduct experiments on.  For example, our planet’s temperature.  We can’t make observations about whether or not it’s mostly humans that are causing global warming (if that warming is even considered significant) because we only have one globe and very little data about how temperature fluctuated on the planet before we could measure it.  Or even the question of what will determine whether or not a photon will pass through or be reflected by a beam splitter, or all the other things quantum physicists end up having to use probability for.  We don’t know of (perhaps because we can’t detect or measure) any physical variables that predictably change the outcomes of these quantum experiments.

There are moral statements like: “murder is wrong.”  How do you do an experiment to determine whether or not murder is wrong?  And, just because you can’t do an experiment to answer the question, does that mean you can’t know?  Or what about: “an experiment we don’t know how to do will work.”  The only way to know is to do that experiment.  Or even: “science is right.”  You can’t do an experiment for that.  Science itself can’t even be right or wrong in the first place; science provides the system for which we can draw conclusions that can be right or wrong.  Science, in and of itself, doesn’t do anything.

So, in a way, science and religion are certainly two different things; one is about explaining what will happen when we do certain things, which we use to learn how to do things we want to do (like make a TV); the other is about explaining how and why we are alive and conscious in the first place, and what we should mentally and physically do or not do (like not murdering each other).  If anything, religion, when regarded as a search for and consideration of truth in general, incorporates everything else, including science.  That’s not to say that they can’t be at odds with each other.  They can’t be in general (they need a specific context), but they can be when a human is wrong about one or the other (and it’s much easier to be noticeably wrong about religion, which is why science has the better reputation).  To reject religion in general because certain scientific experiments have allowed us to accurately predict how certain physical phenomena will happen when we do certain things (like make a TV) is illogical.

You can say that religion and science are compatible, but I think that makes the relationship seem too divided, as if they’re mutually exclusive entities, as if they’re friends holding hands.  Rather, I think they’re compatible like a car (religion) is compatible with an air conditioning system.  You don’t really need an air conditioning system, but it certainly feels better to have one, and it will be in your human nature to want one.  But without the rest of the car, you’re not really going anywhere.  (Well, maybe Hell.)

On same-sex marriage

This is a semi-response to this post, but it’s more of a general response to the overall issue, at least in regards to my limited social experiences in relation to it.

I normally wouldn’t blog about this sort of thing, not least of all because not very many people are interested in reading it (it falls in the religion and politics arena, where emotions run high and people often flee for the sake of their sanity), but the growing social dichotomy of this issue (especially with the growing Hollywood trend of romanticizing it in film and TV shows) has been rather relentless lately, and I often get annoyed with both sides of discussion (if such a tepid term for implying disagreement can be allowed) for not framing the issue properly, or for beginning their arguments on completely polar premises and then not understanding why things fail to progress from there. As can be guessed from the title of this post, I speak of same-sex marriage.

From the point of view of one who supports same-sex marriage, perhaps even one who wants to partake in it or knows someone who does, it is Civil Rights issue, marriage being the right. One who denies them the right is at best morally naive or misguided, at worst an evil prejudiced bigot. (And if I do not represent this point of view properly, feel free to let me know in a civil manner.)

From the point of view of one who does not support same-sex marriage, it’s not truly even a question of “support.” It’s a question of meaning, and not merely a semantic meaning (how marriage is defined in words), but spiritual religious meaning. That is, marriage is believed to be a spiritual union before God for the purposes of procreation and family-raising. (For more detail on the religious definition, one can look it up elsewhere on the Internet; a complete religious definition is not the point of this post, but I’m surprised not many people seem to consider it when discussing this issue, as if it’s irrelevant.) It’s not a right just as being a man or a woman is not a right (the difference between a man and a woman is not something created by men for the convienence of something like bathroom sorting; it’s a biological matter-of-fact; it’s just the way it is no matter what we may feel about it). That is, a man does not have the right to be a woman by only the simple act of wanting so (the extent of what operations can change another matter). Understanding that is not like saying: “I don’t support the right for a man to be a woman.” Understanding marriage as a right granted or denied by men in office buildings doesn’t make any sense in the first place, from this view.

It’s odd, because supporters of same-sex marriage still recognize marriage as being special in some sense, otherwise why desire it at all? But why is it special? Certainly not for the same reasons. Perhaps for completely state-given reasons, such as tax benefits? It certainly cannot mean the same thing spiritually, yet it is the wholesomeness of the spiritual meaning that the tax benefits are meant to encourage. If same-sex marriage was objectively morally OK, why would those seeking it want legal confirmation, beyond seeing their religious beliefs reflected and supported by man-made law (which everyone wants)? If morals exist on a level above human authority (making them objective), why seek only something that can only be granted by other humans? If same-sex marriage was objectively morally OK, the state shouldn’t get a say in it anyway; it could just be done. They might not be legally recognized and might not get tax benefits and such, but why should that be more important than the objective moral truth? If men do not have the right to grant or deny marriage rights to others, why desire that sort of right at all? It would be like a child saying to an adult: “You don’t get to choose whether or not to give me a cookie… now give me a cookie!” If the child truly believed it wasn’t up to the parent, he should just get the cookie himself. Or like a child claiming that he doesn’t need permission to go outside, but asking for it anyway, or asking for permission to no longer need permission.

If it is religious equality that people seek, they will never get it, no matter what the man-made law justifies. Again, it’s not a matter of bigotry or intolerance; there is just no such thing as religious equality in the sense of specific beliefs; if you believe something to be true, you cannot logically also believe an opposing belief to be true. A man cannot logically conclude that something is both true and untrue at the same time. (The word “belief” does not imply uncertainty.)

Then, and this is what bothers me the most, there are a growing number of middle-grounders, who ignore the issue completely, perhaps out of fear of being hated by their friends or celebrities they admire who do feel strongly one way or the other, or perhaps out of not wanting to think of it much out of fear of being wrong or just plain laziness or plain indifference.

Or they see a marriage granted by the state as already being too separate of a thing from religious marriage that it simply no longer matters to them what state-granted marriage allows. (Self-marriage might as well be allowed; if procreation and family-raising are not essential parts of marriage, why is a second person even required at all?) They disagree that the state-governed laws of marriage should be guided by religious doctrine, and they don’t think that’s worth defending, even though other disagreements are worth defending, such as abortion and capital punishment. But would they deny that what is objectively morally right no matter what one thinks of it is above man-made law? Man-made law should ideally be exactly the same, but allowing for religious disagreements (as all such disagreements are inherently religious, even if being argued by atheists) and the practicality of law enforcement (no Big Brother, no mind reading, no perfect human justice), they are, at best, compromises. But are they to be denied attention for that reason? (Does legality affect objective morality? Does objective morality affect legality?)

And perhaps therein lies the problem that gives rise to this dichotomy: the idea of civil marriage not being a lawful extension of religious marriage but as being an entirely separate social construct, when it is considered not about growing closer to God and procreation and family-raising, but about pairing up for the fun of it, to feel special about oneself, to get tax benefits, to be seen by others as someone who is loved by someone else in a particularly special way, etc., which has only advanced a misunderstanding of (or at least rather strong disagreements about) its purpose. (Not to imply that such disagreements are new.)

My main point is: unless people understand and approach the argument in a religious context (even if the issue at hand deals with the secular laws), arguments on the issue will either be nonsensical, or simply won’t get anywhere. (Yes, one must start with the premise that God exists. Marriage is certainly ultimately completely meaningless without the existence of an objective moral right and wrong that exists beyond the human mind.)

That said, same-sex marriage is not a sin in and of itself, just as a man not being a man is not a sin; it doesn’t make enough sense for it to be a sin or not a sin. (Not to say it may or may not be associated with sinful acts, that is another matter; but to simply say it is or isn’t sinful doesn’t make much sense.) Nor is it a matter of tolerance or intolerance. A man is not restricted from being something other than a man because of other people’s intolerance. We do not say 2+2=4 because we are intolerant of 2+2=5. When we put murderers in prison, it is not out of intolerance or bigotry.

And justifying seeing the other side as all bigots (though some certainly exist, as evidenced by the existence of hate crimes) will only make things worse. I know people can get very emotional when people disagree with them, especially about a political-religious issue like this, but disagreements don’t imply prejudice or hate or bigotry. Seeing it that way will only cloud any hope for honest discussions. But maybe that’s not what people want anyway.

Some random thoughts on mind and matter

Nothing new, I’m sure, but I do wonder…

The human brain is made of matter.  Atoms, sub-atomic particles, quarks, etc.  Perhaps we can define thought, consciousness, as a particular pattern of atomic movement.  This is not to say that thought is this particular movement, only that it emerges when such movement is present.  This would be compatible with a completely deterministic view of the world (and would also be compatible with Christianity and free will, depending on how they are understood).

This leads to some questions.  (Well, it leads to many questions, but these are the ones that come to my mind most prominently at the moment).

Firstly, can consciousness exist without physical matter?  A believer in an after life might be tempted to quickly answer yes.  But what Heavenly religious figure ever claimed that the after life would be separated from physical manifestations?  We can already claim that our consciousness isn’t merely physical; that is, it doesn’t exist just because a bunch of atoms exist.  It emerges from the particular positions and movements of many billions of atoms.  It’s like a marching band forming shapes and patterns on a football field; no individual performer creates the pattern; it is created by the collection of them, each in a certain position.  The pattern is created by their positions and movements relative to one another.  (That’s actually a strange analogy, however, since patterns and a sense of order in such assemblies actually emerge from the same thing: our consciousness.  We perceive the order.  That’s not to say that the order isn’t really there; it is.  But there’s nothing special about it relative to anything else until it’s perceived by a consciousness.)  Just as we can’t have a marching band formation without a certain number of members of a marching band, perhaps we can’t have consciousness without the necessary amount of atoms (and atoms to stimulate those atoms) existing in the proper order.

Does the nature of the physical matter matter?  If I represented each atom in the brain with a stone on an infinite concrete floor, and I represented its position in 3D space by moving stones around on a 1D line (like a Turing Machine), I could certainly represent any possible thought process (assuming determinism).  Would such a representation be just as conscious, because it was worked through with physical means?  What if I had an infinite amount of time and just thought about all the steps I would take to do so.  Could I create a new consciousness from my consciousness?  (Our consciousnesses would still be completely separate entities; I’m not claiming our conscious experiences would meld into one or anything.)  Or does it all have to be directly done with only atoms?

What if your brain existed in two places?  That is, what if there was a brain completely like yours, but on another planet.  It perceived the exact same things as you.  Assuming determinism, we can even say it would make exactly the same decisions you would, and even think exactly the same thoughts.  Would that other you be you?  I reckon so!  Different atoms, but exact same emergent property.

OK, what if it was a copy of you as you are now, but from now on would have different perceptions, different experiences.  A clone, essentially.  Now you are not the same emergent property.  But which one would you be?

What if you died, but I saved the state of your mind right before you died and recreated you.  Would that be you?  Or a new person just like you?  You might argue it would be a new person, because the atoms would all be different.  But would that really matter so much?

It’s strange, because even now, our brain is flowing; atoms are moving around, the physical manifestation of your current being is constantly changing.  Our brains need food and oxygen to continue functioning (e.g. hold your breath long enough and you’ll pass out; hold it even longer and you’ll die; the brains needs certain particles in oxygen atoms to work).

Are you the same you you were yesterday?  If not, what happened to him?

One thing that changes constantly, that we can’t function without, is memory.  But there are quite a few philosophical problems we can get when fooling around with memory.  Are you morally responsible for crimes you committed if you can’t remember them?  Would you even really be you if you forgot too many memories, or if you were implanted with new false ones?  Are memories of some sort an essential ingredient to consciousness?  In other words, is any sort of consciousness possible without memory?

If we continue being the same person even though the physical atoms in our brain change, and our memories change, why wouldn’t you be the same person if you mind had a new physical manifestation elsewhere in the universe?

Some philosophy of power in The Wise Man’s Fear…

I’m continuing to read Patrick Rothfuss’s huge novel The Wise Man’s Fear. (I’ve been an extremely slow reader this year… I usually finish one or two books a month. But this year I’ve only finished reading one in the last eight months. Terrible! But the wordcount for The Wise Man’s Fear is about a bazillion magillion frillion, so my slowness is somewhat justified.) Anyway, if you plan on reading the book and don’t want anything about it revealed to you, read no further.

There’s an interesting conversation between two characters about the nature of power on pages 380 to 382. (Chapter Fifty-six is entitled Power.) As a character says:

“There are two types of power: inherent and granted. Inherent power you possess as a part of yourself. Granted power is lent or given by other people.”

After talking a bit about them, he asks:

“Which do you think is the greater type of power?”

And he argues that granted power is greater.

Of course, it made me think: how would I answer the question? How would I talk to this man?

First, I have a problem with the premises, that there really are two types of power. I would argue that inherent and granted powers are just two sides of the same coin. Everything action you take requires both inherent and granted power. If I want to post this blog post, I must have an inherent power to know how to write, to know how communicate in a certain language. But I also must be granted the power of electricity and Internet access by other humans who chose to make such things available to me.

I suppose the question of “which is greater” is asking: “through which power can you accomplish more of you might wish to accomplish?” (Really “greater” could mean several different things, but this is, I think, the most obvious interpretation, yes?) But they depend on each other; neither is truly greater. You can’t work through a granted power without also relying on inherent power; likewise, you require granted power to exercise your inherent power.

In the book, the character makes a point that being part of nobility is a granted power, even though many people think it is inherent, as if one’s social status were in one’s blood. (A celebrity’s child? Queen of England, anyone?) But, the character argues, nobility is actually a power granted by those who agree to do what they say, probably in exchange for some sort of granted power they can use (to a lesser degree) themselves (like money or a higher social rank).

What the character does not seem to realize (or disagrees with) is that inherent power is required to use such granted power to any “great” degree. Therefore, I can not fully agree with his conclusion.

I guess I would agree with the character if he argued that granted power was the more “show-offy” power; our inherent power (or potential inherent power, at least) is much more similar to each other’s. But our granted power can vary immensely. Which leads some obsess over gaining granted power (social status, fame, fortune). But I still wouldn’t say that it’s “greater.”

Or, to get religious on you, as Jesus says in Matthew 16:26:

What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world [granted power] and forfeit his life? [inherent power]

(Though I guess if I wanted to get really religious, I could argue that all inherent power is granted by God in the first place!)

Anyway, I hope the points of the conversation will end up playing into the plot; philosophy is always more interesting (to me) when it affects character decisions. We shall see…