Friday, March 24, 2017
How to Fix Political Discourse, in One Paragraph
Remember that your reactions to a thing are utterly unsuited to serve as an arbiter of what is absolute truth. That which inspires in you strong emotions of sympathy or righteousness may not be right. That which fills you with fear, disgust, or confusion may not be wrong. Any cause that inspires a particular feeling in you it certain to inspire the precise opposite in great numbers of people.
Sunday, February 12, 2017
Rethinking an Aspect of the Hive
In my original articulation of my weird cultural theory, I reached a conclusion which I am now reconsidering. Now, I'm sure that anyone who happens to read this blog on the reg is hoping that what I'm reconsidering is the general thrust of my weird cultural theory, but that would require meaningful counter-evidence against it, which nobody seems able to provide.
What I am reconsidering is the extent of signaling, the independence of the distractions, and the role of popular culture (see points 1.1 and 3). More specifically, I'm no longer convinced that popular culture serves solely as a distraction. I think it's highly likely that popular culture can serve both as a distraction and as a signal. I am working on a paradigm for this. My original thought was that popular culture can be split into categories of signal-culture and distraction-culture. Upon further consideration, I suspect that these exist as a continuum rather than distinct categories.
My working theory for the continuum is as follows: popular culture has two possible functions: to send signals on the behalf of the economy, and to distract people from the true nature of civilization. These functions exist on a continuum, with the most acceptably mainstream elements of popular culture being those which serve more effectively as the economy's behavioral signals. Especially vapid popular culture may at times serve very little distracting purpose, and portray civilization largely as it is, because the people among whom it is popular do not need to be distracted; they are either suited better as drones for the economy than as autonomous people, or they just don't do enough thinking to be in danger of being woke.
I also have a working theory for why I missed popular culture's signaling function the first time around, and it's a pretty simple one: I'm a weirdo. I conscientiously avoid the most accepted forms of popular culture, and I'm also largely immune to the economy's signals. Also, nobody needs a distraction from life more than the person who actually knows the true nature of life. Being weird is, in general, immensely useful for observing the way the world works. To understand the unthinking assumptions of others, those assumptions more or less need to be foreign enough to require thinking about them. To observe assumptions common to all of human civilization, one needs to be, essentially, a foreigner to humanity. This provides the best big-picture understanding of the nature of civilization, but leaves me with easiest access to a less-than-ideal model for how humanity responds to, and is meant to respond to, civilization. Basically, because I don't respond to popular culture as though it is a signal from the economy to work or spend, I assumed that I'm not supposed to.
As previously stated, I now believe that assumption to have been made in error. Oops.
What I am reconsidering is the extent of signaling, the independence of the distractions, and the role of popular culture (see points 1.1 and 3). More specifically, I'm no longer convinced that popular culture serves solely as a distraction. I think it's highly likely that popular culture can serve both as a distraction and as a signal. I am working on a paradigm for this. My original thought was that popular culture can be split into categories of signal-culture and distraction-culture. Upon further consideration, I suspect that these exist as a continuum rather than distinct categories.
My working theory for the continuum is as follows: popular culture has two possible functions: to send signals on the behalf of the economy, and to distract people from the true nature of civilization. These functions exist on a continuum, with the most acceptably mainstream elements of popular culture being those which serve more effectively as the economy's behavioral signals. Especially vapid popular culture may at times serve very little distracting purpose, and portray civilization largely as it is, because the people among whom it is popular do not need to be distracted; they are either suited better as drones for the economy than as autonomous people, or they just don't do enough thinking to be in danger of being woke.
I also have a working theory for why I missed popular culture's signaling function the first time around, and it's a pretty simple one: I'm a weirdo. I conscientiously avoid the most accepted forms of popular culture, and I'm also largely immune to the economy's signals. Also, nobody needs a distraction from life more than the person who actually knows the true nature of life. Being weird is, in general, immensely useful for observing the way the world works. To understand the unthinking assumptions of others, those assumptions more or less need to be foreign enough to require thinking about them. To observe assumptions common to all of human civilization, one needs to be, essentially, a foreigner to humanity. This provides the best big-picture understanding of the nature of civilization, but leaves me with easiest access to a less-than-ideal model for how humanity responds to, and is meant to respond to, civilization. Basically, because I don't respond to popular culture as though it is a signal from the economy to work or spend, I assumed that I'm not supposed to.
As previously stated, I now believe that assumption to have been made in error. Oops.
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
If Your Sermon Praises Nightclub Shootings, Your Theology Sucks
It has come to my attention that there is at least one sermon circulating that praises the Orlando nightclub shooting. As a Christian that makes me angry, though not angry enough to mention the congregation or denomination. It would be wrong to paint a whole town or a whole church with the same brush. As a Christian, I should probably also have chosen a more diplomatic title than this, but as I mentioned, I am angry.
I think it's a reasonable rule of thumb that before writing a sermon, it's a good idea to consult the Bible. Anyone who writes a sermon praising a nightclub shooting either failed to consult the Bible or failed to consult enough of it. Leviticus 20:13 does say "if there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act; they shall surely be put to death." If that is all of the Bible that you have ever read, then perhaps you might think that the Bible supports nightclub shootings.
However, the Old Testament is, at most, contradictory about nightclub shootings. It also says "thou shalt not kill," coincidentally in Exodus 20:13. That last bit is rather emphatic, and it contradicts the first. It would be convenient if there was some way for Christians to resolve this sort of contradiction. Conveniently, there is. His name is Jesus.
Jesus did not say anything specific about nightclub shootings. He predates both nightclubs and shootings. Jesus is quite specific about killing those judged guilty of sexual sins, though. Coming upon a convicted adultress about to be put to death, he said "he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." (John 8:7) At first glance, that certainly rules me out, and a deeper look into the new testament reveals that I am not alone, "for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23) From this, we can conclude that Jesus forbids any man or woman from shooting up gay bars.
A sermon that praises a direct disobedience of Jesus, for lack of a better word, sucks. Please do better, people.
I think it's a reasonable rule of thumb that before writing a sermon, it's a good idea to consult the Bible. Anyone who writes a sermon praising a nightclub shooting either failed to consult the Bible or failed to consult enough of it. Leviticus 20:13 does say "if there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act; they shall surely be put to death." If that is all of the Bible that you have ever read, then perhaps you might think that the Bible supports nightclub shootings.
However, the Old Testament is, at most, contradictory about nightclub shootings. It also says "thou shalt not kill," coincidentally in Exodus 20:13. That last bit is rather emphatic, and it contradicts the first. It would be convenient if there was some way for Christians to resolve this sort of contradiction. Conveniently, there is. His name is Jesus.
Jesus did not say anything specific about nightclub shootings. He predates both nightclubs and shootings. Jesus is quite specific about killing those judged guilty of sexual sins, though. Coming upon a convicted adultress about to be put to death, he said "he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." (John 8:7) At first glance, that certainly rules me out, and a deeper look into the new testament reveals that I am not alone, "for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23) From this, we can conclude that Jesus forbids any man or woman from shooting up gay bars.
A sermon that praises a direct disobedience of Jesus, for lack of a better word, sucks. Please do better, people.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
The United States of America Is Not a Christian Nation
The United States of America is not a Christian nation.
The above introductory sentence will undoubtedly leave most of the people who read it anxious to loose their outrage, either upon me or along with me. Some would read it and think thoughts of homosexuality and abortion. Others will turn their thoughts toward avarice, prejudice, or the government's tepid-at-best enthusiasm for welfare services. But to be honest, when I write and then re-read my declaration, none of those things really register. The United States of America is not a Christian nation because Christ would be embarrassed to have the behavior of its individual citizens associated with his name.
What behaviors am I talking about? For starters, I have no intention of detailing the ordinary daily sins that we all accumulate in our animal struggle to seek pleasure and avoid pain. While, individually, each is enough to keep any of us out of heaven, Jesus has freely associated with all of them plenty of times. The lion's share of Jesus's ministry was to Judea's most conspicuous daily sinners. Nor do I intend to write about the sins of idolatry and disobedience; the Gospel is quite clear that Christ reacts to these with rage, not embarrassment. America embarrasses Christianity with sins of philosophy.
America has a peculiar sense of justice. More specifically, America has adopted materialism as an ethical philosophy. To many, a bisexual adulterer is an unrepentant sinner, unless he's a sitting Senator. To most, running off with a fat wallet makes you a felon, but robbing millions of a retirement and hurling millions from their homes just makes you Too Big to Fail. Americans judge a man's behavior by his possessions, not his actions, which is twisted. Then we tend to assume that our own judgements are backed by divine authority, which is hubris.
Of course, divine authority would most likely tell Americans that we shouldn't be judging at all, but we're just so good at it. Or at least we convince ourselves that we are. In fact, where we truly excel is in singling out one or two sins and judging those to the exclusion of most others. The delusion of being on a holy crusade against the sin of abortion, or of bigotry, or of corporate greed (or, if you're the author of this particular personal essay, the sin of judgement) fills many of us with great pride. Really, though, we should be serving God humbly, not pridefully. The best Christian I know preaches virtues individually and sin as a singular, collective whole. This is his way of striking a balance between loving sinners and hating sin.
Overall, though, we Americans fail miserably at striking a good balance in this area. The majority of us tend to love the sinners within our circle and hate the sins of those outside of it. Others are so preoccupied with either loving sinners or hating sin that they neglect to do both. Almost invariably, we reserve the greatest hatred for a sin or sins of those we don't socialize with. We hide it beneath a veneer of warning these sinners that they need to repent of that one particular sin--and of course, they do need to repent. But they don't need to repent one sin as one group of specific sinners; they each need to repent all of their sins as one sinner among the entire human race.
The fact is that no one sin or sinner is especially worthy of hell; the warning that all sin and all sinners would be condemned without salvation is sufficient. However, most do not find this satisfying. So, instead of even-handedly warning of all sin, we pick and choose. Most frequently, the choices we make are motivated by emotion or politics. A few sins become a constant topic of public discussion. Others are ignored entirely--not once has a fellow Christian taken the time to warn me about my personal sins of sloth and gluttony, though there is ample physical evidence to prove both. Instead of trying to bring sinners together to resist all sins, we create conflict and division.
All of this I get, I really do. I, too, find that loving sinners is hard, not so much because of their sin as because of my own. I, too, find that some sins just bother me more than others. Though they may not be the same ones, I have my reasons, as does the rest of America. However, I am coming to realize that these reasons just aren't good enough. None of them excuse the fact that I have been loving sinners and hating sin in the wrong ways, in the ways I was taught and I learned by watching others. When it comes to love, we must stop reserving it for one person or any particular person at all. More genuine effort and more practice wouldn't do any harm, either. As for sin, I believe we consider it in the wrong order. We should hate the sin in ourselves, first and perhaps last, and certainly most of all. It's not easy, but it's the right thing to do.
The above introductory sentence will undoubtedly leave most of the people who read it anxious to loose their outrage, either upon me or along with me. Some would read it and think thoughts of homosexuality and abortion. Others will turn their thoughts toward avarice, prejudice, or the government's tepid-at-best enthusiasm for welfare services. But to be honest, when I write and then re-read my declaration, none of those things really register. The United States of America is not a Christian nation because Christ would be embarrassed to have the behavior of its individual citizens associated with his name.
What behaviors am I talking about? For starters, I have no intention of detailing the ordinary daily sins that we all accumulate in our animal struggle to seek pleasure and avoid pain. While, individually, each is enough to keep any of us out of heaven, Jesus has freely associated with all of them plenty of times. The lion's share of Jesus's ministry was to Judea's most conspicuous daily sinners. Nor do I intend to write about the sins of idolatry and disobedience; the Gospel is quite clear that Christ reacts to these with rage, not embarrassment. America embarrasses Christianity with sins of philosophy.
America has a peculiar sense of justice. More specifically, America has adopted materialism as an ethical philosophy. To many, a bisexual adulterer is an unrepentant sinner, unless he's a sitting Senator. To most, running off with a fat wallet makes you a felon, but robbing millions of a retirement and hurling millions from their homes just makes you Too Big to Fail. Americans judge a man's behavior by his possessions, not his actions, which is twisted. Then we tend to assume that our own judgements are backed by divine authority, which is hubris.
Of course, divine authority would most likely tell Americans that we shouldn't be judging at all, but we're just so good at it. Or at least we convince ourselves that we are. In fact, where we truly excel is in singling out one or two sins and judging those to the exclusion of most others. The delusion of being on a holy crusade against the sin of abortion, or of bigotry, or of corporate greed (or, if you're the author of this particular personal essay, the sin of judgement) fills many of us with great pride. Really, though, we should be serving God humbly, not pridefully. The best Christian I know preaches virtues individually and sin as a singular, collective whole. This is his way of striking a balance between loving sinners and hating sin.
Overall, though, we Americans fail miserably at striking a good balance in this area. The majority of us tend to love the sinners within our circle and hate the sins of those outside of it. Others are so preoccupied with either loving sinners or hating sin that they neglect to do both. Almost invariably, we reserve the greatest hatred for a sin or sins of those we don't socialize with. We hide it beneath a veneer of warning these sinners that they need to repent of that one particular sin--and of course, they do need to repent. But they don't need to repent one sin as one group of specific sinners; they each need to repent all of their sins as one sinner among the entire human race.
The fact is that no one sin or sinner is especially worthy of hell; the warning that all sin and all sinners would be condemned without salvation is sufficient. However, most do not find this satisfying. So, instead of even-handedly warning of all sin, we pick and choose. Most frequently, the choices we make are motivated by emotion or politics. A few sins become a constant topic of public discussion. Others are ignored entirely--not once has a fellow Christian taken the time to warn me about my personal sins of sloth and gluttony, though there is ample physical evidence to prove both. Instead of trying to bring sinners together to resist all sins, we create conflict and division.
All of this I get, I really do. I, too, find that loving sinners is hard, not so much because of their sin as because of my own. I, too, find that some sins just bother me more than others. Though they may not be the same ones, I have my reasons, as does the rest of America. However, I am coming to realize that these reasons just aren't good enough. None of them excuse the fact that I have been loving sinners and hating sin in the wrong ways, in the ways I was taught and I learned by watching others. When it comes to love, we must stop reserving it for one person or any particular person at all. More genuine effort and more practice wouldn't do any harm, either. As for sin, I believe we consider it in the wrong order. We should hate the sin in ourselves, first and perhaps last, and certainly most of all. It's not easy, but it's the right thing to do.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Uneducated, Unsolicited Legal Opinion (part 3)
There are many contentious political issues, and they are contentious for lots of reasons. The big one in the news right now is abortion. Personally, I find the debate surrounding the abortion issue to be far more interesting than the issue itself. The debate reveals why the issue is so contentious. It's not simply the nature of the issue itself that is responsible, but the fact that the opposing sides view abortion as a completely different type of issue.
For people who favor legal abortion, abortion is a medical issue. To them, a fetus is not an especially young baby human, but something that is in some way less than that. Viewed from that position, it only makes sense to protect the rights of women to seek whatever medical treatments they deem appropriate, including having non-babies removed from their bodies. I suppose, at the root of it, this makes a fetus a parasite.
People who are against abortion do view a fetus as being an especially young baby human. To them, then, killing it would be a violent crime, and this whole thing doesn't even seem like it should be an issue, because killing baby humans once they're born is definitely illegal, and nobody seems to think we should change that. I suppose at the root of it, these people must believe that genetic lineage is the only definition of humanity, as fetuses lack any of the qualities (self-awareness, opinions, artistic creativity, personality) that make humans people and other kinds of animals non-people. I suppose that for those of us who believe in them, souls are also a meaningful separation between humans and other animals, but I can't claim to know whether fetuses have souls.
I've always thought it would be interesting to argue abortion from a self-defense perspective. After all, it is not always illegal to violently kill humans, even the ones that everybody agrees are people. When a stranger trespasses on a person's private property, and the person reasonably believes that the stranger is a threat to his or her life, the person is justified in killing the stranger by violent means. Abortion can be argued to satisfy all of these conditions. Childbirth is can be dangerous or deadly, and it's hard to think of property any more private than one's own body. Yet, you never hear this argument. I wonder why.
For people who favor legal abortion, abortion is a medical issue. To them, a fetus is not an especially young baby human, but something that is in some way less than that. Viewed from that position, it only makes sense to protect the rights of women to seek whatever medical treatments they deem appropriate, including having non-babies removed from their bodies. I suppose, at the root of it, this makes a fetus a parasite.
People who are against abortion do view a fetus as being an especially young baby human. To them, then, killing it would be a violent crime, and this whole thing doesn't even seem like it should be an issue, because killing baby humans once they're born is definitely illegal, and nobody seems to think we should change that. I suppose at the root of it, these people must believe that genetic lineage is the only definition of humanity, as fetuses lack any of the qualities (self-awareness, opinions, artistic creativity, personality) that make humans people and other kinds of animals non-people. I suppose that for those of us who believe in them, souls are also a meaningful separation between humans and other animals, but I can't claim to know whether fetuses have souls.
I've always thought it would be interesting to argue abortion from a self-defense perspective. After all, it is not always illegal to violently kill humans, even the ones that everybody agrees are people. When a stranger trespasses on a person's private property, and the person reasonably believes that the stranger is a threat to his or her life, the person is justified in killing the stranger by violent means. Abortion can be argued to satisfy all of these conditions. Childbirth is can be dangerous or deadly, and it's hard to think of property any more private than one's own body. Yet, you never hear this argument. I wonder why.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
How Do You Train Seven Billion Monkeys?
We are an incredibly diverse species, representing millions of different cultures, beliefs, and ways of life. At least, we are on the outside.
We are, excepting the edges of the bell-curve, a species that exhibits the same pattern of a few learned behaviors based on the same few beliefs that we don't know we espouse. And, of course, you don't believe me. How could a person believe something that he or she doesn't know she believes?
How could she?
What kind of television programs did you watch the most of when you were very young? How long were they? Who was in them? What were they about? Was the plot different in each episode?
I am asking seriously. Please answer these questions. Write the answers down, if that helps. Put it in the comments, if you want.
So, what is your answer? Actually, it doesn't matter what your answer was. Unless your answer was "my parents didn't let me watch TV," your answer is almost certainly wrong. Among the people who did watch TV in their preschool years, the programs they think they watched the most will vary, but the programs they actually watched the most are the same. People remember watching a lot of fifteen-minute animated shows depicting various, whacky antics of oddly-shaped people or anthropomorphic animals. They remember watching half-hour shows featuring both puppets and live actors. They probably watched those as well.
In between those fifteen-minute animated TV shows and thirty-minute puppet shows, almost all television stations air a different kind of show, though, and these are incredibly formulaic. All of them are fifteen or thirty seconds long. All of them feature actors whose names and faces you would not recognize today. The vast majority of them have a simple, three-part plot featuring an emotional journey and a McGuffin. In the first part of the plot, our characters are downcast, somewhere between miserable and just unbearably bored. In the second part of the plot, our characters are introduced to the McGuffin, which they find fascinating. They are consumed with interest in it, with desire for it. This is the turning point. In the third part of the plot, our characters possess the McGuffin, and they have been cured of their misery or boredom. It has been replaced with liveliness, happiness, excitment.
In case you haven't figured it out, I'm describing television advertisements targeting young children. They are incredibly simple and formulaic. That is not an accident. Advertising aimed at children isn't really salesmanship. It's training. As a society, we train our children to solve their imperfect lives by engaging in consumerism. We indoctrinate them with a belief that if they are not presently happy, finding something they want to buy and buying it can make them happy.
And does it work? Oh boy, howdy! Have you been to a shopping mall?
Heck, even if you don't consciously believe that consumerism will make you happy, you very likely behave as though you do. Almost everyone identifies items that they want, becomes excited about buying them, buys them, and then lives out the remainder of life in the same emotional equilibrium as before the purchase. I do it, and I'm the guy telling you how ridiculous it is! But then I look around me, and I can remember a time before I owned each of the five objects closest to me. I was no unhappier in that time. Try it. Were you?
Occasionally, a purchase really does improve a person's life. Purchases related to a passionately-held hobby can certainly be money well spent. However, even some of these are irrelevant to our emotional well-being. Avid sports fans often get excited about buying better television to watch sports on. For a while, this television will be new and remarkable. Soon, sports fans return to normal, and they will be exactly as happy or as unhappy as they would have been watching a game with the same results on the old TV. If the new TV breaks, and the old one happens to have been sitting in the garage, complaints about the relative quality of the old TV will disappear within a couple of weeks. It is being able to watch the desired games that makes a difference, not the television.
Worthwhile purchases are the ones that allow us to pursue our passions more often or more thoroughly. These are surprisingly few and far between, to the degree that there are almost none that are universal. A bed that allows us to rest well might be the only one. Purchases that increase convenience would seem good candidates in theory, but in practice, they tend to save too little time to make a difference, or to open up time that we fill with more dissatisfying obligations rather than hobbies. If you feel desperate to buy something you can barely afford, or make a purchase that is otherwise inconvenient, carefully consider the things you already own. Are any one of them, or the set as a whole, preventing you from pursuing your passions as thoroughly as you like? Take a while to think about it thoroughly before you decide on a final answer. If the answer is still yes, a purchase may be the way to go. If not, try to circumvent your training by focusing more on what you do, not what you have.
You might be surprised by the results.
We are, excepting the edges of the bell-curve, a species that exhibits the same pattern of a few learned behaviors based on the same few beliefs that we don't know we espouse. And, of course, you don't believe me. How could a person believe something that he or she doesn't know she believes?
How could she?
What kind of television programs did you watch the most of when you were very young? How long were they? Who was in them? What were they about? Was the plot different in each episode?
I am asking seriously. Please answer these questions. Write the answers down, if that helps. Put it in the comments, if you want.
So, what is your answer? Actually, it doesn't matter what your answer was. Unless your answer was "my parents didn't let me watch TV," your answer is almost certainly wrong. Among the people who did watch TV in their preschool years, the programs they think they watched the most will vary, but the programs they actually watched the most are the same. People remember watching a lot of fifteen-minute animated shows depicting various, whacky antics of oddly-shaped people or anthropomorphic animals. They remember watching half-hour shows featuring both puppets and live actors. They probably watched those as well.
In between those fifteen-minute animated TV shows and thirty-minute puppet shows, almost all television stations air a different kind of show, though, and these are incredibly formulaic. All of them are fifteen or thirty seconds long. All of them feature actors whose names and faces you would not recognize today. The vast majority of them have a simple, three-part plot featuring an emotional journey and a McGuffin. In the first part of the plot, our characters are downcast, somewhere between miserable and just unbearably bored. In the second part of the plot, our characters are introduced to the McGuffin, which they find fascinating. They are consumed with interest in it, with desire for it. This is the turning point. In the third part of the plot, our characters possess the McGuffin, and they have been cured of their misery or boredom. It has been replaced with liveliness, happiness, excitment.
In case you haven't figured it out, I'm describing television advertisements targeting young children. They are incredibly simple and formulaic. That is not an accident. Advertising aimed at children isn't really salesmanship. It's training. As a society, we train our children to solve their imperfect lives by engaging in consumerism. We indoctrinate them with a belief that if they are not presently happy, finding something they want to buy and buying it can make them happy.
And does it work? Oh boy, howdy! Have you been to a shopping mall?
Heck, even if you don't consciously believe that consumerism will make you happy, you very likely behave as though you do. Almost everyone identifies items that they want, becomes excited about buying them, buys them, and then lives out the remainder of life in the same emotional equilibrium as before the purchase. I do it, and I'm the guy telling you how ridiculous it is! But then I look around me, and I can remember a time before I owned each of the five objects closest to me. I was no unhappier in that time. Try it. Were you?
Occasionally, a purchase really does improve a person's life. Purchases related to a passionately-held hobby can certainly be money well spent. However, even some of these are irrelevant to our emotional well-being. Avid sports fans often get excited about buying better television to watch sports on. For a while, this television will be new and remarkable. Soon, sports fans return to normal, and they will be exactly as happy or as unhappy as they would have been watching a game with the same results on the old TV. If the new TV breaks, and the old one happens to have been sitting in the garage, complaints about the relative quality of the old TV will disappear within a couple of weeks. It is being able to watch the desired games that makes a difference, not the television.
Worthwhile purchases are the ones that allow us to pursue our passions more often or more thoroughly. These are surprisingly few and far between, to the degree that there are almost none that are universal. A bed that allows us to rest well might be the only one. Purchases that increase convenience would seem good candidates in theory, but in practice, they tend to save too little time to make a difference, or to open up time that we fill with more dissatisfying obligations rather than hobbies. If you feel desperate to buy something you can barely afford, or make a purchase that is otherwise inconvenient, carefully consider the things you already own. Are any one of them, or the set as a whole, preventing you from pursuing your passions as thoroughly as you like? Take a while to think about it thoroughly before you decide on a final answer. If the answer is still yes, a purchase may be the way to go. If not, try to circumvent your training by focusing more on what you do, not what you have.
You might be surprised by the results.
Friday, June 26, 2015
Racism: Complex
The recent fervor over the shootings in South Carolina has crystallized a thought that I've been working on for some time. I think people are talking about the wrong thing. The biggest problem in this country isn't the Second Amendment, nor is it the Battle Flag of the Army of Tennessee. It isn't the Republican Party, although they may well be the worst of two great evils, and their compulsion to talk nonsense about the motives of Dylann Roof has made them look really, really bad. The biggest problem in this country isn't even racism, but rather the way racism is viewed.
Think about this: if you believe you are superior to me because your parents were Jesus Christ and Joan of Arc, that's a delusion. It's probably a symptom of mental illness. How come if I believe that I am superior to you because my parents were white people, that's an opinion? It's equally nonsensical, and its underpinnings are equally implausible, if not more so. Biologically, race does not exist--we can't say the same of Jesus and Joan with such scientific certainty. If one is the product of an unwell mind, mustn't the other be as well?
In addition to making little sense, treating racism as an opinion is also incredibly destructive. After all, an opinion is something that can be held without being favored by the preponderance of facts, because most of them can't be proven or disproven. I think grape jelly tastes wonderful, and my neighbor won't touch the stuff; my neighbor thinks red motorcycles look better than black ones and I paint all of mine black in defiance. In the end, we have to let it go because we can't prove our side. You may think that the government is capable of solving the biggest problems in our lives today, and I may think that's the biggest load of hogwash I've heard since Backstreet Boys music, but at the end, those are opinions, which means that we're left to respect them, or, at least, acknowledge that we're each entitled to them. Even if racism is viewed as outdated, so are 1960s Thunderbirds. For someone who believes that the past is superior to the present (a legitimately unprovable opinion), then outdatedness is a positive quality. At some level, we require ourselves to allow racism to persist because it falls into a category of ideas that can't be wrong all the way--even though one of its major logical underpinnings is categorically wrong, disproving the idea at its very foundation.
Not only that, but treating racism as an opinion may very well drive people with racism to want racism to persist. In today's world, it has become increasingly taboo to hate, but opinions are the one thing we are still allowed to hate people for. People can group others by beliefs and attack them without consequence. "Democrat," "liberal," and "progressive" are pejoritives in some places, "Red" and "Nazi" as intense as "racist" in most. That may sound like a good thing as applied to racism, and to read it written by someone like me, who has hated racism and racists most of his life, it definitely comes off as hypocritical to suggest otherwise, but in practical terms, there are few ideas worse than that of responding to racism with hate. You can't use hate to change people. Even if you do manage to change them, it won't be in the way you were hoping. I'm now into my fourth decade of being hated because I'm weird, and yet after absorbing so much of that hatred, and spilling the rest back out onto whoever was available, I am not at all less weird. I have more weird ideas than ever, but now with a side of misanthropy. If one anecdote does not suffice, consider this: despite some people using "Democrat" as an insult, they are more or less as popular as their rivals. Consider the centuries of hatred that have utterly failed to make black people look any different. Hate may feel pretty good, (okay, fine, you got me...it does feel effing awesome) but it just doesn't work.
What can work, if done intelligently, is to change people with compassion. The fields of religion and psychology have developed numerous experts in this pursuit. The way to end racism is to find the people who have racism and treat them. Do so with kindness, with respect, with professionalism, so they will keep coming back. They need the treatment. Nobody needs the hatred.
That's kind of awesome, if you think about it. How many illnesses can be cured entirely by education?
Think about this: if you believe you are superior to me because your parents were Jesus Christ and Joan of Arc, that's a delusion. It's probably a symptom of mental illness. How come if I believe that I am superior to you because my parents were white people, that's an opinion? It's equally nonsensical, and its underpinnings are equally implausible, if not more so. Biologically, race does not exist--we can't say the same of Jesus and Joan with such scientific certainty. If one is the product of an unwell mind, mustn't the other be as well?
In addition to making little sense, treating racism as an opinion is also incredibly destructive. After all, an opinion is something that can be held without being favored by the preponderance of facts, because most of them can't be proven or disproven. I think grape jelly tastes wonderful, and my neighbor won't touch the stuff; my neighbor thinks red motorcycles look better than black ones and I paint all of mine black in defiance. In the end, we have to let it go because we can't prove our side. You may think that the government is capable of solving the biggest problems in our lives today, and I may think that's the biggest load of hogwash I've heard since Backstreet Boys music, but at the end, those are opinions, which means that we're left to respect them, or, at least, acknowledge that we're each entitled to them. Even if racism is viewed as outdated, so are 1960s Thunderbirds. For someone who believes that the past is superior to the present (a legitimately unprovable opinion), then outdatedness is a positive quality. At some level, we require ourselves to allow racism to persist because it falls into a category of ideas that can't be wrong all the way--even though one of its major logical underpinnings is categorically wrong, disproving the idea at its very foundation.
Not only that, but treating racism as an opinion may very well drive people with racism to want racism to persist. In today's world, it has become increasingly taboo to hate, but opinions are the one thing we are still allowed to hate people for. People can group others by beliefs and attack them without consequence. "Democrat," "liberal," and "progressive" are pejoritives in some places, "Red" and "Nazi" as intense as "racist" in most. That may sound like a good thing as applied to racism, and to read it written by someone like me, who has hated racism and racists most of his life, it definitely comes off as hypocritical to suggest otherwise, but in practical terms, there are few ideas worse than that of responding to racism with hate. You can't use hate to change people. Even if you do manage to change them, it won't be in the way you were hoping. I'm now into my fourth decade of being hated because I'm weird, and yet after absorbing so much of that hatred, and spilling the rest back out onto whoever was available, I am not at all less weird. I have more weird ideas than ever, but now with a side of misanthropy. If one anecdote does not suffice, consider this: despite some people using "Democrat" as an insult, they are more or less as popular as their rivals. Consider the centuries of hatred that have utterly failed to make black people look any different. Hate may feel pretty good, (okay, fine, you got me...it does feel effing awesome) but it just doesn't work.
What can work, if done intelligently, is to change people with compassion. The fields of religion and psychology have developed numerous experts in this pursuit. The way to end racism is to find the people who have racism and treat them. Do so with kindness, with respect, with professionalism, so they will keep coming back. They need the treatment. Nobody needs the hatred.
That's kind of awesome, if you think about it. How many illnesses can be cured entirely by education?
Sunday, September 28, 2014
People, Humans, and Animals
What makes a person a person?
The only thing that separates people from other kinds of animals is their ability to ignore their emotions.
What separates humans from other kinds of animals?
1-40% of the genome.
Can someone be human without being a person?
Absolutely.
Can someone be a person without being a human?
Theoretically. Intelligent extraterrestrials would likely qualify.
Can someone be a person without being an animal?
Theoretically. Intelligent extraterrestrials might qualify.
Can someone be a human without being an animal?
Nope. I don't see how that would be possible.
The only thing that separates people from other kinds of animals is their ability to ignore their emotions.
What separates humans from other kinds of animals?
1-40% of the genome.
Can someone be human without being a person?
Absolutely.
Can someone be a person without being a human?
Theoretically. Intelligent extraterrestrials would likely qualify.
Can someone be a person without being an animal?
Theoretically. Intelligent extraterrestrials might qualify.
Can someone be a human without being an animal?
Nope. I don't see how that would be possible.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Uneducated, Unsolicited Legal Opinion (part 2)
Back on May 8th, I posted the following:
I stand by this assertion, but I would like to add to that. Blaming a victim for a rape because she was flirting is like blaming a guy for having his bike stolen because he rode it back and forth in front of a place that the thief frequented. I've also seen an account of a defense lawyer using a victim's sexual fantasies about men the same age as the alleged perpetrator in the defense. That would be equivalent to saying that a thief didn't steal a bike because the victim had been considering buying a bike for somebody the same age.
Using the victim's sexual history as evidence for the defense in a rape case is like using a victim's Christmas shopping list to defend a thief. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the so-called 'victim' in this case has demonstrated a clear pattern of giving things to people. It is clear that this slightly-used iPhone was a gift to my defendant, which his accuser later regretted giving away."
That dog don't hunt.
I stand by this assertion, but I would like to add to that. Blaming a victim for a rape because she was flirting is like blaming a guy for having his bike stolen because he rode it back and forth in front of a place that the thief frequented. I've also seen an account of a defense lawyer using a victim's sexual fantasies about men the same age as the alleged perpetrator in the defense. That would be equivalent to saying that a thief didn't steal a bike because the victim had been considering buying a bike for somebody the same age.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
#notallmen
One Man's Response to the back-and-forth between #yesallwomen and #notallmen:
Aside from this short personal screed, you won't ever see me use the hashtag #notallmen (though you won't see me use the hashtag #yesallwomen either, for the obvious reason). But I get where it comes from. Really, I do. As a man who could quite reasonably use that hashtag if he pleased, I suspect that most men like me read #yesallwomen in two ways: as an attempt to chip away at their privilege, and as an accusation. The privilege may not be fair, but it's quite human to like having privileges. And even for a perfectly well-meaning man, the knee-jerk reaction to #yesallwomen can be defensive. The movement states that harassment and assault is a universal experience. If we're not on the receiving end, then we must, by implication, be perpetrators.
Now, obviously, that's not what #yesallwomen is actually about. Even if it were, though, #notallmen would miss the point, because #yesallwomen marks narratives of things that, in a just world, would never happen to any women at all. Ultimately, the issue here is a lot bigger than men's affront at a perceived accusation.
At the same time, big issues need wide support. It's an unfortunate fact that simply telling the truth isn't enough. To inspire change, it's necessary to tailor a truthful message in such a way that appeals to a wide audience. So, even though it seems a little silly to thank people for doing what everyone should do, I will do it anyway. On behalf of nobody but myself, thank you, #notallmen, for not being part of the problem. Thank you for not doing anything to women that merits accusation.
With that said, even if you are not deserving of accusations, you may be in need of a wakeup call. Instead of simply being among the many who are not part of the problem, why not join the much smaller number who are part of the solution? Instead of simply refraining from harassing or assaulting women, why not remind your family or friends not to do it? You could even show true courage by denouncing this behavior when you see it happen in public (and while #notallmen have done it, #yesallmen have seen it take place. Admit it).
My response, as a man, to #notallmen: yes, not all of them, but too many.
Aside from this short personal screed, you won't ever see me use the hashtag #notallmen (though you won't see me use the hashtag #yesallwomen either, for the obvious reason). But I get where it comes from. Really, I do. As a man who could quite reasonably use that hashtag if he pleased, I suspect that most men like me read #yesallwomen in two ways: as an attempt to chip away at their privilege, and as an accusation. The privilege may not be fair, but it's quite human to like having privileges. And even for a perfectly well-meaning man, the knee-jerk reaction to #yesallwomen can be defensive. The movement states that harassment and assault is a universal experience. If we're not on the receiving end, then we must, by implication, be perpetrators.
Now, obviously, that's not what #yesallwomen is actually about. Even if it were, though, #notallmen would miss the point, because #yesallwomen marks narratives of things that, in a just world, would never happen to any women at all. Ultimately, the issue here is a lot bigger than men's affront at a perceived accusation.
At the same time, big issues need wide support. It's an unfortunate fact that simply telling the truth isn't enough. To inspire change, it's necessary to tailor a truthful message in such a way that appeals to a wide audience. So, even though it seems a little silly to thank people for doing what everyone should do, I will do it anyway. On behalf of nobody but myself, thank you, #notallmen, for not being part of the problem. Thank you for not doing anything to women that merits accusation.
With that said, even if you are not deserving of accusations, you may be in need of a wakeup call. Instead of simply being among the many who are not part of the problem, why not join the much smaller number who are part of the solution? Instead of simply refraining from harassing or assaulting women, why not remind your family or friends not to do it? You could even show true courage by denouncing this behavior when you see it happen in public (and while #notallmen have done it, #yesallmen have seen it take place. Admit it).
My response, as a man, to #notallmen: yes, not all of them, but too many.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Unsolicited, Uneducated Legal Opinion
Using the victim's sexual history as evidence for the defense in a rape case is like using a victim's Christmas shopping list to defend a thief. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the so-called 'victim' in this case has demonstrated a clear pattern of giving things to people. It is clear that this slightly-used iPhone was a gift to my defendant, which his accuser later regretted giving away."
That dog don't hunt.
That dog don't hunt.
Friday, September 27, 2013
The Few, the Crowd, and the Priest
An old man traced by step by step
Long life behind and life still left
Through dusty streets bespecked with
crowds,
Most bowed and humble. Fewer, proud,
Of colors bold and raiment new
Stopped to talk. Others could not pass
through.
Others milled about. At last,
The old man found his own way past.
He bumped a proud man. Once he'd gone
first,
Some followed. The people blocked had
half dispersed
When the proud man drawled, “well,
excuse me.”
His tone threatened, if sarcastically,
The, pretense dropped, “what's wrong
with you.”
Said the oldster, “others needed
through.”
Said the proud, “and I should mind
the last, the least?”
Then he saw the oldster's clothes. “A
priest?
You think you're above me, holy man?
My need for labor feeds this land.
My money's real. False, futile
platitudes
Would leave this city unbathed, nude,
Unsheltered on unmaintained streets,
But I should mind to you, the least,
The fool who would make peasants king.
Your words lack both in legs and
wings.”
The priest said, “I'm just tired,
old.
You our labor, not our lives control.
In want of home, in want of rest,
We seek return to each our nests,
and in the moment, I brushed past.
Those few inches ope'd a way at last.
None of our best moments, I'd admit.
I'm half-ready to be done with it.”
“Well, I'm not,” said the merchant
next.”
“I want you whipped for disrespect,”
He ordered the re-gath'ring throng.
Their murmured cry: “let him go on.”
Go on he did, though not away.
“I'm tired, yes, most tired of the
way
Your kind use money as a leash
and tell us that it makes us free.
Without it, we would work to live.
Instead, we work for what you give.
We could be free, could be unlead.
Instead, we just pull you ahead.
You feed us, in the strictest sense,
A barest pittance, recompense
For years of work which you do not–
Then we're judged by what we've got.
How much time would we regain
If work was free, from coin unchained?”
The crowed, enrapt at hearing this,
Cried “burn this man! This man's a
witch!”
Friday, August 30, 2013
Why I Write, Part y+2: Holding Onto a Dream
For almost half of my life, I
held onto the dream of being a writer. I wasn't born with the dream.
When I was four, I thought I was going to be a major league pitcher.
When I was six, I thought I was going to be a policeman. At seven,
eight and nine, I was a future quarterback; future fullback was my
fallback. When I was ten, though, at least part of me knew I was going
to be a writer.
It started, as I assume the aspirations of many writers do, with a school assignment. I was assigned to write a short story that took place in the American colonies during the period between the French and Indian War and the Revolutionary War. I ended up coming back to the teacher with a ten-page monstrosity of a thing that I have since lost. If someone were to find it, I would not admit to being its author. At the time, though, I loved it. I may not be a natural storyteller, but I certainly had a natural urge to tell stories.
I assumed that everybody would write a lot. Who wouldn't want to tell more story? I was shocked when all of my classmates returned to the teacher with one-page stories. Some of them might have been better. Some of them were certainly more polished -- the ten-year-old version of me was simply not capable of adequately proofreading a ten-page story in a night or two. Nevertheless, that story stood out in my mind for a long time. I'm sure every one of that class's twenty-three protagonists had more story, and I was the only protagonist whose author would have bothered to tell it, given an extension on his due date.
So that was the birth of my dream of being a writer, born ten years after I was. The dream came of age about when I started to. That was the first time I decided what novel I dreamed of writing. It was a science fiction novel, in my imagination, and in the beginning. In my imagination, it grew into an epic science fiction novel, and then a three-novel saga. Eventually, it became a very long, physical outline, which I finished and then promptly burned. I wanted to get it out of my head, to make room for new ideas that weren't the cathartic fantasies of a twelve-year-old who grew up watching Star Wars, reading Animorphs, and skimming through the occasional Redwall novel for a change of pace.
The plan worked, eventually. But there was something more important than an adolescent plotline that I needed to get rid of. It was, oddly enough, the dream. In junior high, I dreamed of being published by high school. In high school, I dreamed of writing five novels by twenty-five. Out of high school, I dreamed about being a professional writer. In all of that time, I wrote a handful of song lyrics, a couple of short stories, some unsorted, disjointed chapters of a novel, a few introductory chapters of a second novel, and a very long outline. I didn't sell any of it; I didn't try to. Little of it ever left my own possession. All totaled, it was not a lot of writing. I probably wrote more for school in that time.
Of course, I was doing exactly what society tells us to do with dreams, which is nothing. Hold onto them, like a four leaf clover. Put them somewhere, but for goodness sake, don't take them out and do anything with them. There are more important, unrelated, material ends to work toward. The dream stays put away, thought of when one needs comfort after working ever longer and harder toward the world's material ends. The dream becomes two dreams: it is the dream itself, and the hope that it will still be there when retirement rolls around.
When I was twenty-three, giving college the ol' college try (again), a switch in me flipped. By that time, I knew rationally that I was a failure when it came to writing novels. I had never even finished writing one, not for real. Yet there was still some irrational part of me that dreamed that I was a novelist.
As much as I still wanted to be a writer, I absolutely did not want to be the guy who was completely deluded about his own abilities. So when a professor assigned me to write an original poem, I latched onto that. I enjoyed it. I was, at least by the standards of undergraduate literature classes, reasonably good at it. And unlike the novels, I finished mine on the first try. I had to proofread it, and I wanted to make a few stylistic changes, but revision is part of the process; so is finishing, and in poetry, I could do both.
At that point, I latched onto the poetry, and I gave up my dream. I told myself, "Jon, so far, you have no evidence that you can be, or ever will be, a great novelist. On the other hand, if you keep writing, you can be a poet who really enjoys his writing, and doesn't have to beat himself up over a low word count. Eventually, you could even write a lot of poetry. If you decide to keep writing. You could also keep dreaming of being a novelist, but where has that gotten you?"
I decided that it was better to be some kind of writer than dream about being more.
I got somewhere with the poetry. I got much further and faster than I expected. I started off pretty slowly, with a poem here, a poem there, maybe a few a week. But I was actually writing, and now that I was writing, I continued to enjoy it, and I got better and better at generating and developing ideas. Pretty soon, I was writing a lot. A few people told me I was wasting my time. More were supportive. I didn't care, because I was too busy actually writing.
Once I started approaching, and once exceeded, one hundred poems in a month, I thought about the sheer word count I was producing. At that rate, finishing a novel was feasible. But what would I write? Having disposed of the dream of being a novelist, I had no urgent need to answer that question, only an insatiable appetite to generate and develop ideas. As long as I didn't run out of ideas, I could afford to be patient.
My patience paid off. Eventually, I had the right idea. It was big enough to take up two hundred pages, and also limited enough in scope that it wouldn't spin out of control on me. It had an ending, like my poetry, which seemed important. I knew enough about the material that I wouldn't get bogged down in indecision or doubt or research.
Now all I needed was time and a deadline. Starting in June, I gave myself the last two hours of every day, guaranteed it to myself, and made an agreement (again, with myself) to finish by the end of the summer. After writing the first two chapters, most of the ending, and an outline for the entire middle part, I revised the goal to sixty days.
Then, I wrote. I lived for those two hours every night. I looked forward to them while the sun was up. I savored them when the evening came. Most of all, I made them count. I did what I had to do. I kept doing it. I would not be denied. Some people told me I ought to be doing other things in the evening. Others told me it was a waste of time. I told them to shut up; I had a novel to write.
I wrote it.
I missed my deadline. It took me 65 days to write my first novel. I decided I was okay failing with a 95%. It was a big step up from the nine years it took to not write the other novel.
I finished my second novel less than eleven months later. I'm no longer a guy with dreams of being a novelist. I'm a guy who writes what he wants to write. Some people still tell me it's a waste of my time. There are people who tell me that I spend too much time and energy on something that isn't making me any money, or that I don't plan to market. They say it's no way to get ahead. Some people tell me it's antisocial to spend so much time on a solitary, occasionally isolating, pursuit. They say that I need to come back and live in the real world with everyone else.
I tell those people to shut up. I have a novel to write.
It started, as I assume the aspirations of many writers do, with a school assignment. I was assigned to write a short story that took place in the American colonies during the period between the French and Indian War and the Revolutionary War. I ended up coming back to the teacher with a ten-page monstrosity of a thing that I have since lost. If someone were to find it, I would not admit to being its author. At the time, though, I loved it. I may not be a natural storyteller, but I certainly had a natural urge to tell stories.
I assumed that everybody would write a lot. Who wouldn't want to tell more story? I was shocked when all of my classmates returned to the teacher with one-page stories. Some of them might have been better. Some of them were certainly more polished -- the ten-year-old version of me was simply not capable of adequately proofreading a ten-page story in a night or two. Nevertheless, that story stood out in my mind for a long time. I'm sure every one of that class's twenty-three protagonists had more story, and I was the only protagonist whose author would have bothered to tell it, given an extension on his due date.
So that was the birth of my dream of being a writer, born ten years after I was. The dream came of age about when I started to. That was the first time I decided what novel I dreamed of writing. It was a science fiction novel, in my imagination, and in the beginning. In my imagination, it grew into an epic science fiction novel, and then a three-novel saga. Eventually, it became a very long, physical outline, which I finished and then promptly burned. I wanted to get it out of my head, to make room for new ideas that weren't the cathartic fantasies of a twelve-year-old who grew up watching Star Wars, reading Animorphs, and skimming through the occasional Redwall novel for a change of pace.
The plan worked, eventually. But there was something more important than an adolescent plotline that I needed to get rid of. It was, oddly enough, the dream. In junior high, I dreamed of being published by high school. In high school, I dreamed of writing five novels by twenty-five. Out of high school, I dreamed about being a professional writer. In all of that time, I wrote a handful of song lyrics, a couple of short stories, some unsorted, disjointed chapters of a novel, a few introductory chapters of a second novel, and a very long outline. I didn't sell any of it; I didn't try to. Little of it ever left my own possession. All totaled, it was not a lot of writing. I probably wrote more for school in that time.
Of course, I was doing exactly what society tells us to do with dreams, which is nothing. Hold onto them, like a four leaf clover. Put them somewhere, but for goodness sake, don't take them out and do anything with them. There are more important, unrelated, material ends to work toward. The dream stays put away, thought of when one needs comfort after working ever longer and harder toward the world's material ends. The dream becomes two dreams: it is the dream itself, and the hope that it will still be there when retirement rolls around.
When I was twenty-three, giving college the ol' college try (again), a switch in me flipped. By that time, I knew rationally that I was a failure when it came to writing novels. I had never even finished writing one, not for real. Yet there was still some irrational part of me that dreamed that I was a novelist.
As much as I still wanted to be a writer, I absolutely did not want to be the guy who was completely deluded about his own abilities. So when a professor assigned me to write an original poem, I latched onto that. I enjoyed it. I was, at least by the standards of undergraduate literature classes, reasonably good at it. And unlike the novels, I finished mine on the first try. I had to proofread it, and I wanted to make a few stylistic changes, but revision is part of the process; so is finishing, and in poetry, I could do both.
At that point, I latched onto the poetry, and I gave up my dream. I told myself, "Jon, so far, you have no evidence that you can be, or ever will be, a great novelist. On the other hand, if you keep writing, you can be a poet who really enjoys his writing, and doesn't have to beat himself up over a low word count. Eventually, you could even write a lot of poetry. If you decide to keep writing. You could also keep dreaming of being a novelist, but where has that gotten you?"
I decided that it was better to be some kind of writer than dream about being more.
I got somewhere with the poetry. I got much further and faster than I expected. I started off pretty slowly, with a poem here, a poem there, maybe a few a week. But I was actually writing, and now that I was writing, I continued to enjoy it, and I got better and better at generating and developing ideas. Pretty soon, I was writing a lot. A few people told me I was wasting my time. More were supportive. I didn't care, because I was too busy actually writing.
Once I started approaching, and once exceeded, one hundred poems in a month, I thought about the sheer word count I was producing. At that rate, finishing a novel was feasible. But what would I write? Having disposed of the dream of being a novelist, I had no urgent need to answer that question, only an insatiable appetite to generate and develop ideas. As long as I didn't run out of ideas, I could afford to be patient.
My patience paid off. Eventually, I had the right idea. It was big enough to take up two hundred pages, and also limited enough in scope that it wouldn't spin out of control on me. It had an ending, like my poetry, which seemed important. I knew enough about the material that I wouldn't get bogged down in indecision or doubt or research.
Now all I needed was time and a deadline. Starting in June, I gave myself the last two hours of every day, guaranteed it to myself, and made an agreement (again, with myself) to finish by the end of the summer. After writing the first two chapters, most of the ending, and an outline for the entire middle part, I revised the goal to sixty days.
Then, I wrote. I lived for those two hours every night. I looked forward to them while the sun was up. I savored them when the evening came. Most of all, I made them count. I did what I had to do. I kept doing it. I would not be denied. Some people told me I ought to be doing other things in the evening. Others told me it was a waste of time. I told them to shut up; I had a novel to write.
I wrote it.
I missed my deadline. It took me 65 days to write my first novel. I decided I was okay failing with a 95%. It was a big step up from the nine years it took to not write the other novel.
I finished my second novel less than eleven months later. I'm no longer a guy with dreams of being a novelist. I'm a guy who writes what he wants to write. Some people still tell me it's a waste of my time. There are people who tell me that I spend too much time and energy on something that isn't making me any money, or that I don't plan to market. They say it's no way to get ahead. Some people tell me it's antisocial to spend so much time on a solitary, occasionally isolating, pursuit. They say that I need to come back and live in the real world with everyone else.
I tell those people to shut up. I have a novel to write.
Monday, September 24, 2012
This Is The Original Purpose of This Blog (In Pathos Form)
Blind the Soul
We paved over our months and our hours
The same time we covered the forests and flowers.
The calendar directs our time
With lights and signals, man-made lines
That leave our fourth dimension lamed,
Though culture's not alone to blame.
The world – the wild and the paved –
Appears before us every day
Until, as though behind a cloud
The sights don't come through quite as loud.
Life's less than human, less than whole.
Routine and habit blind the soul.
Institutionalized
Your concrete jungle's stiff to rise –
No leaves or creepers, just straight lines.
The constant bustle holds them fast –
Planned obsolescence built to last.
Your money pays and takes its toll.
It's half convenience, half control.
The banks and buildings, roads and cars
Are really all the same thing – bars.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
I Hate It
This post has nothing to do with the stated purpose of this blog. I just need to vent.
My everyday social life is guided primarily by the principle that "indiscriminate niceness is overrated." (Thanks, House.) I really hate it when, to achieve my own ends or reveal an interesting fact in a discussion, I have to do something that makes it seem like I'm being nice to somebody I either don't know or barely know. Sometimes I write poetry for people, even on request. Unless you're my good friend, I only do it because I enjoy writing poetry. At best, I'm saying you had an interesting idea for a poem. A lot of times, I shed light on some fact or convention that seems to excuse a belief or behavior. That is almost never the reason I do it. I do it because facts and old conventions of writing are interesting. So I have to choose between making an interesting point or not giving a false impression of myself.
Being nice isn't that fucking interesting. For the most part, I only like what's interesting. Unless you're a good friend of mine, I'm not gonna be nice to you for the sake of being nice. Don't think of me that way. It'll only get you ticked off and thinking I intentionally deceived you.
And then sometimes I'm nicer than I ought to be to someone because I wouldn't mind having sex with her. But I'm not really deceptive about that. I say nice things about how she looks before I'm nice to her, which is as transparent as you're allowed to be without becoming awkward and repellant.
My everyday social life is guided primarily by the principle that "indiscriminate niceness is overrated." (Thanks, House.) I really hate it when, to achieve my own ends or reveal an interesting fact in a discussion, I have to do something that makes it seem like I'm being nice to somebody I either don't know or barely know. Sometimes I write poetry for people, even on request. Unless you're my good friend, I only do it because I enjoy writing poetry. At best, I'm saying you had an interesting idea for a poem. A lot of times, I shed light on some fact or convention that seems to excuse a belief or behavior. That is almost never the reason I do it. I do it because facts and old conventions of writing are interesting. So I have to choose between making an interesting point or not giving a false impression of myself.
Being nice isn't that fucking interesting. For the most part, I only like what's interesting. Unless you're a good friend of mine, I'm not gonna be nice to you for the sake of being nice. Don't think of me that way. It'll only get you ticked off and thinking I intentionally deceived you.
And then sometimes I'm nicer than I ought to be to someone because I wouldn't mind having sex with her. But I'm not really deceptive about that. I say nice things about how she looks before I'm nice to her, which is as transparent as you're allowed to be without becoming awkward and repellant.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Tame Plants
This in reference to a previously asked question about whether or not certain hypothetical trees are wild, which I will not actually answer.
Though the wildness of those trees is something I have still not come up with a theory to solve, I do have a tentative description of tame plants, which do indeed exist. Any plant growing in an environment in which it will not survive on its own, and which is kept alive by intentional outside actors, is a tame plant. This may not be an exclusive definition of tame plants, but it is a subset of plants which are tame. A colleague of mine brought up houseplants, which are certainly a good example. My description originated with my own thoughts about lawn care. We feed the grass, we bring it water, and we groom it. It's essentially an inanimate pet, a fair analog for the "enslaved" class of pets like fish and insects, rather than communicative pets like cats and dogs.
Interestingly, lawn care is also strong evidence of human culture as one single hive, by way of the ridiculous lengths we go to in order to live in a superficially homogenized environment throughout what I would call the "macroculture" or the "superculture". If we really lived in many hundreds of national or regional cultures, we would acknowledge that a grass lawns are a waste of time to support in much of the world. The only one lawn care is good for, besides a few privileged species of grass, is the economy -- expected, as all encouraged behavior in a hive is to the benefit of the queen.
Though the wildness of those trees is something I have still not come up with a theory to solve, I do have a tentative description of tame plants, which do indeed exist. Any plant growing in an environment in which it will not survive on its own, and which is kept alive by intentional outside actors, is a tame plant. This may not be an exclusive definition of tame plants, but it is a subset of plants which are tame. A colleague of mine brought up houseplants, which are certainly a good example. My description originated with my own thoughts about lawn care. We feed the grass, we bring it water, and we groom it. It's essentially an inanimate pet, a fair analog for the "enslaved" class of pets like fish and insects, rather than communicative pets like cats and dogs.
Interestingly, lawn care is also strong evidence of human culture as one single hive, by way of the ridiculous lengths we go to in order to live in a superficially homogenized environment throughout what I would call the "macroculture" or the "superculture". If we really lived in many hundreds of national or regional cultures, we would acknowledge that a grass lawns are a waste of time to support in much of the world. The only one lawn care is good for, besides a few privileged species of grass, is the economy -- expected, as all encouraged behavior in a hive is to the benefit of the queen.
This IS the Original Purpose of This Blog
1. All “advanced” human cultures
are a hive.
Our culture exhibits many
characteristics that are found only in hive animals, including
exclusive dependence on large scale harvesting and agriculture,
individuals who represent replaceable parts in the society, rather
than indispensable contributors, being awarded our means of
sustenance by the culture overall rather than producing our own means
for survival individually or in small groups, and living space that
is both organized & regimented and awash in masses of other
individuals with which we have few or no dealings.
1.1. The economy is the queen of the
hive.
All of our work goes toward the
benefit/growth of the economy. It sends us signals to entice us to
work, called "money," "advertising," and "peer pressure," though encoded culturally rather than chemically. Thus, it
occupies the role of queen.
2. Humans are psychologically
unsuited for this lifestyle.
The only other animals known to live in
hives are those with unintelligent, indistinct individual automatons.
Just on its face, this seems like an unlikely or unsuitable
lifestyle for a highly emotional, individuated, opinionated species
like Homo Sapiens. Quite logically, humanity, for nearly all of its
history, lived in various variations on family, pack, tribe or troop
structures. In simplified, metaphorical terms, we grew up living one
way and don't really know how to live in this other way. The
formation of groups, cliques, fandoms, subcultures, political parties
and gangs, each variously positive or negative, is an attempt to
return to our native cultural structure by creating new tribes to
replace those that were destroyed by the rise of the human hive.
3. Popular culture as a distraction
Regardless of any arguments about its
quality as a whole, or that of any of its respective elements,
popular culture's primary function in today's society is to distract
us from the hive nature of our modern life, and to advertise and
normalize it through fiction and semi-fiction in which salaried or wage
work figures heavily. Its secondary function is to serve as an
outlet for tribal tendencies via the formation of fandoms and subcultures, which may divide further into 'ships or cliques. Any other function may be valuable,
but is certainly tertiary from a cultural standpoint.
3.1 Definition of popular culture
Politics, fashion, hobbies and sports
also fall under the heading of The Distractions, because they serve the same primary and secondary
functions.
3.2 Relative popularity of The Distractions
The Distractions can be grouped by their popularity, and this popularity will correlate very strongly with the potential commercialization of the particular distraction. Television, movies and music have the highest commercialization potential: people pay for them, they are easily accompanied by advertising, and they are easily used to normalize the hive lifestyle. There is actually a social stigma attached to not following these things. Conversely, think of fanfiction: one needn't pay to read or write it; advertising potential is minimal; unscreened individuals retain creative control, meaning the message can deviate significantly. This sort of Distraction has a social stigma attached to it.
3.2 Relative popularity of The Distractions
The Distractions can be grouped by their popularity, and this popularity will correlate very strongly with the potential commercialization of the particular distraction. Television, movies and music have the highest commercialization potential: people pay for them, they are easily accompanied by advertising, and they are easily used to normalize the hive lifestyle. There is actually a social stigma attached to not following these things. Conversely, think of fanfiction: one needn't pay to read or write it; advertising potential is minimal; unscreened individuals retain creative control, meaning the message can deviate significantly. This sort of Distraction has a social stigma attached to it.
The Best Baseball Story I Ever Heard
This has nothing to do with the stated purpose for my starting this blog.
The best baseball story I ever heard was in a Sports Illustrated article about a little-known pitcher who had used steroids in the 1980s and 1990s. The subject of the article was waiting out a rain delay in the clubhouse when the rain stopped and the team was told they were going to play that day. Centerfielder Bernie Williams was excited by the prospect; the subject of the article, for whom baseball was just a job, much less so. "You want to play?" the latter asked.
"Of course," said Williams. "What else would I want to do?"
I found this so endearing that it is my very favorite baseball story, even though it's about the Yankees. Williams articulated how I feel about class most of the time, how I virtually always feel about my writing, and how I feel about watching baseball more often than not.
The best baseball story I ever heard was in a Sports Illustrated article about a little-known pitcher who had used steroids in the 1980s and 1990s. The subject of the article was waiting out a rain delay in the clubhouse when the rain stopped and the team was told they were going to play that day. Centerfielder Bernie Williams was excited by the prospect; the subject of the article, for whom baseball was just a job, much less so. "You want to play?" the latter asked.
"Of course," said Williams. "What else would I want to do?"
I found this so endearing that it is my very favorite baseball story, even though it's about the Yankees. Williams articulated how I feel about class most of the time, how I virtually always feel about my writing, and how I feel about watching baseball more often than not.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The Wild Animal
This blog will mostly serve the purpose of refining, articulating and explaining my insane cultural theory. This first post is not that.
In the course of attempting to articulate and explain my insane cultural theory, I was asked to define wildness of both animals and spaces. There were two specific examples, one of building a subdivision in a copse of trees while leaving the trees standing (are the trees still wild?) and the other of a bee. It lives in a hive, but is it wild?
Wildness of spaces or plants is something I am not presently prepared to define, and I will make no attempt to do so here. This post will address only the definition of a wild animal.
It is my assertion that wildness in animals is defined by perception and by communication. An animal can be defined as wild with respect to any other animal with which it can not sensibly communicate. In the case of the bee, it is wild from the context of a human observer, but not in the context of observation by other members of its hive (bees communicate). To a bee, though, we are wild animals. We cannot communicate effectively with bees. Dogs and cats sensibly communicate with humans -- using their tails, ears, eyes, and using touch. In fact, some humans will even learn these signals well enough to consciously emulate these behaviors to converse with these animals. Such animals are not wild.
Note that this definition does not require a communicative observer. There are some people who do not understand how to communicate with cats or dogs. They do not know that a cat closing its eyes is a demonstration of trust or affection, or that a cat who flicks its tail back and forth is agitated. This does not mean the cat is wild. It means the observer is liable to get bit, that's all.
This said, wildness really has nothing to do with my insane cultural theory.
In the course of attempting to articulate and explain my insane cultural theory, I was asked to define wildness of both animals and spaces. There were two specific examples, one of building a subdivision in a copse of trees while leaving the trees standing (are the trees still wild?) and the other of a bee. It lives in a hive, but is it wild?
Wildness of spaces or plants is something I am not presently prepared to define, and I will make no attempt to do so here. This post will address only the definition of a wild animal.
It is my assertion that wildness in animals is defined by perception and by communication. An animal can be defined as wild with respect to any other animal with which it can not sensibly communicate. In the case of the bee, it is wild from the context of a human observer, but not in the context of observation by other members of its hive (bees communicate). To a bee, though, we are wild animals. We cannot communicate effectively with bees. Dogs and cats sensibly communicate with humans -- using their tails, ears, eyes, and using touch. In fact, some humans will even learn these signals well enough to consciously emulate these behaviors to converse with these animals. Such animals are not wild.
Note that this definition does not require a communicative observer. There are some people who do not understand how to communicate with cats or dogs. They do not know that a cat closing its eyes is a demonstration of trust or affection, or that a cat who flicks its tail back and forth is agitated. This does not mean the cat is wild. It means the observer is liable to get bit, that's all.
This said, wildness really has nothing to do with my insane cultural theory.
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