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About sharing an experience

March 11th 2010 10:10
It was a British TV show, and there was a female celebrity, and... I can't remember... either she was talking about relationships and whether she needed anyone, or she'd recently lost someone and was discussing what was missing.

In any case, she gave this example: -- If you do have someone around, and you see a fox in the garden, then you can call the other person and say to them, "Look -- a fox in the garden!"

In my memory I've taken this to illustrate an impulse to share experiences -- particularly meaningful experiences, or experiences that are also in some sense ephemeral -- "you had to be there" to understand...

***

So why share experiences? What rationality lies behind the impulse?

Here's some speculations...

Perhaps it's about preserving something important -- in this case using another's brain as your backup drive.

Or it's about testing and self-validation -- seeing if the other person agrees with you that this is interesting or important. For people are obsessed with such issues -- whether their taste is on track, whether their appearance, physique, IQ are up to scratch, whether their behaviour and desires are normal...

Or testing the other person -- seeing how they react to this thing that means something to you.

Or it's about creating a bond, furthering a relationship. And as to why shared experience unites... well, that's a question for another time. But, on a purely practical level, the more experiences you have in common with someone, the more accurate your guesses of what they're thinking about, and the greater your understanding of how they're thinking, thought being influenced by memory and training, and the faster you can communicate, and the larger the pool of references you can allude to.

Or the experience itself is somehow enhanced or made more valuable when shared, if only because you've got someone else with whom to discuss it.

Or perhaps it's some sort of Darwinian urge -- to share knowledge, to increase the survival chances of the species...

***

A Midas myth... One version has it that Midas is cursed by Apollo with the ears of an ass. Midas conceals his shame, but his barber feels the need to tell. He can't contain himself. So he whispers the secret into the reeds of the river.

But when some pipes are made of those reeds, they proclaim to everyone who hears them: "King Midas has donkey's ears"...

Why was the barber impelled to speak?

***

More questions for another time...

What is the temptation to tell a secret? And what is the pleasure? Something to do with the exercise of power? Or the lure of the forbidden? Or relief of duty -- the feeling that you no longer have to take trouble to protect the secret? Or the desire to initiate someone to help you protect the secret, and to lessen the responsibility? Or the desire to normalize yourself, bring someone else into your condition, so that you're unalone?

Or perhaps the lure of truth, the urge to make all things open?

Guilt is a weight, as you accuse yourself, and worry over consequences (legal, afterlife, karmic consequences)... There's all sorts of reasons it weighs on you -- for instance, evolutionary reasons, and reasons of virtue indoctrination... But why is secret guilt more of a weight? -- Because you have additional worries over being found out? Because you feel you will be found out, and are waiting for the axe to fall? Because you think you ought to be found out?

Why in general does confession, or sharing a secret, bring relief?

And why does grief lessen when shared?


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Objective truth (Peter Frauenglass)

March 10th 2010 08:18
Mr Peter Frauenglass of Three West Winds is a reader of this blog, and I recently invited him to write a guest post on anything he likes.

Here's his offering.

***

Let me lead off with a short section quoted from “Stranglehold,” by Christopher Anvil, first published in 1966. I thoroughly recommend all of his short stories, collected in, “Interstellar Patrol” volumes 1, 2 and 3. For now, just try to ignore the 60s writing style and enjoy the a small snippet.

“Well, they said the base of my argument was this thing I called 'science.' And 'science,' they said, was a transparent impossibility, because it was built on an assumption that was provably false.”

MacIntyre frowned. “What assumption is that?”

“That experiments can be repeated, and give the same results at different times and for different investigators.”

“They don't believe that?”

“No, and what's more, to prove is wasn't true ... they carried out a series of experiments, in which [electrical] current flowed in either direction or not at all, as they wisehd.”

MacIntyre whisteled. “Oh, you mean, they made that illusion.

“I don't think it was an illusion, Mac. I think their psychic control was strong enough to reverse a weak current flow caused by weak electromotive force. But regardless whether it was an illusion or not, the result was the same: to make a perfectly good experiment worthless. Can you imagine trying to develop science on a planet where, so far as you can tell with your senses, the same experiment gives you one result on Tuesday, and another on Wednesday, depending on your own or somebody else's attitude? On this basis, science could never even get started.”



“So,” said MacIntyre frowning, “what we end up with is that a scientific civilization just naturally inhibits the development of psychic phenomena, and a 'psychic' civilization just naturally inhibits the development of science. So whichever one gets a big enough lead tends to get a stranglehold on the other one.”

No, despite the lead in, I'm not actually going to talk about psychics, aliens, or faith vs. reason: I have a far more sinister topic in mind. Objective Truth. That's right, Truth with a capital T. How can we possibly reach such an elusive quarry, when everywhere we turn, all we can rely upon are our subjective senses. We know how often these deceive us in the everyday realm – how could they be at all trustworthy in this far more important and elusive task?

Let's take a look at a thought experiment and analogy. If I'm stuck on one side of the glass, and the creatures I wish to observe is stuck on the other side, I can ponder the properties of the glass and sit all day wondering how much the glass is distorting my view beyond. This first view is Kant. He spends a great deal of time examining our reason, our instrument for peering into the world, and in the end concludes that it is untrustworthy. How can I possibly know anything about the animals on the other side, without first knowing all the properties of the glass? And how can I know about the glass, when I have to look at it with my eyes? And I certainly have no access to how my eyes distort the truth except through instruments created using my hands with the aid of my eyes. Around in circles he runs, walling what we can know into an ever smaller box of pure reason cut off from the world and finally even from itself.

On the other hand, we could just ignore the glass and start observing the animals directly. We could note their patterns, the way they move, draw figures and map out eating habits. After a few months of this, someone might question us on how we can say we know anything about the animals themselves, rather than just their images. We could only respond by saying we have no idea, but if the glass is distorting the image, it's doing it in the exact same way all the time. Quick, look at this pretty graph and be distracted from all your petty questioning.

Is there a third option? Does our search for Truth end up ultimately at only one of two extremes, acceptance of appearances on some level or total skepticism? No, there's a third option.

Nietzsche walks over, laughs heartily at Kant huddling in the corner observing his own navel, smacks the scientist over the head and calls him a timid naysayer, then breaks the glass with the axe called “willpower” and leaps into the cage. He promptly begins to wrestle with a baby bear and enjoy himself before he's killed by its mother. A horde or rabid followers leap in after him, shouting that he's discovered Nihilism – clearly, he meant to be eaten in order to show them all that life was worthless. The scene devolves into chaos as the scientists is drafted by the military saying the Nietzsche had the right idea, but now they must work together to destroy the enemy's glass as well. A post modernist begins to question Kant on the meaning of “glass,” and why he should give it a single name when it's clearly in so many different pieces with different shapes on the ground. Kant starts to cry.

I've strayed rather far off topic, it seems. But I hope one point came across: it's been a long time since anyone actually believed in an objective truth learn-able by humans. The last major philosopher I can think of who embraced the concept was Descartes, and even he was uncertain. After him (and before him as well) people insisted that either there was no such thing or if there was, only God could know for certain, and we could only reach it through His word.

It seems a shame to abandon such a useful and attractive concept as universal truth. Perhaps sometime I'll try to defend her, but for now I just wanted to ask the question: do you believe in Universal Truth? Is your pen strong enough to defend her against all the swords of the age?


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Fancies and crushes

March 9th 2010 05:39
Sitting on the bus, eavesdropping on the conversation of the girls in front of me.

One turns to the other and says, "And now, whenever I meet him, I'm conscious that everyone thinks I fancy him."

***

The expression "to fancy" -- it's distinctively English (to Australian ears), it's chatty, slightly humorous, and it's distanced from passion. It's a far cry from "to have a crush on", which is rather American, heavy-handed, desperate, out of control, and embarrassingly revelatory and personal.

What other options are there? -- "To have a thing for x", "to be soft on x", "to be keen on x", "to think x is all right", "to like x", "to like like x"... And each is slightly different. For instance, "to like", depending on the context, could be vague, or understatement, or, because it's vague, suggest prudishness or embarrassment.

***

Of course, not everyone has access to all options. An American might never have heard of "to fancy"; and even if she had, conventions of language might restrict her. If she actually used the verb in an American setting, her word choice would stick out -- which might interfere with what she's trying to say or give it undue emphasis, or suggest that she's affected, or being funny, or strange.

We express ourselves as best we are able, given all constraints, including constraints of time.

The rest of our thought is forced into shape: perhaps none of the options to hand is exactly what one wants.

***

Using "to fancy" forces you to adopt a role, a position, and it carries assumptions -- it implies that you're light-hearted about the situation, that you're down-to-earth about romance, and so forth.

Your words have consequences, effects. Other people will likely take that implied position at face value (perhaps modulated with an awareness of speaking habits, psychology, or the constraints of vocabulary), and they respond to it as best they are able, with their thoughts similarly forced into shape.

You then will likely take their position at face value, and on and on it goes, lies on tiny lies.

***

At some point, you begin yourself to believe in the position you're adopting. You actually become light-hearted about your crush, you actually do take a practical perspective on love...

Compare the "outside in" acting technique -- make a crying face, and you begin to feel sad; adopt a businessman's brisk walk, and you begin to feel confident and efficient; adopt a slave's stooped posture, and you begin to feel servile.


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So Socrates asked Laches: What is courage? Laches answered: Remaining at your post. To which Socrates replied: No, no, no. You've only given me an example of courage, and of just one sort, whereas I'm looking for a general definition of all sorts of courage.

Skip forward two and half thousand years, and people are still playing variations of the same game


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Ideal way to experience?

March 7th 2010 04:56
Shampoo might smell nice when lathered into your hair, but fail to please when sniffed directly -- the scent is too strong, or unbalanced, or too chemical.

Music might be absolutely brilliant in the background while you're working -- the occasional hook that grabs you. You might be so enthusiastic as to go and buy the entire album -- and then realize that it's not so great when you can understand what the singer is singing


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Ariel Levy, "Either/Or: Sports, sex, and the case of Caster Semenya", The New Yorker, 30 November 2009: --

"Unfortunately for I.A.A.F. officials, they are faced with a question that no one has ever been able to answer: what is the ultimate difference between a man and a woman? 'This is not a solvable problem,' Alice Dreger said. 'People always press me: "Isn’t there one marker we can use?" No. We couldn’t then and we can’t now, and science is making it more difficult and not less, because it ends up showing us how much blending there is and how many nuances, and it becomes impossible to point to one thing, or even a set of things, and say that’s what it means to be male


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A dozen notes and quotes #6

March 4th 2010 23:51
Money is literally filthy. The coins that you handle every day -- well, they have passed through tens of thousands of hands, and through all sorts of situations. Who knows where the hell they've been.

***

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Inability to bear children

February 15th 2010 05:23
Someone recently asked me:

"So do you know of any Eastern philosophy that gives advice on how to feel about/deal with being unable to have children? Aside from the generic 'suck it up


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Some notes from Hayes Gordon's Acting and Performing, 1987.

(1) The notion of supplementary actions. Whereas acting classes normally divide scenes into action beats ("to accuse", "to flatter", "to thank", "to plead"...), and lay out a series of actions, Gordon allows that you can be playing one mainline action and any number of secondary, "supplementary", actions at the same time. Further, the object of an action is not restricted to your scene partner, but could be yourself, or a relationship, or the audience, or an inanimate object


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Sport and love

December 18th 2009 21:48
There's a Seinfeld schtick that goes: "Following a sport team? I don't get it. The players change, the coaches change. All that stays the same is the t-shirts. So, basically, you're supporting a group of t-shirts." Etc. Etc.

Well, I've always thought there was a lot of truth here. But the problem isn't specific to sports. Yes, a "team" is a changing object, but so is every human being. Consider, for instance, the common thought (I don't know if it's true) that every cell in your body is replaced within seven years


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