I now present to you another one of my pet ideas: the illusion of choice.
I hear you asking, "Why talk about this now? Don't you know what time it is? Don't you have some ridiculous book written by a lunatic that you need to be reading right now?". Well, it all started with an IM about the election, and how there will be no right or wrong choice, only a reflection of the country's desires (though I guess this supposition assumes that the election won't be rigged).
If that's the case for the election, why would it be any different for a single individual? Are choices actually choices, or just reflections of who we are? And if that is in fact the case, to what degree do we control who we are, as opposed to the degree by which external factors shape our identity? Are we in fact just pre-programmed decision making machines, acting out conditioned behavior and collecting the resulting data to condition future behavior?
Well this may be anticlimactic, but I think the answer is yes.
In my theory, I exclude the possibility of alternate realities. If we allow for alternate realities, well, then I have no idea what my theory would be, but you can be sure that one of those alternate realities would probably involve what could only be described as extradimensional cephalopods.
Ok, so no alternate realities. What does this mean? It means that any given event only occurs one way, and that there aren't other realities in which the given event happens another way. Under this premise, even without considering motivation, any individual considering any given choice would only ever decide one way or the other, and that choice would have an indelible effect on the rest of reality and future history. I suppose you might say I'm describing fate - that all things, from the beginning of time to the end, only ever had the possibility of happening one way.
Let me take a moment to acknowledge the fact that I'm talking about stuff way out of my league, and that a better understanding about the mechanics of reality would really be required to justify the above theories.
As far as casting human beings in the role of decision making machines, I feel a little more comfortable expressing my ideas. Regardless of whether or not the universe is random or predetermined (or if those things are actually the same...think about it), and come to think of it, even if we suppose that there are alternate realities, based on my own experience as a human being, I would agree with the supposition that choices are a reflection of idenitity. If we exclude the consideration of truly arbitrary choices such as calling a coin flip (though it could be argued there's a reason, however unconscious or insignificant, for choosing either heads or tails), I would argue that people reference what they believe to be facts when choosing how to act (I'd argue they don't actually have to be facts...they can be completely incorrect, but the individual believes them to be facts). For instance, I have decided not to post on the discussion board about this idiotic book for reasons I consider to be factual, such as the inanity of talking about something I clearly don't understand, and the benefit of waiting until after class to post in the hope that I'll have some greater understanding at that time. I also considered my greater interest in writing this blog post as a contributing factor to that choice. The possible disadvantages of not posting, after some consideration, were not adequate enough to make me post. My point is, I didn't choose arbitrarily, I simply performed a cost/benefit comparison that indicated the most favorable course of action.
Yet other people will post. Other people have posted. And from what I've read of those posts, they didn't get it either. So why did they choose to post when I didn't?
Either they weighted the costs and benefits differently, or they took other factors into account, such as the threat of a lower grade or the desire to impress their classmates with their verbosity. But I would have to argue that those even more fundamental choices, the choices that form the mechanism of assessing other choices, are a result of identity. Some people are more inclined to complete every assignment than I am, and some people are even less inclined than I am. Some enjoy this class more than I do, others enjoy it less. Whatever the case, those inclinations are a result of previous experiences. If I thought that not posting wasn't a big deal, it's likely that experience has taught me that fact, or that who I am is a person who, throughout his life, has arranged his priorities in a certain way that lessened the importance of posting in his estimation. Had I learned before that not posting would have had a consequence I was not prepared to deal with, obviously I would have posted.
I would challenge someone to find a choice in which they could decide in favor of one direction over all others without any influence from their past. I don't think it's possible, because the way we think is a result of our past and the influences of our upbringing and experiences. Each choice we make (which is based on past experiences) creates new experiences, which then in turn influence future choices. So obviously our identity is altered with each choice we make, but for every choice we are confronted with, even those we aren't even consciously aware of, the outcome is a reflection of the sum total of the formative factors of our identity.
And don't even get me started on the existential implications of all this.
Anyways, I'm sure there are some other parts of this theory I've left out that I may remember later, but I hope whoever reads this weighs in on what I've said.
In the interest of full disclosure, the thing which provided me with a reason to write this blog post, the possession of which resulted in me writing this blog post, is this video. It's probably the funniest thing I've seen all week. Brian, you will enjoy it.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Survivors
Sometimes I have too much to say, so I say nothing. Sometimes I feel too many things too deeply, so I take refuge in the normal. And it's thus that I build my prison of silence and dissatisfaction.
Looking back on the past few days, I don't even know where to start writing. Let's try this:
Saturday, daytime: Eric, Alison's friend visiting from DC, and I undertook the first attempt at geohashing, and the exact coordinates of our destination were out to sea, so we planned on going on to the spit of land furthest out into the Atlantic, Rockaway point. The original plan was to take the subway out to Coney Island, rent bikes, and ride the rest of the way, but by the time we'd finished the hour-long subway trip out to Coney Island it was getting toward sunset and the weather was stormy. It was a tremendous amount of fun just to wander around Coney Island in the midst of a storm, heads bent against the wind, listening to the chilling sound of the wind through the supports of the deserted theme park, and I got some great pictures and video. We contemplated taking a bus for part of the way past Coney Island, but it was already dark by the time we were done exploring the beach and we weren't equipped for traversing the pitch black of Rockaway. Next time.
The little trip out to the end of a subway line and the subsequent wanderings on the stormy beach inspired in me an even greater desire to pursue whatever adventures happened to be close at hand. I decided I wanted to purchase a bike in order to facilitate my travels, which led to the formation of tentative Thanksgiving plans, in which Alison and I obtain bikes in DC and ride them back to NYC. In preparation for this feat I've started using the cycle machines at the gym on days when I'm not lifting, constituting my most ambitious workout regimen ever.
And while I'm extremely excited about the progress of my side projects, I feel like, to an extent, they have distracted me from the bigger, uglier questions facing me. I still don't know what I'm going to do after school...but I hopefully I can get by on boldfaced optimism.
Saturday night, Bigger Questions, and the dangers of Cactus Cooler: With Saturday night came an abortive party packed with idiots, and after helping to clean up in their wake, we ended up back at my place, where I began to furiously prepare Cactus Coolers for us all. It began with just Alison, Eric, and myself, but later Kenny showed up and filled in for Eric who had fallen asleep on the couch sometime later. I learned an important lesson that night: alcohol does not mix well with downbeat music, no matter how soothing or beautiful. I have no idea how it happened, or what set it off, but after several drinks I began to dwell on Ryan Martin's suicide and the conversation I'd had about him with a friend the night before. I had largely put it out of my mind since I first heard the news on Monday, only stopping occasionally to consider what he must have gone through before he took his own life, and why he had finally surrendered to what he must have seen as the pointlessness of his continued existence. Clearly, he was not in any kind of trouble that might have made death seem attractive by comparison, so it must have been the sheer terror of meaninglessness that drove him to his death. And I began to see that meaninglessness as if it were a villain who had killed my friend, or even more troubling, as a disaster or accident that the rest of us had somehow survived...this time. Now I see in that meaninglessness a terrible malignancy, ubiquitous and patient, waiting for us to doubt our purpose and falter in our belief in the value of life. And then it will sweep us away.
Even now, as I sit here sober and relatively hopeful about the future, I can feel it behind the walls and around corners, peeking out at me from the end of long hallways and whispering over my shoulder.
So imagine how I was then, somewhat inebriated, listening to decidedly melancholy music, with my friend's suicide at the forefront of my thoughts. That meaninglessness, that despair stood staring me in the face, mocking me, assuring me that Ryan was only the first. I felt like my companions and I were alive by chance, like survivors of a car wreck who had somehow climbed to safety only to look back in horror at the broken bodies of those who hadn't made it.
And I cried. I cried because in that moment I had no retort, no plan of my own to hold up as evidence of purpose, and I cried because I feared for my friends and I, feared the things we might yet have to face.
Watch this.
Read the second comment under "Temple Bell" on this blog. It's by Brian Borger.
Looking back on the past few days, I don't even know where to start writing. Let's try this:
Saturday, daytime: Eric, Alison's friend visiting from DC, and I undertook the first attempt at geohashing, and the exact coordinates of our destination were out to sea, so we planned on going on to the spit of land furthest out into the Atlantic, Rockaway point. The original plan was to take the subway out to Coney Island, rent bikes, and ride the rest of the way, but by the time we'd finished the hour-long subway trip out to Coney Island it was getting toward sunset and the weather was stormy. It was a tremendous amount of fun just to wander around Coney Island in the midst of a storm, heads bent against the wind, listening to the chilling sound of the wind through the supports of the deserted theme park, and I got some great pictures and video. We contemplated taking a bus for part of the way past Coney Island, but it was already dark by the time we were done exploring the beach and we weren't equipped for traversing the pitch black of Rockaway. Next time.
The little trip out to the end of a subway line and the subsequent wanderings on the stormy beach inspired in me an even greater desire to pursue whatever adventures happened to be close at hand. I decided I wanted to purchase a bike in order to facilitate my travels, which led to the formation of tentative Thanksgiving plans, in which Alison and I obtain bikes in DC and ride them back to NYC. In preparation for this feat I've started using the cycle machines at the gym on days when I'm not lifting, constituting my most ambitious workout regimen ever.
And while I'm extremely excited about the progress of my side projects, I feel like, to an extent, they have distracted me from the bigger, uglier questions facing me. I still don't know what I'm going to do after school...but I hopefully I can get by on boldfaced optimism.
Saturday night, Bigger Questions, and the dangers of Cactus Cooler: With Saturday night came an abortive party packed with idiots, and after helping to clean up in their wake, we ended up back at my place, where I began to furiously prepare Cactus Coolers for us all. It began with just Alison, Eric, and myself, but later Kenny showed up and filled in for Eric who had fallen asleep on the couch sometime later. I learned an important lesson that night: alcohol does not mix well with downbeat music, no matter how soothing or beautiful. I have no idea how it happened, or what set it off, but after several drinks I began to dwell on Ryan Martin's suicide and the conversation I'd had about him with a friend the night before. I had largely put it out of my mind since I first heard the news on Monday, only stopping occasionally to consider what he must have gone through before he took his own life, and why he had finally surrendered to what he must have seen as the pointlessness of his continued existence. Clearly, he was not in any kind of trouble that might have made death seem attractive by comparison, so it must have been the sheer terror of meaninglessness that drove him to his death. And I began to see that meaninglessness as if it were a villain who had killed my friend, or even more troubling, as a disaster or accident that the rest of us had somehow survived...this time. Now I see in that meaninglessness a terrible malignancy, ubiquitous and patient, waiting for us to doubt our purpose and falter in our belief in the value of life. And then it will sweep us away.
Even now, as I sit here sober and relatively hopeful about the future, I can feel it behind the walls and around corners, peeking out at me from the end of long hallways and whispering over my shoulder.
So imagine how I was then, somewhat inebriated, listening to decidedly melancholy music, with my friend's suicide at the forefront of my thoughts. That meaninglessness, that despair stood staring me in the face, mocking me, assuring me that Ryan was only the first. I felt like my companions and I were alive by chance, like survivors of a car wreck who had somehow climbed to safety only to look back in horror at the broken bodies of those who hadn't made it.
And I cried. I cried because in that moment I had no retort, no plan of my own to hold up as evidence of purpose, and I cried because I feared for my friends and I, feared the things we might yet have to face.
Watch this.
Read the second comment under "Temple Bell" on this blog. It's by Brian Borger.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Temple Bell
Tok Tok Tok
The hammer strike, I hear the echo,
amidst concrete, the sounding tempo
seeping, softening, deepening
Tok Tok Tok
Reverb from the Temple Bell,
Called to quiet, incense smell
Around the people on their mats
Tok Tok Tok
But few will hear amid the hustle
Their faces turned toward shoes and shuffle
All our eyes are closed
The hammer strike, I hear the echo,
amidst concrete, the sounding tempo
seeping, softening, deepening
Tok Tok Tok
Reverb from the Temple Bell,
Called to quiet, incense smell
Around the people on their mats
Tok Tok Tok
But few will hear amid the hustle
Their faces turned toward shoes and shuffle
All our eyes are closed
Monday, October 20, 2008
A list I didn't know I had
Ryan Martin hanged himself last night.
I'm not sure we were ever really friends, but I think maybe something in us wanted to be from time to time. I wish I had known him better. Looking back, I realize now how often he appears in my memory and just how much time we spent together in high school, that time that already feels like a lifetime ago. We had small problems which we often pretended were big problems, tiny little grievances that were left behind along with most everything else from high school, and I think it's sad that the entire span of my knowing him took place during a time that feels so completely unreal to me now. How terribly real this is now.
I just turned 21, and I just heard about the death of my high school friend. That makes two things scratched off a list of inevitable things that somehow still managed to surprise me when they finally came to pass. Barring major incident, of course I'd be 21 one day, just like one day in the future I'll no longer have any means to deny the fact that I'd become an adult somewhere along the line. Of course my friends and acquaintances would someday die; the Flaming Lips even told me ahead of time. But I know now there was definitely a part of me that didn't want to believe it, that has only now been forced to face the truth.
I'm not sure we were ever really friends, but I think maybe something in us wanted to be from time to time. I wish I had known him better. Looking back, I realize now how often he appears in my memory and just how much time we spent together in high school, that time that already feels like a lifetime ago. We had small problems which we often pretended were big problems, tiny little grievances that were left behind along with most everything else from high school, and I think it's sad that the entire span of my knowing him took place during a time that feels so completely unreal to me now. How terribly real this is now.
I just turned 21, and I just heard about the death of my high school friend. That makes two things scratched off a list of inevitable things that somehow still managed to surprise me when they finally came to pass. Barring major incident, of course I'd be 21 one day, just like one day in the future I'll no longer have any means to deny the fact that I'd become an adult somewhere along the line. Of course my friends and acquaintances would someday die; the Flaming Lips even told me ahead of time. But I know now there was definitely a part of me that didn't want to believe it, that has only now been forced to face the truth.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Adventures
Finally put up the pictures from the gang's visit last weekend, and I'll probably post more of the photos I've taken since then. Sorry most of them are blurry, but I hate using the flash, and in most of the places we were it would have been unwelcome. Ergo, concordantly, I need to buy myself a tripod. It's taking a while to regain my sense of composition, and I'm unhappy that some of my favorite pictures are as interesting as they are because of the color accenting feature of the camera. I think I'm making progress though, and there are some I'm pretty proud of.
I saw Equus on Thursday, adding to the short list of Broadway shows I've seen. I had no idea what to expect when I sat down in the theater, only knowing that it was highly acclaimed and that Daniel Radcliffe would be naked onstage at some point. Turns out that this was a very good, and very dark, troubling play that I enjoyed thoroughly. Also Kate Mulgrew, who played Captain Janeway in Star Trek: Voyager, was in the play, and that definitely made my night.
On a darker note, while most of my classes have remained as interesting as they were, or have become even more so since the start of the semester, the persistence of constant schoolwork and the addition of midterms have forced me to ask myself, once again, why I'm doing what I'm doing and what else I could be doing. Recently I've become very attached to the idea of pursuing side projects with my free time, but even that seems like the small picture. I want to see the big picture, figure out why I enjoy what I enjoy and decide if that's something worth spending my time on. Even more than that, I have to choose the criteria by which I judge the worth of my actions.
I'm attracted to the idea that I can somehow avoid boredom by finding a profession or project that involves constant variety, like journalism or maybe intelligence, or by constantly being involved in a number of small projects. I guess I want to have adventures, to go out and be immersed in uncertainty, which is ironic because here I am trying to figure out what to do in the future.
A divergence to help me explain my point: I've recently become even more interested in the webcomic xkcd, especially with regard to its creator, Randall Munroe. It turns out that he's only 24 (he just had a birthday last Friday), graduated from college in '06 and worked briefly with NASA until he left and started working on xkcd full time. Now he supports himself primarily on merchandise from the comic. Aside from being amazingly funny, the comic has this profoundly hopeful outlook on life and stresses the importance of unorthodox approaches to thinking and living.
Check these out:
This is the start of a five part series that presents some ideas I've really come to empathize with - http://xkcd.com/264/
And this one is a pleasant reminder to myself sometimes - http://xkcd.com/167/
His newest project is called "Geohashing"(http://wiki.xkcd.com/geohashing/Main_Page), and I think Kenny and I might take part in it on the weekends. I'm definitely looking forward to getting off campus and having some adventures.
Coming soon: Dread
I saw Equus on Thursday, adding to the short list of Broadway shows I've seen. I had no idea what to expect when I sat down in the theater, only knowing that it was highly acclaimed and that Daniel Radcliffe would be naked onstage at some point. Turns out that this was a very good, and very dark, troubling play that I enjoyed thoroughly. Also Kate Mulgrew, who played Captain Janeway in Star Trek: Voyager, was in the play, and that definitely made my night.
On a darker note, while most of my classes have remained as interesting as they were, or have become even more so since the start of the semester, the persistence of constant schoolwork and the addition of midterms have forced me to ask myself, once again, why I'm doing what I'm doing and what else I could be doing. Recently I've become very attached to the idea of pursuing side projects with my free time, but even that seems like the small picture. I want to see the big picture, figure out why I enjoy what I enjoy and decide if that's something worth spending my time on. Even more than that, I have to choose the criteria by which I judge the worth of my actions.
I'm attracted to the idea that I can somehow avoid boredom by finding a profession or project that involves constant variety, like journalism or maybe intelligence, or by constantly being involved in a number of small projects. I guess I want to have adventures, to go out and be immersed in uncertainty, which is ironic because here I am trying to figure out what to do in the future.
A divergence to help me explain my point: I've recently become even more interested in the webcomic xkcd, especially with regard to its creator, Randall Munroe. It turns out that he's only 24 (he just had a birthday last Friday), graduated from college in '06 and worked briefly with NASA until he left and started working on xkcd full time. Now he supports himself primarily on merchandise from the comic. Aside from being amazingly funny, the comic has this profoundly hopeful outlook on life and stresses the importance of unorthodox approaches to thinking and living.
Check these out:
This is the start of a five part series that presents some ideas I've really come to empathize with - http://xkcd.com/264/
And this one is a pleasant reminder to myself sometimes - http://xkcd.com/167/
His newest project is called "Geohashing"(http://wiki.xkcd.com/geohashing/Main_Page), and I think Kenny and I might take part in it on the weekends. I'm definitely looking forward to getting off campus and having some adventures.
Coming soon: Dread
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Viewfinder Eyes
It was wonderful to have a camera this weekend, along with cooperative subjects and interesting settings for pictures. Managed to crank out more than a hundred photos in relatively short order (though admittedly only a few could be considered above average). I feel like my photography was better at one time, and I'd be willing to entertain the notion that I'm simply out of practice. I hope that's the case, because it seems that the most solid thing I've distilled from my musings this year so far is that I have a growing desire to express myself. I want some way to draw those formless, hyphenated emotions out of myself and put them in a photo or a movie, or maybe in writing somehow. I'm fascinated by those little feelings, so quiet and ethereal, that wash over you like a cool and gentle breeze from out of nowhere, caressing your heart, making you pay attention to where you are. It's afternoon sun, deep orange, on the sidewalk, or the sound of dried leaves blown by the wind on a gray day. Rain drops on a windowsill and distant drums. Dark nights driving alone for a long time. The swamp cooler. I wish my camera could capture some of this, though I'm not really sure what I'd do with it if it ever does.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Too lazy for a title
I'm importing the first batch of photos from the new camera...very cool pictures of the whole gang in NYC. Everything kind of pales in comparison to the awesomeness that was this weekend, and partly due to this, and partly due to fatigue, this week has sort have become an unremarkable blur. Unfortunately this is the week I need to step up and make up for earlier slacking. This will be a welcome week end.
Also, I have a bonsai now. It's a Japanese Juniper, and it's sitting on the window sill by my computer as per the plan. Good things.
I know there are things I want to write, but I've been so out of it that basic functions are pretty much all I can manage at the moment. I'll get around to deeper meaning later.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.
Also, I have a bonsai now. It's a Japanese Juniper, and it's sitting on the window sill by my computer as per the plan. Good things.
I know there are things I want to write, but I've been so out of it that basic functions are pretty much all I can manage at the moment. I'll get around to deeper meaning later.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.
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