There are different levels of working through something. Something like, say, the statement that everything is water.
One way of working through is it to not. To simply dismiss it as nonsense and move on to other, more important things. Which, to be sure, isn't much of a workout, but it needs to be mentioned as a baseline. And it is one of the most likely outcomes when people are confronted with something they do not immediately understand.
Everything is water. So what? Who cares?
A more engaged level of working through something is to take it at face value. "Everything is water". Which, on the face of it, makes little sense, as there are visible things around you that are clearly not water. The presence of things that are not water is a serious drawback to the notion that everything is in fact water.
The end result of this workthrough would be that the statement does not measure up. It makes sense, it is tested, and it is not true.
An even more engaged level of working through it would be to see it as some sort of metaphor. Things are not literally water, but share some property with it. Like water, things are in a state of fluidity, always in motion. Always changing, as it were. Since nothing is ever not changing (entropy does that), the statement that everything is water would serve as a general theory about everything.
The most engaging level would be to treat it as an emotional trauma. Everything is water, everything changes. Everyone who loves me could change their mind about it, and one day I could change my mind regarding those whom I love. Everything I love could end, and it could do so at any moment. Everything is water, and engaging with this thought is a source of much anxiety.
There are different ways of working through something. Sometimes, one way is more appropriate than the other.
I leave it to you to work out which is when.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
You don't like muslims
There are one and a half billion Muslims in the world. Plus/minus. That's roughly a fifth of all humans. One in five things that humans do is done by a Muslim. Every fifth thing humanity does, a Muslim does.
This means that there's a large sample of humans, activities and human activities to choose from whenever one wants to say something about Islam. In fact, the sample is large enough that you can say just about anything, and there will (by virtue of statistical necessity) be Muslims who have done this very thing. Which has very little to do with Islam, and everything to do with statistical methodology and sample sizes.
This is a boon for those who wish to rail against Islam. They only have to come up with something that is both humanly possible and unsympathetic, and there will automagically be some Muslim somewhere who has done that very thing. A fifth of everything that is humanly possible is, statistically speaking, done by a Muslim, and it is humanly possible to do many unsympathetic things.
A propaganda machine could not wish for better conditions even in its wildest dreams.
Translated from the Propaganda Machine
Mars 17, 2015
This means that there's a large sample of humans, activities and human activities to choose from whenever one wants to say something about Islam. In fact, the sample is large enough that you can say just about anything, and there will (by virtue of statistical necessity) be Muslims who have done this very thing. Which has very little to do with Islam, and everything to do with statistical methodology and sample sizes.
This is a boon for those who wish to rail against Islam. They only have to come up with something that is both humanly possible and unsympathetic, and there will automagically be some Muslim somewhere who has done that very thing. A fifth of everything that is humanly possible is, statistically speaking, done by a Muslim, and it is humanly possible to do many unsympathetic things.
A propaganda machine could not wish for better conditions even in its wildest dreams.
Translated from the Propaganda Machine
Mars 17, 2015
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Virtuous troll management
The ancient Greeks spared no efforts when it came to answering the question about the good life. What is it, how do we attain it, when is it time to eat? Important questions that resonate even today.
Since they were ancient Greeks, the answer most of the time turned out to be synonymous with what ancient Greeks did anyway. That is to say, philosophizing, cultivating their virtues and in general being free spirits.
This raises an important obvious question: what to do with those who do not live the good life? And, moreover, what to do with those who don't even attempt the effort to live it?
The ancient Greeks answered this by putting their women and slaves to work, so that the free spirits could have more time to cultivate their virtues. Which simply won't do for us modern people, leaving us with this ancient unanswered question:
What to do with stupid people?
Or, to use a slightly more modern terminology: what is the proper way do deal with aggressive trolls, who beyond any reasonable doubt have communicated that they never will see reason, never enter into a dialogue, and in general intentionally act as if they are bereft of anything that is not stupid?
We could try to be understanding and meet them halfway. Be friendly cospirits in a common search for the good life. Which is a good solid ambition to have in any kind of human interaction. But, alas, it requires that the other meets us halfway, and any collaborative effort needs some measure of cooperation to succeed. Which is not forthcoming in this case, and thus leaves us with the question: how to preserve dignity in the face of unreason?
We could attack them head on. That is after all their main method of communication, and there's an old saying about being in Rome. If nothing else, they should be able to understand themselves, right? Which, indeed, they should. However, this too fails due to the fact that they intentionally act as if they were bereft of reason. That which is bad when one person does it seldom becomes good when two persons do it, and you have nothing to gain by acting stupid when you clearly are not.
We could ask them to see reason. Remind them that the Enlightenment has been a thing for a couple of centuries, and that there are plenty of self-help texts on the subject. However, once again, seeing reason is the one thing they explicitly will not do, so this won't work by definition.
We could see them the same way as we see the weather, that is to say something that happens regardless of anyone wanting it to happen or not, and talk about them should it fit the social situation. Which, admittedly, strips them of their status as human subjects, and is slightly morally problematic if you ask Kant. But seeing as they intentionally act as if this is already the case, there really is no reason not to do it. Moreover, there is no reason to see their speech acts are anything more meaningful than changes in the weather - things that can be talked about when all other subjects fall short.
There is not much we can do with regards to people actively renouncing the good life and its virtues. Sadly enough. But we can at least avoid doing it ourselves. Retain some dignity in the face of unreason.
Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain.
Originally published June 1, 2015
Since they were ancient Greeks, the answer most of the time turned out to be synonymous with what ancient Greeks did anyway. That is to say, philosophizing, cultivating their virtues and in general being free spirits.This raises an important obvious question: what to do with those who do not live the good life? And, moreover, what to do with those who don't even attempt the effort to live it?
The ancient Greeks answered this by putting their women and slaves to work, so that the free spirits could have more time to cultivate their virtues. Which simply won't do for us modern people, leaving us with this ancient unanswered question:
What to do with stupid people?
Or, to use a slightly more modern terminology: what is the proper way do deal with aggressive trolls, who beyond any reasonable doubt have communicated that they never will see reason, never enter into a dialogue, and in general intentionally act as if they are bereft of anything that is not stupid?
We could try to be understanding and meet them halfway. Be friendly cospirits in a common search for the good life. Which is a good solid ambition to have in any kind of human interaction. But, alas, it requires that the other meets us halfway, and any collaborative effort needs some measure of cooperation to succeed. Which is not forthcoming in this case, and thus leaves us with the question: how to preserve dignity in the face of unreason?
We could attack them head on. That is after all their main method of communication, and there's an old saying about being in Rome. If nothing else, they should be able to understand themselves, right? Which, indeed, they should. However, this too fails due to the fact that they intentionally act as if they were bereft of reason. That which is bad when one person does it seldom becomes good when two persons do it, and you have nothing to gain by acting stupid when you clearly are not.
We could ask them to see reason. Remind them that the Enlightenment has been a thing for a couple of centuries, and that there are plenty of self-help texts on the subject. However, once again, seeing reason is the one thing they explicitly will not do, so this won't work by definition.
We could see them the same way as we see the weather, that is to say something that happens regardless of anyone wanting it to happen or not, and talk about them should it fit the social situation. Which, admittedly, strips them of their status as human subjects, and is slightly morally problematic if you ask Kant. But seeing as they intentionally act as if this is already the case, there really is no reason not to do it. Moreover, there is no reason to see their speech acts are anything more meaningful than changes in the weather - things that can be talked about when all other subjects fall short.
There is not much we can do with regards to people actively renouncing the good life and its virtues. Sadly enough. But we can at least avoid doing it ourselves. Retain some dignity in the face of unreason.
Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain.
Originally published June 1, 2015
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Read this, and then you'll know better
One of the most difficult things about being ethical is knowing what you are doing, and then proceeding to do it anyway. It is one thing to not know what you're doing; there's divine forgiveness for such things. But knowing what you're doing is another thing altogether. Especially in cases where you know better.
There are three ways to read a text. They are as follow:
A neutral reading. The reading begins at the start all through to the end, and the reader tries to take the text for what it is.
Benevolent reading. The reader tries to understand what the text wants to say, and forgives those cases when the argument is weaker than it ought to be. If there are passages that can be interpreted in different ways, the most charitable interpretation is chosen.
Hostile reading. The reader begins with an intent to find flaws and weaknesses. If anything is less than 100% irrefutable, it will be refuted. If there are passages that can be interpreted in different ways, the least charitable interpretation is chosen.
It goes without saying that a text changes depending on how it is read. That which according to a benevolent reading is a minor mistake, is an active act of ill intent according to a hostile reading. The reader provides as much information as the text itself, and depending on how the reader reads, the text can be either this or that. The fact that we can choose which reading to employ does not change this.
Thus. There are three ways to read a text, and we can choose which reading to employ.
Remember that first paragraph? The one about ethical dimensions in knowing what you are doing, and the inescapable ethical weight of knowing what you are doing yet proceeding to do it anyway?
From this point on, you will always know if you choose to read something in a particular fashion. Especially if you choose to read someone in particular in a hostile fashion. You will never again be able to claim that you do not know what you're doing, because you from now on explicitly know exactly what you are doing. Because you are choosing to do it.
Welcome to your new, more ethical life.
Originally published April 23, 2015
There are three ways to read a text. They are as follow:
A neutral reading. The reading begins at the start all through to the end, and the reader tries to take the text for what it is.
Benevolent reading. The reader tries to understand what the text wants to say, and forgives those cases when the argument is weaker than it ought to be. If there are passages that can be interpreted in different ways, the most charitable interpretation is chosen.
Hostile reading. The reader begins with an intent to find flaws and weaknesses. If anything is less than 100% irrefutable, it will be refuted. If there are passages that can be interpreted in different ways, the least charitable interpretation is chosen.
It goes without saying that a text changes depending on how it is read. That which according to a benevolent reading is a minor mistake, is an active act of ill intent according to a hostile reading. The reader provides as much information as the text itself, and depending on how the reader reads, the text can be either this or that. The fact that we can choose which reading to employ does not change this.
Thus. There are three ways to read a text, and we can choose which reading to employ.
Remember that first paragraph? The one about ethical dimensions in knowing what you are doing, and the inescapable ethical weight of knowing what you are doing yet proceeding to do it anyway?
From this point on, you will always know if you choose to read something in a particular fashion. Especially if you choose to read someone in particular in a hostile fashion. You will never again be able to claim that you do not know what you're doing, because you from now on explicitly know exactly what you are doing. Because you are choosing to do it.
Welcome to your new, more ethical life.
Originally published April 23, 2015
Saturday, May 16, 2015
The geopolitics of birds
My old home had a very special, very present feature. No less than thirty meters from it, some thousand jackdaws made their nests, and they did it with great alacrity.
They also did it with a large degree of noise, as you might imagine. When they all took flight at the same time, it was like hearing the ocean lapping onto shore. Or, to quote a line oft repeated by me, "their rising all at once was as the sound of thunder heard remote".
If you know the first thing about jackdaws, you know that they cackle. If you know the second thing, you know that anything (any thing) can set them off. If you know the third thing, you know that they are a flock species that reacts in a collective manner to individual distress.
Knowing all this, you can figure that there was a lot of birds and bird sounds going on. At all times.
There was also an (one, 1) owl living somewhere around. Just the one, mind.
Thing is, this state of being/birding was not an accident. (Except for the owl.) It was a result of a deliberative municipal policy. Specifically, it was a result of a policy to drive the jackdaws out of the city center. Not to any place in particular, just away from the parts where the commercial activity went down. Away from the, as you might imagine, rich people.
I did not live in a part of town where rich people resided.
This policy resulted in two things. The first thing is that the jackdaws migrated away from the central parts of town, out to the periphery, giving me this lovely experience. The second thing is that the jackdaws, after a while, moved back in to the central parts, being clever animals capable of outmaneuvering any attempts to keep them out. Only, they now resided both in the central parts and the periphery, whereas they before only kept themselves in the centre. Which, if you want to be blunt about it, means that there are now more jackdaws in the city, rather than less.
The cackling swirling vortex of solid blackness approves of this. It will not be moved.
They also did it with a large degree of noise, as you might imagine. When they all took flight at the same time, it was like hearing the ocean lapping onto shore. Or, to quote a line oft repeated by me, "their rising all at once was as the sound of thunder heard remote".
If you know the first thing about jackdaws, you know that they cackle. If you know the second thing, you know that anything (any thing) can set them off. If you know the third thing, you know that they are a flock species that reacts in a collective manner to individual distress.
Knowing all this, you can figure that there was a lot of birds and bird sounds going on. At all times.
There was also an (one, 1) owl living somewhere around. Just the one, mind.
Thing is, this state of being/birding was not an accident. (Except for the owl.) It was a result of a deliberative municipal policy. Specifically, it was a result of a policy to drive the jackdaws out of the city center. Not to any place in particular, just away from the parts where the commercial activity went down. Away from the, as you might imagine, rich people.
I did not live in a part of town where rich people resided.
This policy resulted in two things. The first thing is that the jackdaws migrated away from the central parts of town, out to the periphery, giving me this lovely experience. The second thing is that the jackdaws, after a while, moved back in to the central parts, being clever animals capable of outmaneuvering any attempts to keep them out. Only, they now resided both in the central parts and the periphery, whereas they before only kept themselves in the centre. Which, if you want to be blunt about it, means that there are now more jackdaws in the city, rather than less.
The cackling swirling vortex of solid blackness approves of this. It will not be moved.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
On critique
The word "critique" is widely misunderstood. Or, rather, it is partially understood, and this partial understanding makes up for its incompleteness by underscoring what it does understand to a fault. This understanding is that critique is all about finding faults, flaws and errors in the thing being critiqued.
To be sure, these are important aspects of critique, but they are by no means the only aspects, and by no means the most important.
The most important aspect of critique is the formulation and sharing of an understanding. For the most part, this understanding is with regards to some particular object (a text, a piece of art, a musical work). It is, however, not limited only to the object in and of itself. Critique also extends to the context, genre, politics and whatever else might be important for the conveyance of the understanding.
You might be beginning to suspect something right about now. This something ought to be something along the lines that a good and proper critique takes up a whole lot of space. Which is true, and moreover sort of the point: the clearer and more explicit the critique, the more verbiage it requires. The expression "it goes without saying" does not apply in this case, as the point is to express those things that tend to go without saying.
When someone has read a critique, they should not only understand the object being critiqued. They should also get a picture of why it has been chosen as an object of critique, its place within the genre and its political or cultural implications. The text should convey the understanding required to situate the object within the context is supposed to be understood in. It is not only a reading of an object, it is an objective reading. It is a shared understanding, in the many meanings of the word.
The most important question a good critique should seek to answer is: what can be said that could not be said before this object came into being?
Most things have flaws and errors, and it behooves a critical reader to note these. However, the point of reading is not to perfect grammar, but to think things that would not be thought otherwise. And the point of critique is to point out these new thoughts, situate them among older thoughts, and ponder what it means that we can now think in this new way.
Thus, the kindest thing you can do to your friends is to do a proper critique of them. -
To be sure, these are important aspects of critique, but they are by no means the only aspects, and by no means the most important.
The most important aspect of critique is the formulation and sharing of an understanding. For the most part, this understanding is with regards to some particular object (a text, a piece of art, a musical work). It is, however, not limited only to the object in and of itself. Critique also extends to the context, genre, politics and whatever else might be important for the conveyance of the understanding.
You might be beginning to suspect something right about now. This something ought to be something along the lines that a good and proper critique takes up a whole lot of space. Which is true, and moreover sort of the point: the clearer and more explicit the critique, the more verbiage it requires. The expression "it goes without saying" does not apply in this case, as the point is to express those things that tend to go without saying.
When someone has read a critique, they should not only understand the object being critiqued. They should also get a picture of why it has been chosen as an object of critique, its place within the genre and its political or cultural implications. The text should convey the understanding required to situate the object within the context is supposed to be understood in. It is not only a reading of an object, it is an objective reading. It is a shared understanding, in the many meanings of the word.
The most important question a good critique should seek to answer is: what can be said that could not be said before this object came into being?
Most things have flaws and errors, and it behooves a critical reader to note these. However, the point of reading is not to perfect grammar, but to think things that would not be thought otherwise. And the point of critique is to point out these new thoughts, situate them among older thoughts, and ponder what it means that we can now think in this new way.
Thus, the kindest thing you can do to your friends is to do a proper critique of them. -
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Counting my blessings
Any given statement has more than one reason for being made. Some of these reasons might be readily apparent - such as "could you pass the salt" - while others might be more opaque. Most of the time, it's not so much what is said but the fact that it is said at all.
Such as this:
This tells you many things. Such as that I'm soon gonna move (yay!), that I've done some preliminary scouting around the new place, and that I've found no less than seven pizza places near it.
Good news all around, as you can see. Until we encounter these followup statements:
You might think that the first tweet would cover the last one - eight is in fact also not less than seven. Six would be wrong, eight is just one more than advertised. From a position of pure formal logic, they are identical.
Thing is, though, that the statement is not a logical proposition. The words "no less than" do more that simply state a minimum, and the number is more than just an amount. There's more going on here than just a simple statement of fact.
What reason could I have for retracting the seven and restating the eight? Of all the possible things I could have said, I said these things in particular. Why?
There could be all sorts of reasons, and we could speculate endlessly about it. Which is the position we find ourselves in most of the time when pondering why people say what they say. Sometimes, we have nothing but the statement itself to go on, leaving us free and/or forced to invent any number of fanciful reasons for why it was said. Sometimes, these speculations lead us down paths that are less than spectacular.
This time, though, we have me around. And I can tell you what's what. Shed some light on this pizza mystery.
I the first tweet, what I say is this: there are seven pizza places near my new place of residence, AND IT'S GOING TO BE AWESOME!
In the second tweet, what I say is this: IT'S GOING TO BE EVEN MORE AWESOME THAN I THOUGHT!
This has implications. Both for how to read and understand what people are saying, and for my continual well-being.
I predict good things in the future.
Such as this:
I just scouted the new place and its surroundings
There are no less than seven pizza places within minutes of walking from it
— 475% quality content (@sargoth) April 7, 2015
This tells you many things. Such as that I'm soon gonna move (yay!), that I've done some preliminary scouting around the new place, and that I've found no less than seven pizza places near it.
Good news all around, as you can see. Until we encounter these followup statements:
I have a confession
I was wrong
— 475% quality content (@sargoth) April 15, 2015
There are no less than eight pizza places within walking distance of my new place
— 475% quality content (@sargoth) April 15, 2015
You might think that the first tweet would cover the last one - eight is in fact also not less than seven. Six would be wrong, eight is just one more than advertised. From a position of pure formal logic, they are identical.
Thing is, though, that the statement is not a logical proposition. The words "no less than" do more that simply state a minimum, and the number is more than just an amount. There's more going on here than just a simple statement of fact.
What reason could I have for retracting the seven and restating the eight? Of all the possible things I could have said, I said these things in particular. Why?
There could be all sorts of reasons, and we could speculate endlessly about it. Which is the position we find ourselves in most of the time when pondering why people say what they say. Sometimes, we have nothing but the statement itself to go on, leaving us free and/or forced to invent any number of fanciful reasons for why it was said. Sometimes, these speculations lead us down paths that are less than spectacular.
This time, though, we have me around. And I can tell you what's what. Shed some light on this pizza mystery.
I the first tweet, what I say is this: there are seven pizza places near my new place of residence, AND IT'S GOING TO BE AWESOME!
In the second tweet, what I say is this: IT'S GOING TO BE EVEN MORE AWESOME THAN I THOUGHT!
This has implications. Both for how to read and understand what people are saying, and for my continual well-being.
I predict good things in the future.
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