I am being figuratively literal.

Don't worry. This post is not a rant over the misuse of the term literal, a phenomenon that has been better attested elsewhere (for exampe, here). Instead, I am returning to my nascent but neglected blog simply to muse on an earlier observation I have made regarding my children's use of the word "pause."

pause
— noun
1. a temporary stop or rest, especially in speech or action.

— verb (used without object)

1. to make a brief stop or delay; wait; hesitate.

Oddly (or appropriately) enough, neither my dilapidated Webster's on the shelf nor my newly updated dictionary app for the iPad records the use of "pause" as a transitive verb (i.e. used with an object). No doubt someone somewhere has recorded the now common transitive usage. Here are a few examples:

He paused the video game so he could make himself a another sandwich.

Agnes decided to pause the movie so Vince could flatulate from a respectful distance.

You'll notice that both examples involve electronics. Indeed, this may be the only context wherein the transitive verb form is (currently) applicable. This apparent correlation is, in fact, the impetus for my reflection.

My children, in years 7, 5, and 3 (respectively), frequently employ this novel form in ordinary contexts. Thus I may be reading a book to my daughter when she suddenly says, "Pause the story; I have to go to the bathroom." Or we might be playing cards when my son says, "Pause the game." Going potty is often involved in these instances, but I will presume so much as to regard that correlation as accidental.

As a literary and logical sort of fellow, I am inclined to interpret these uses as figurative applications of their primary experience with the concept; that is, their familiarity with the word "pause" derives almost exclusively from their understanding of how to suspend the progress of a video to suit their viewing convenience.

This relatively novel use, developed, it appears, from the concept of those pauses we know within ordinary life, is the primary, if not singular, mode of verbal commerce my offspring have experienced. The secondary application then, according to their understanding, is figurative in nature.

I suggest, therefore, that the extension of earlier uses (e.g., He paused to enjoy the sunset, or My aunt paused momentarily before she replied) to the use of electronics is figurative, given that it is our experience that we are interrupting, while the device in question is continuing to function as it was designed (in this case, to accommodate our will). If I'm right, then we have a figurative application of a figurative application. In short, the literal has been swallowed by the figurative because the figurative is now assumed to be literal.

To put it differently: my children seem to be using the functionality of electronics as metaphors for their own experience.

This fact disturbs me. I am not just making idle observations; this reversal of lived experience provides, by my estimation, a basis for new, erroneous intuitions that at present serve to bolster the unreflective assertions of mainstream attitudes toward human nature, morality, and knowledge. It seems to be a foregone conclusion of over-reaching fanciers of science such as Steven Pinker that the general public is content to view the human self as a product of natural forces and the human mind as analogous to a set of computer programs. (See here for Pinker in dialogue with his opposition and links to previous installments in the debate.)

If you take a moment to reflect, you will realize that almost every term applied within our computers's operating systems is borrowed from concepts that originate in a world the predates their existence. Even common computing words like download, upload, save, delete, file, and execute (to say nothing of memory, sleep, or bookmark) rely heavily on metaphorical extrapolations.

Now, lest I overly tax your attention (in this electronic format), I will end without further commentary. I will merely pose a few questions:

Do we want our children interpreting their experience of life and nature through their experience of technology? Wouldn't the converse be better?

Does the borrowed language of software programmers tempt us toward myopic understandings of human cognition?

Do all blogs make us all dumber or just mine?

Unquantifiable qualities

I was reflecting on good ol' St. Paul's words to the Galatians regarding the "fruit of the Spirit," a verse that I'm sure many of you have had lodged in memory since a tender age.

I suppose the problem of having such passages so ready-to-hand is the mental hinderance that superficial familiarity can be to actual understanding. By contrast, I suppose the benefit of having such passages so ready-to-hand is the sudden, fortuitous return of the truths that endure on a deeper plane, requiring no impetus beyond the words themselves as they bob to the surface.

As Horatio said of the grave digger, "Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness," and it is the ease of such recollections that allow for flippancy. But the easy recollections can also be, as for Sydney Carton, a "chain of associations that [bring] the words home, like a rusty old ship's anchor from the deep."

So, in short, as I sat on my couch today staring into space, Paul's words struck me differently. Here they are:

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law" (ESV).

Now regardless of your religious persuasions (or lack thereof), I think you may find these qualities Paul attributed to life in the Spirit to be valuable ones. Nevertheless, I'm not sure if we were asked (without being put on guard) to name the qualities we most value in ourselves and others that the list would look the same. Conspicuously absent are our conventional American values. 

Imagine if the verse read, "But the fruit of the Spirit is independence, charisma, ambition, intelligence, talent, power, wealth, and self-confidence."

It is not just the absence of these qualities that struck me, but the stark difference between them and the ones specified. I have been reflecting on these things, in part, I believe, because of the recent death (May 8th, 2013) of my favorite contemporary philosopher, Dallas Willard. The greatest vindication of his vast corpus of philosophical theology is the quality of the life he lived--or to put it in terms closer to his own articulations: who he was proved to be the best evidence of the truth of what he believed.

Dallas Willard was fond of describing Jesus as "relaxed," and his own life was marked by a similar disposition. If we look at the first few qualities ascribed to the Spiritual fruit, we find fairly relevant characteristics.

Love: 

Was it Aquinas who first defined love as "willing the good" to a person or object? Is there anything so great and so humiliating as love? Love is essentially other-oriented. Is there not, to the contrary, an undercurrent of Self that pulls the alternative set of qualities toward their fulfillment? 

Joy:

Joy ain't happiness (or at least not as we understand it in modern terms), but a pervasive sense of well-being; one that persists in spite of circumstances or personal outcomes. In today's context, would an ambitious, motivated leader be comfortable (and fully content) not taking the complete initiative in his own pursuits?

Peace:

Shalom. Rest. A good person can be peaceful? Do we instead think of the ever-studious, the diligent, the organized, the (dare I say) workaholic as a better model of personal success? Perhaps there is some truth in our impressions, and perhaps there is some deceit. How can we be such spendthrifts with our time in an ultimate reality begging us to lie down in green pastures and wander by the still waters?

Patience:

Oh God, I am a failure here. No comment.

Kindness:

You mean I should treat other people well? Even if it doesn't help me achieve my personal goals?

So far the fruit of the Spirit looks like a nice old man from a fairy tale. Where are the kick-ass qualities of "real" men that we all know lead to real happiness? Let's look further down.

Gentleness:

Whoopsie. I should have skipped that one. Our traditional heroes sit uncomfortably in the shadows. Perhaps George Washington would not approve (certainly not Thomas Jefferson). My apologies.

Okay let's stop before "self-control." That might make us all a little depressed.

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My point is that one who dwells with the Spirit or "in" the Spirit, whatever that means (and presuming it is something good) is a person whose primary character traits generally apply, by modern standards (and ancient standards, for that matter), to weaklings and nobodies, people who don't get what they want because they don't assert themselves or they don't have the "right" kind of education. 

If I'm not too far mistaken, these traits also apply, however, to the people we know deep down to be much happier, better persons than we are, to the ones we want to be around and to be like, the ones we want to be with forever. 

And with God's help perhaps we will get there.

Dwelling on the Triolet (not to be confused with the toilet).

French words are like the flamingoes of linguistic taxonomy: ostentatious, gangling, and generally more appealing to the eye than the ear.  Of course, this comes from someone who, like dear Alice, would struggle to wield such words with the minimal finesse required of a croquet mallet.

Nevertheless, the word triolet doesn't bother me at all. As the name of an obscure but lovely poetic form, it has captured my heart as so many French things manage to do, in spite of the smell and the attitude.

A Triolet is defined as, "a poem of eight lines, typically of eight syllables each, rhyming abaaabab and so structured that the first line recurs as the fourth and seventh and the second as the eighth" (The New Oxford American Dictionary).

The most exceptionally hilarious instance of this form is by Frances Cornford (1886-1960):

To a Fat Lady Seen from the Train

O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
And shivering sweet to the touch?
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?

So much, indeed. I have always been glad that poetry can express the ridiculous, the humorous, and not simply the serious. Often the diverging impulses must blend. As Chesterton has noted, “He is a [sane] man who can have tragedy in his heart and comedy in his head.”

Before I discovered the "tragedy in [my] heart," I turned to verse merely as a way to communicate, for example, the murder of clowns, or the demise of Santa Claus, or the death of overly zealous lumberjacks--and naturally the verse itself was poor (to say nothing of the content). Now, of course, I am glad to understand (that is, stand under) a better, though perhaps not complete, distinction between verse and poetry. As Aristotle has observed, "The work of Herodotus might be put into verse, and it would still be a species of history, with meter no less than without it." 

Poetry, by contrast, is not just a medium, but a kind of verbal Tao, submitted to by its practitioners, and able to instruct and to receive all the ridiculous, noble, profound, and playful aspects of human experience without regarding them as exclusive nor vilifying any sincere attempt to follow its tenets.

Human beings, unfortunately, are not so kind, and perhaps they cannot be. Just as the qualities of Love itself will be superior to the qualities of its disciples; the disciples of poetry cannot fully express the nature of poetry itself. It is a comfort for lousy poets like myself.

Poetry, then, if I can stay on my literary cloud for a moment longer, is a kind of spiritual discipline which trains one, not it the perfection of its forms, but in the perfection of one's heart. I wish more of us practiced it, perhaps even daily, even if we are terrible at it (and we generally are), that we might begin to shed the impulse merely to produce poems of merit and take on the poetic mind, through which our reality is justly discovered.

With that, I freely admit that my own insecurity leaves me, at present, to share only the more flippant of efforts in this Tao. Thus your reward (or penalty) for enduring my disorganized effusion is my own attempt at satisfying the conditions of the Triolet. Hopefully you know your Shakespeare.

Sadly, Not to Be

Dear Hamlet was a happy man—
A shame that he should die!
Ophelia never gave a damn,
Yet Hamlet was a happy man:
He smiled as villains, or anyone, can
And praised the pestilent sky!
Dear Hamlet was a happy man—
A shame that he should die.

 

I highly encourage you to try your own hand at this lovely little flamingo, and send them to me or post them below.

"Science" can't answer the important questions (Implication #2)

As a continuation of my initial argument and its initial implication, I posit a further corollary.

As eminent philosopher and generally successful human being, Dallas Willard, once said, There really is no such thing as Science; there are only sciences. And those various disciplines which constitute the generic field of "science" as a whole often do not agree with each other. People, therefore, who appeal to "science" in the abstract as some sort of nebulous entity capable of solving any riddle or explaining any phenomenon are either ignorant or disingenuous.

Now, don't get me wrong, this is not an anti-science diatribe. The sciences are superb and beautiful disciplines suited to wonderful purposes that, I believe, will extend forward into eternity as valuable avenues for engaging our universe. However, as interesting and elegant as the branches of scientific study are, they simply are not suited to answering questions concerning love, human significance, ethics, religion, or any other essential element of our daily conduct and personal relationships.

In fact, to ask the sciences to address such matters is not only misguided, but also unfair. Such misplaced expectations set up them up to fail and/or force them to give poor answers in order to preserve the undue sense of authority that has been blindly foisted upon them.

But enough about that; you can further explore the ideology of Scientism here or here or here.
On to the argument:

Premises:

1. The various sciences appropriately describe, measure, calculate, and theorize concerning the natural world and those laws, forces, and principles that govern it.

2. If one is to maintain the existence of rationality (and thus free will), then there is more to "the world" than the broad realms of physics and chemistry (i.e. the natural world).

3. Rational human beings, however, face paramount considerations of life and ethical conduct on a daily basis (e.g. how to treat one's children; what to buy; who to love; how to achieve happiness, etc.).

4. Such considerations demand reasoned responses that engage the human will.

Conclusion:

Therefore, the sciences cannot appropriately describe, measure, calculate and theorize concerning these paramount considerations.
-----------------------------------------

There are, no doubt, a few enthymemes lingering beneath the surface, but the thrust of this argument should be clear. If you want real answers to the really important aspects of your life, you must find somewhere else to turn besides science. Let scientists be scientists; let them do their job without burdening them with your own moral and intellectual responsibilities.

Keeping it light

The Fall looms in the mind of a pedagogue. Yes, both kinds of Fall.

In celebration (or lament), here's a little ditty in praise of my wonted guise.

On Beard

Oh Beard,

let us never part again.

Behind you I am safe.

You hide me

better than hypocrisy.

And when I chafe,

let only bristles of the brain

be sheared.

Implication: If you're not irrational, then you're not a physicalist.

If my prior argument (that standard forms of determinism imply irrationality) turns out to be sound, there are several further implications. The first one I wish to expound is a clear case of Modus Tollens.
Modus Tollens is a recognizable logical form wherein the necessary condition for the antecedent is denied, proving that the antecedent must be false. Blah Blah Blah.

Let me put it this way: Being a duck implies being a bird, so if you find out you ain't a bird, guess what? You ain't a duck. In this case being a bird is a necessary condition for being a duck. If you don't meet that criterion, your duck-ness just took a serious hit.

Now leaving such a "foul" analogy behind, allow me to apply this form to the case at hand.

Physicalism is more or less the view that the physical world (governed by the principles of chemistry and physics) exhausts reality. All there is in the universe can be accounted for by the so-called "hard" sciences. We, as human persons, are interesting and complex bundles of physio-chemical processes, but things like a soul or a conscience or an immaterial mind are (at most) just conventional ways of labeling what is ultimately part of the natural world.

You can see, no doubt, that physicalism implies determinism. If everything is physical (or material)* and is therefore governed by the immutable laws of chemistry and physics, then there is no room for a human will to deviate from the natural order. One's "choices" then are simply a part of the closed system of material causes and effects. They are not free in any meaningful sense of the word, for they follow necessarily from previous events, conditions, and circumstances.

So here's the simplified argument:

1. Physicalism implies determinism
2. Determinism implies irrationality.
3. Therefore, Physicalism implies irrationality.
4. However, I am not irrational.
Therefore, Physicalism is false.

Modus Tollens baby.

I leave you now with further questions. If there is more to reality than the physical universe, then what is it? If we do have rationality, conscience, or immaterial souls, how do we make sense of them? Whence did they arise? No doubt, some of you already have some great answers.



*For my purposes materialism and physicalism can be regarded as synonymous.

Either you have free will or you're irrational.

Here's my argument:

Premise 1: The belief "There is no free will"(~F) must be based on good reasoning (G) if we are to regard it as true (T).

Premise 2: However, if the belief ~F is true, then everything is determined (D).*

Premise 3: If everything is determined (D), then the belief ~F is also determined (A).

Premise 4: If ~F is determined, then it is not based on good reasoning (~G).

[In other words, if I am merely compelled by a necessary chain of events to believe something, then it is not a result of weighing the evidence, carefully deliberating, and discovering the best explanation of the facts. In such a case I would find "reasons" to be compelling not for their merits, but because I am determined to do so.]

Conclusion: ~F cannot be regarded as true (~T).

Now, for the sake of style I have been a little sloppy with my symbolization. The predicate form would be clearer for those familiar with the discipline, and pure symbol is not convenient in this format. Still, here's a somewhat clarified version:

1. If ~F=T, then ~F=G.
2. If ~F=T, then D.
3. If D, then ~F=A.
4. If ~F=A, then ~[~F=G].

 Therefore, ~[~F=T]

To put it more succinctly, determinism implies that one is determined to be or to not be a determinist. End of story. No argument is possible or helpful for one who ascribes to such a view. Common sense, however, suggests that a rational person forms his beliefs upon good reasons. He looks at the evidence, he weighs his own experience, and he judges accordingly. By contrast, all forms of determinism (as generally understood) necessarily undermine rationality by eliminating the principles of deliberation and decision that are intrinsic to any informed judgment. Adherents to determinism, if consistent, must accept that such beliefs are the products of events or circumstances beyond their control. There is, therefore, no good reason for them to hold their beliefs (they simply must), and there is no good reason for us to listen to or adopt their perspective (since, according to them we don't choose our "wrong" beliefs anyway).

I'm amazed sometimes that this simple argument (my articulation of which is definitely not the first) is overlooked for more complex refutations. Determinism is necessarily irrational, and if you believe in humankind's capacity for reason, rational deliberation, and ethical decision making then you must reject it. The implications are significant, but we'll leave further discussion for another time.

Nighty-night.

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*For the sake of this argument I define the word "determined" to mean "part of a closed causal process, either physical of psychological." A closed causal process is one in which each event is necessarily caused by a prior series of events and circumstances. No choice or act of volition can violate or initiate anything except as a part of what the causal process effects. It cannot be otherwise, so it cannot be "free" in the normal sense of the word. A fair analogy might be a chain of dominos each successively causing the adjacent domino to fall (supposing that the impetus in such a series could be construed without personal agency).

Blogs aren't worth reading.

 Back when I was in grad school, I apparently thought this bit of sarcasm was worth spewing into the World Wide Wasteland. Somehow reposting this here seems an appropriate way to start this new experiment in humiliation. The date is accurate. I have made no adjustments, so take it for what it was. 

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Sunday, August 05, 2007

 

"Blogs aren’t worth reading"

 

If you agree with the title of this blog you probably won't now be reading this sentence, and if I was strictly consistent with my own sentiments I shouldn't be writing it. However, for those who disagree or who "accidentally" clicked on the link I shall attempt to be moderately ridiculous and irresistibly persuasive.

 

While the term "blog" possesses something of a vague if not arbitrary etymology, it nevertheless retains an intuitive onomatopoeic sense which I believe we are all capable of grasping. The word "blog" is perhaps well suited to representing that strange sound which our imaginations might ascribe to the mental and/or emotional equivalent of blowing chunks. To vomit, retch, spew, hurl ones thoughts at the unsuspecting, ignorant, or masochistic is the true nature of the blog.

 

Certainly there are those who use this tedious medium to express truths regarding which they possess a reasonable degree of authority; however, those accidents of good fortune (of which I am the primary benefactor) cannot be credited to the medium itself.

 

As evidence of this fact, I shall delineate a few of the grossly indulgent behaviors this intellectual scourge has regrettably proliferated. Each heading shall consist in a label characterizing the description of such a particular behavior which shall follow, no doubt, to your hearty corroboration.

 

1. THE SAGE

 

This well-read (and therefore severely confused) blogger is most easily distinguished by the sheer volume (and/or length) of the blogs in question. The Sage's chief purpose is to reflect her own "wisdom," which has unfortunately been elicited by the insistence of one or two mindless flatterers. Quite often she posts daily and sometimes accommodates her insatiable fascination with the "sound" of her own e-ramblings by sending out mass (and massive) e-mails of equal banality. The musings most commonly possess a patronizing flavor, multiple reminders of the apparent inability to make moral judgments, descriptions of life as a journey without reference to a destination, paradoxical reflections on the insignificance of humanity and the ultimate significance of the human perspective, long monologues about the realization and annihilation of self as if they are somehow the same thing, and endless metaphors from nature.

 

DEFINING FEATURE: A mistaken belief that people actually read (and value) everything he or she writes.

 

2. THE RANTER/RAMBLER

 

Perhaps this is the most common form of blogger. Because the large majority of internet junkies are bad writers (not to mention generally void of worthwhile thought processes), these bloggers wait for the explosive power of inconvenience and boredom to spur them to action. These poor imbeciles have helped truly to fulfill the dyspeptic quality of the "blog." Quite often these rants are little more than tantrums abusing such outrageous circumstances as one's boss asking him or her to work harder, the lack of good television programming, the receipt of a speeding ticket, the indifferent attitude of a clerk at Macy's, and even something so atrocious as one's parents refusing to allow him or her stay out past midnight. God forbid.

 

DEFINING FEATURE: Spelling and grammar errors

 

3. THE NARCISSIST

 

Almost every form of blogger also fits in this category - some more than others; however, those who fit no other category generally belong here. The purpose of the narcissistic blogger is simply to glorify (or in his mind, give proper attention to) the supremely significant details of his life. No subject is out of reach so long as it is related to or specifically about him and his priorities. Everyone should take a great deal of interest simply because... well... it's HIM, duh.

Blogs often include everything from picking out an outfit for a concert to making toast.

 

DEFINING FEATURE: an unreflective sense of justification in taking up your time and energy with quite meaningless and self-aggrandizing narrative.

 

4. THE GENIUS

 

The last category which I shall address is the most reprehensible. This poor fellow spends his blogging energies in developing clever ways to criticize others. For instance, The "genius" will dwell at length on the vastly inferior grasp of the English language so painfully exhibited by his peers. Then he will draw absurd, verbal caricatures of a variety of people whose habits he finds (for one perfectly sound reason or another) bothersome. He employs an intentional lack of charity and often fails miserably at providing a sufficient degree of humor to warrant the time each blog takes to write or the strain they place on the readers' patience.

 

DEFINING FEATURE: willful ignorance of the extent to which his own criticisms apply to himself.

 

I hope now you will be able to classify and more accurately recognize the various bloggers of whose thoughts you have been made the frequent victim. Now that you are equipped with this knowledge, I am confident that you will be able to avoid such encounters in the future.

A serious waste of time in a time of serious waste.

I'm presently entertaining the idea of trying to keep up a blog. My impulses are mostly selfish, viz. it could be motivation enough for me to write and ponder in other ways than those which my routine outlets determine. My idea is that the content will be mostly heresy, humor, and a little poetry intended for honest reflection and critique. Its presence here in no way implies a quality worthy of your idle perusal or serious consideration. It is best for you to occupy your time otherwise. If you make comments, they should be mostly negative (but intelligent). Now let's see if this actually happens.