Boredom
Entertainment can be the medicine for the sickness of boredom. What is boredom? Most succinctly, it is a sort of privation. It is the absence of an object of consciousness that retains one's interest. It is a vacancy in the house of the mind. It is a void which causes the structure of consciousness to collapse into itself in dejection and disappointment. If boredom gives rise to a desire for entertainment, what gives rise to boredom? Literally, nothing is boring. Boredom occurs when something is missing.
To be bored is a mode of consciousness. It is the feeling of emptiness. As the whole body aches during dehydration, so the whole mind aches during boredom. The emotion felt along with boredom, ennui, contains the revulsion of pain, but more generalized than localized. It is a manifestation of languishing. It is the nearest one comes to an awareness of the inner process of decay. Protracted boredom atrophies the will. One wants something more, but has been so long without something, one is unwilling to pursue more. The capacity for thought decreases. One sees nothing to draw upon. The emotions dull from the luster of ennui to the matte of apathy to the stain of depression.
For instance, a person feels bored while waiting twenty minutes for a doctor to enter the little white room where she has been deposited. There is no noise. There are no colors. Even the smell is notable for its absence. Her senses are not stimulated. She cannot abide in deprivation. Early in the process, perhaps she seeks something out. She searches the drawers for a magazine or for useful items to pilfer. She thinks about her shortage of bandages, or her need to go to the pharmacy, or her route to the nearest one, and so on. She has managed to fill her consciousness, thus avoiding boredom. Has the outer world offered anything new or additional? No. The room is as sparse as it was before. She has created material to occupy herself. As children, the acts of creation come from the playful imagination. As adults, the imagination is conscripted into practical concerns and is accustomed to thinking of plans and tasks. Either way, one may stave off boredom by taking mental leave of lackluster environments.
Youth
Boredom first and most simply afflicts the youth. Understanding their discontent is an appropriate starting point.
The explanation for boredom in youth is developmental. The mind and body grow in tandem. Consciousness complexifies as one becomes aware of the world, then aware of being aware, and then aware of the self. The mind's foundational faculties—perception and imagination—bloom most quickly.
To grow, one needs nourishment. It is fitting for the process of growth to begin by feeding upon low-hanging fruits. The body relies upon a mother’s milk for its first food. The mind relies upon sensory phenomena, which are the most abundant interior occupants. They are available nearly everywhere you turn. The process of perceiving takes little more than the process of digesting. Perception needs no enticement; it happens on its own.
The move from mother’s milk to solid food for the body is repeated in the mind by the inauguration of the imagination. It is the next step in the process of liberation. One is freed to perceive more than one’s immediate surroundings. Although digestion occurs naturally and thoughtlessly within the healthy body, the biting, tearing, chewing, and swallowing that provides the stomach with sustenance requires effort. The imagination, the grist mill of the young mind, requires more effort than digesting. Mercifully, exercise of the imagination is rewarding. The consumption and digestion of the sensorial is generally pleasant. The imagination’s first creations use material from the sensed world. It needs only to recall sensory phenomena, mix them up, or spin them around, and thereby a new outcome is made. Naturally, one seeks out aesthetic satiation and avoids its unpleasant counterpart, boredom.
Although blooming is good and necessary, it is taxing. Growth depletes resources, both those contained in one's surroundings and in one's self. One has to consume from without and then process within. One needs to take and then turn the taken into something. These requirements are pressing as long as one feels the need to be occupied.
The specter of boredom ever-encroaches upon us because every object of perceptual interest will soon be uninteresting. Not only do such objects keep one's interest only as long as they are being perceived, the repeated perception of them decreases their interest value. As soon as the sun falls below the horizon, one departs from the overlook. The most moving experience upon first witnessing is blasé upon the fiftieth. Few objects are impervious to human forgetfulness and fickleness. We see this constantly in the youth and their limited attention spans.
How does this discussion of something as old as humankind relate to our previous observations of contemporary culture? Our nature—our tendency to depreciate the same object over time and repetition—is nothing new. If our sickness—this love of entertainment—is as advanced as it seems to be, something must have multiplied its symptoms. What was the catalyst? Technological developments funded by economic developments together with enough political security in life's necessities to pursue and profit off life's frivolities.
Entrepreneurs seek to entertain our youth, prone to boredom as they are, and we—their guardians—pay for it. Now, the children are at liberty to develop more quickly and move on to higher pursuits faster. Children are relieved of the burden of having to imagine for themselves—so the guardians think. Creativity is a puerile stage that can be accelerated with flashing lights and loud noises—so the guardians think. The children can put away the childish things sooner and learn the skills necessary to make wealth—math and science. At the very least, they will stop struggling to find something worth occupying themselves and cease pestering us for our attention. Give a child an electronic game, sit her in front of a television, or hand him a controller, and imagination is made easy. There is no need for playful manipulation and demanding struggle. The environment is saturated with perceptual interest. A child needs only to stay awake to experience as much, if not more, pleasure from witnessing someone else's imagination than using her own. Once exposed, she will be quiet and contented. She will be entertained.
Do these provisions tend to retard growth or hasten it? If a person is systematically supplied a necessity, will he be more or less equipped to acquire it for himself? When a person is put on dialysis, do we expect her kidneys to mend? Is dialysis refreshing—rejuvenating? No. It is a recognition that the kidneys are beyond repair. It would be odd indeed to unhook a patient from the dialysis machine after a year and say, "There. You have seen how it is done. You do it for yourself now." "No! Stop!" the patient would protest. "I know nothing about how it is done. I see the blood whir around, but I cannot make it do so in my body. I cannot do it on my own! Nothing has changed inside of me." The same protest, translated into the language of youth, is the declaration of "I'm bored." It is a plea for help and an admission of inability. What entertainment damages most in children is creativity, the catalyst of the imagination. Without the willingness to self-start, a child searches for other ways to get to the finish.
Boredom is not a disease like kidney disease. A child can regain functionality, if only she is encouraged to reclaim it. When you take the training wheels off of a child's bike, recognize that she may fall. Prepare to soothe her. If you put the training wheels back on after she falls, you cannot expect her to have better balance the next time you take them off. The same holds true for the imagination. If a child cannot occupy herself and you give her something that imagines for her, you cannot expect her to better occupy herself in the future. Out of love, you must be firm in your reply: "You can do it."
The wound will not mend on its own. A child may be frustrated and confused by stern support. Overstimulation has diluted children's abilities. Their situation is like that of a man who has along the way indulged in spicy foods at every opportunity. In the nursing home, he heaps salt and pepper onto his meals by the spoonful, complaining all the while that he cannot taste anything. He has ruined his taste buds. The youth have ruined their receptivity through incessant, pre-processed perception. It is no wonder they tug on our clothes, throw tantrums, and beg for entertainment. For them, the world without entertainment is a desert—a hostile and foreign place. What they perceive in it is less enticing than what they remember and what they can do about it is less than they could the day before. There is no time to waste. Bored children often mature into bored adults.
Showing posts with label boredom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boredom. Show all posts
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Boring
May 27, 2009
What is boredom? The feeling of emptiness after a repetition. What is a repetition? Something done or experienced more than once.
Boredom is what eats away at the aesthete. The familiar is his enemy. He is always seeking novelty. By placing himself in unprecedented situations--or repeated situations with unprecedented actors--he is able to escape from boredom.
Nothing scares him more than the same exact experience twice. He is at once in the grip of and repelled by the temporal. Finitude is his pied-piper. He hates that time can be repeated--that there is a commonality to all present moments--and so always seeks the future, because it is unexperienced. As soon as he receives it, it becomes stale. His greatest desire is to be as a dog, lost in the chase of his own tale. He never stops, and thereby remains entertained.
Within the aesthete is the recognition of the finite's shortcomings. It cannot satiate with finality. He feels his inner hunger. He opts to gorge himself on sweets rather than settle for bland, but substantive, food. He is a forest fire burning through underbrush.
What is he after? A beautiful sensation.
What is sufficient about a beautiful sensation. It is interesting. It holds one's attention while it lasts. A beautiful sensation is enrapturing. It energizes one like sugar in the gas tank. A dog sniffs around in a lawn. This sent is new, then this one, and still this one over here. A dog lives in the transition between scents, in the search for difference. An aesthete, similarly, longs to discover, and is driven onward by the remnants of the previous sensation.
What is deficient about a beautiful sensation? It is disposable. One does not recycle a beautiful sensation. A pure aesthete never revisits the same painting. Once he has consumed it, it is has nothing to offer him in the future.
The aesthete is fundamentally hopeless. There is nothing normative in novelty. Boredom always wins the day, if given enough time. Finite permutations only go so far. Pleasures are limited. Yawns await. The most fitting end of the aesthete is suicide. When he realizes his body is no longer a fitting vehicle to new destinations, he drives it off a cliff. In the free-fall, he experiences his final newness. His crash echoes, but then as all that he is involved in and concerned about, it dissipates to nothing.
What if one is too cowardly or tired for suicide? Then one has enough courage and strength only to regret.
What is boredom? The feeling of emptiness after a repetition. What is a repetition? Something done or experienced more than once.
Boredom is what eats away at the aesthete. The familiar is his enemy. He is always seeking novelty. By placing himself in unprecedented situations--or repeated situations with unprecedented actors--he is able to escape from boredom.
Nothing scares him more than the same exact experience twice. He is at once in the grip of and repelled by the temporal. Finitude is his pied-piper. He hates that time can be repeated--that there is a commonality to all present moments--and so always seeks the future, because it is unexperienced. As soon as he receives it, it becomes stale. His greatest desire is to be as a dog, lost in the chase of his own tale. He never stops, and thereby remains entertained.
Within the aesthete is the recognition of the finite's shortcomings. It cannot satiate with finality. He feels his inner hunger. He opts to gorge himself on sweets rather than settle for bland, but substantive, food. He is a forest fire burning through underbrush.
What is he after? A beautiful sensation.
What is sufficient about a beautiful sensation. It is interesting. It holds one's attention while it lasts. A beautiful sensation is enrapturing. It energizes one like sugar in the gas tank. A dog sniffs around in a lawn. This sent is new, then this one, and still this one over here. A dog lives in the transition between scents, in the search for difference. An aesthete, similarly, longs to discover, and is driven onward by the remnants of the previous sensation.
What is deficient about a beautiful sensation? It is disposable. One does not recycle a beautiful sensation. A pure aesthete never revisits the same painting. Once he has consumed it, it is has nothing to offer him in the future.
The aesthete is fundamentally hopeless. There is nothing normative in novelty. Boredom always wins the day, if given enough time. Finite permutations only go so far. Pleasures are limited. Yawns await. The most fitting end of the aesthete is suicide. When he realizes his body is no longer a fitting vehicle to new destinations, he drives it off a cliff. In the free-fall, he experiences his final newness. His crash echoes, but then as all that he is involved in and concerned about, it dissipates to nothing.
What if one is too cowardly or tired for suicide? Then one has enough courage and strength only to regret.
Beginings 3
September 01, 2008
Bridges
What I long for most is to build bridges between souls. Leaving the question of what is a soul behind for its lack of relevance (after all, need we say more than that it is the totality of everything incorporeal of every individual?), what is a bridge and how is it built?
A bridge is a relation between two people. Specifically, in its perfection, it is the avenue across which all contents that are within a person and are effable may travel. This bridge is the road that transports our most hidden shames, keenly felt sentiments, and most light, daily trifles.
Describing its function says something of its raison d'entre. Bridges are constructed in order to relieve the pressure of being the only self to experience one's self. Bleakness and hopelessness are the consequences of the intimations of isolation. It is not enough to be alone. True, some people may desire isolation, but that is from an over/under-estimation of oneself. Either one thinks one is so valuable that sharing oneself with another would be tantamount to being robbed or one is so convinced of one's own depravity that the thought of another knowing one's state is stultifyingly frightening. When people have an awareness (a cognitive and conative mixture) of what their soul contains, then there is a necessary yearning outward. We wish to be thanked for what is good in us and forgiven for what is bad. Every individual presents a possible disciple and confessor to every other individual.
How does this relation actualize? Through active transparency and engaged viewing on the part of both parties. Transparency is the state of being bare to another, of volunteering as much information about one's self as appropriate (where appropriateness is defined by the maximum amount possible while allowing for full transparency to be enacted by the other). Viewing consists of turning one's attention to the other in such a way that one takes in what is volunteered and calls for other information that is germane to forming the most accurate picture of the other as possible. The limits of possibility are most often proscribed by one's finitude and the constraints of language. Space and time physically limit bridges (bodies can only get so near and for so long); language incorporeally limits bridges (words clip reality).
The nature of the soul also places restrictions on bridges. Anyone who soberly assesses the limitations of one's self-knowledge can see how other knowledge becomes an all-the-more-tenuous affair. Mercifully, knowledge in this instance is a means rather than an end. The end is the establishment of a relation between two individuals; the exchanging of words and actions and the time spent in proximity are all ways of establishing such a relation. The relation involves aspects that are both effable and ineffable and thus involve knowledge that can be explicated and an awareness that outstrips description. Love is the name usually ascribed to this mixture of the cognitive and conative. So, what I long for most is love.
September 06, 2008
Forgiveness
What are the consequences of not forgiving wrongs--addressed at either ourselves or another? First, we grab hold of justice. Injury is done to us, so we injure others through withholding forgivness and establishing enmity. Second, we lay claim to self-righteousness (that is, when we are not the one who wronged ourselves--although self-righteousness may happen here as well via personal bifurcation, (e.g., the good part and the bad part of the self). In comparison with the wrong-doer, we are elevated. We are above doing evil. We were victimized and seek rightful retribution. Third, we beckon others' sympathy. Through being indignant, others recognize our prior injury. Others, thus, yearn to alleviate our suffering.
All of these reasons for opting for antagonism are, at bottom, selfish. Given what I have already written about the bankruptcy of self-sufficiency, it follows that such reasons will not suffice for justifying the response.
What of its opposite, then? What are the consequences of forgiving wrongs? Most threateningly, the wrong doer may fail to learn his lesson because he never feels the sting of retribution. Most beneficially, if the forgiveness is genuine, then we are freed from the nagging burdens of being wronged (of continual suffering over the wrong that perpetuates the need for antagonism). In itself, retribution can bring with it new pain, as the conscience recognizes the new wrong being committed (acting unloving towards a fellow). By the same faculty (if still operative in the wrong doing), an even greater sting than retribution may be inflicted: the lashing of humiliation. The wrong-doer is humbled by receiving mercy, which in itself transcends desserts. The conscientious wrong-doer can thus see beyond fairness into love. Any glimpses thereof are assured to effect more change than the greatest retribution because it speaks to the whole of the person as only love can.
September 07, 2008
What it is to be boring
For years, I have described myself as boring. What is it to be boring? Boring is a way of living relative to the exciting way. When asked, "what is good?" the boring person will say, "the same thing all the time," and the exciting person will say, "a new thing at new times."
How does my boringness manifest itself? I like oatmeal. When I say this, I mean that I could eat oatmeal for breakfast every day of my life. I could come to my bowl every morning and enjoy it just the same. If it tasted good yesterday, it must taste good today (because the taste has stayed the same). To an exciting person, oatmeal may be good on a Monday morning, but to have it the following Tuesday is to overplay oatmeal's hand. The goodness has been drained of it. Perhaps it will be replenished by next Tuesday, but oatmeal ought to be avoided until then.
Though a trivial example, it speaks to the fundamental quality of the person of solidity (those who are boring to those who are the people of fluidity). Solidity and fluidity are at loggerheads; they are the antagonists in a battle between two sorts of inertia.
An argument between solidity and fluidity:
1: "I have had enough damned oatmeal!"
2: "Is it too hot?"
1: "No, the temperature is fine."
2: "Is there not enough cinnamon and molasses in it?"
1: "No, it tastes the same as it always does."
2: "Then what's the problem?"
1: "That is exactly the problem."
2: "But I thought it was the way you liked it. You have told me before you liked it."
1: "I'm sure I did, and I meant it. But oatmeal every day?! That is ridiculous! People need variety. How many breakfast cereals are there? Couldn't you bear to have some frosted flakes this morning?"
2: "Well, I could. But I don't see the point. I've found what I like and I'm staying with it."
1: "Haven't you heard of the phrase, 'too much of a good thing'?"
2: "Yes and it has always struck me as misguided. If something is good, it can never not be good."
1: "That's ridiculous; there's a time and place for everything. Sometimes oatmeal is good and sometimes it isn't."
2: "If, as you have admitted, the oatmeal has remained the same as it always has, and once it was good and now it is not, then what has changed?"
1: "I don't follow you. What are you getting at?"
2: "Well, there are two parts of this equation: the oatmeal and you. The oatmeal has remained constant, but now the outcome is bad rather than good. So, it is you that has changed."
1: "So?"
2: "So, goodness changes according to your fancy. Are you fine with that?"
1: "Yes, how could it be any other way?"
2: "If that's the way it really is, I don't know why I'm trying to be a good person."
1: "I thought we were talking about breakfast here."
2: "But it's all related, can't you see? There's reality and there's you and truth is the interaction between you and reality when approached rightly. But, the way you approach it and indeed, the way you think it has to be approached, is so bleak. You weight your side of the equation to heavily. You say that something as weighty as goodness is completely altered by the way you feel about something at different times. You think that goodness is contextual, not that we ourselves are contextualized, but that truth is, at its core, relative to you. So everyone has their own truth; maybe some overlap and others don't. But none is privileged, not even theoretically."
1: "That's right. Truth isn't something that just floats out there. It changes with us because truth is true through us. So yes, sometimes oatmeal is good and sometimes oatmeal is bad. Sometimes being a good person means loving someone and sometimes it means hating someone. It all depends on you and what it is for you to be a good person."
2: "I don't think people are that powerful that they can make their own truth. I think reality ought to have more weight if either side of the balance must."
Do I eat oatmeal everyday? No, of course not. But, in theory, I could. I assent to the proposition that something that is good once is always good. (Note: by 'good' I mean that which fulfills a thing's proper function. Food, for instance, is supposed to taste good and be appropriately nutritive. Oatmeal fulfills both of those criterion.) I thus deny that things get essentially stale which were once fresh.
October 11, 2008
Reminder to Self
There is no way to access justification with any sort of finality. There is no way to answer the question, "why do you do that?" to the point of offering an assurance of righteousness. It is inconceivable of what would be like. At most we can offer subjective convictions ("because I like it," "because I think it is right," "because I think it is good," etc.) but the subjective explanations are not sufficient to meet the demands of objectivity.
Need we have more? Need we be able to stand in the light of certitude in regards to the warrants of our actions? No. "Ought therefore can," may logically give birth to "cannot therefore ought not." The subjective explanations must suffice for ourselves. We bring them with us to our death. We offer them up as a proposal. Every person's life is a proposition. "This is the way one acts righteously," one implies by every action.
What of the person who does not live without awareness of this implication? What of the person who denies it? Personal dissonance and loss of integrity takes place, although it may sneaking under consciousness. Perhaps it is the cause of the hollowness of so many moments of life, of boredom, of consistent and inexplicable dissatisfaction (which is really only unconsidered dissatisfaction).
October 11, 2008 - A basic metaphysical intimation: the notion of justice as love. - Where could we derive justice from? Not only from nature. Nature is not gracious. It is said, rightly, that "she gives life like a mother, but loves as a step-mother." Spending any time in nature, and opening yourself to it, will give you no premonitions of justice. True enough, she supplies the requisites for life. She gives sweetness in the taste of an orange or the sight of a bird's plumage. So, too, does she give the requisites for death. She gives the bitterness in the taste of hemlock and the sight of a chasm. And all with caprice, always without interest.
From where do desserts enter? If one had only a natural awareness, there would be no "oughts." There would be only "ares." Man, on a natural interpretation, ought not live. He simply does live. Man, on a natural interpretation, ought not die. He simply dies. From where, then, does a person draw the inspiration to say, "you should not have treated me so?"
Nature is both fair and unfair. Fair insofar as she is impartial and unfair insofar as she does not love. Her disinterestedness is the germ of our notion of lawfulness and the germ of our yearning to be loved. We know that we ought rationally to accept her indifference, but we feel the lack of her embrace as a refusal to grant the justice in appropriation without dissipation that is the essence of love. But is such justice justice at all? Is not clemency more just than the strictest adherence to the law? Is not this our inkling of the greatness of the hidden amidst the fairness of the brute world? And what is the hidden and how can we clarify this inkling? How can we live by it and perpetuate it?
October 30, 2008 - I would like to make a plea for everyone to practice a certain form of kindness. It requires little effort. It is, at its least, hardly more than nothing.
When someone addresses you, would you please respond? Be it as insignificant as a casual "hello," or as meaningful as long-winded voice-mail--could you please nod slightly or call back to say simply, "no comment,"?
Ignoring a person is to refuse to grant them existence. We exist to such a large degree in the consciousness of others. If I am refused signs of being perceived by others, how am I to know I am even here? Oh--how you have made me nothing! Could you not must the strength to sigh at a person?!
Apathy is the opposite of love. Hatred still involves interest in an object/subject. Apathy, though, is a sort of disinterestedness. Kant argued that the aesthetic experience of beauty was marked by disinterestedness in the object. Unlike most objects we come across, the beautiful object is for us desired for itself. We do not conceive of putting a painting (or lily) to use. It is simply enough to be in its presence. If we grant him that this is true for at least some beautiful objects, it follows that disinterestedness is not an evil in itself. In the case of aesthetic experiences, it is a recognition of an intrinsic good, an end-in-itself. And here we run into the source of the wantonness in acts of ignoring: it is a refusal to recognize an intrinsic good (the individual person). To not respond is to propose the person is of no use. The inconvenience of responding is displeasing enough that it outweighs the responsibility we have to be civil towards others. Ignoring someone disavows their worth because it forces the individual to become an object-something with a definite value to be placed in a consequentialist formula for action. You-the object to be denied--are wound-in-waiting. To be with you, to address you, would be like hurting myself (even if only the pain of being slightly inconvenienced). Thus, the usefulness of a person becomes the operative quality in decision-making and selfishness asserts its tyranny.
Enough. I think you get the point. Please, grant myself and others our humanity. Do not turn us into objects.
November 02, 2008
Love and Justice
2 has been having a rough day. Some juice from her grapefruit stung her eye, an inordinate amount of wrong number calls came in during inopportune times, and her head has been throbbing from caffeine withdrawal and the onset of a sinus infection.
1 has been having a fine day. The wind blew with merciful coolness on him, his peanut-butter and jelly sandwich tasted delicious, and the book he has been reading has gone a long way towards giving him courage that he knows he needs.
Upon arriving home to where 2 was lying on the bed, they shared this conversation:
1: "Hey 2, why are you in bed? Are you okay? You've been in bed a lot lately. Are your spirits out of whack?"
2: "I'm fine. I'm just tired."
1: "Oh. Well, I'll leave you be then. Have you seen the book I've been reading lately? I thought I left it on the counter this morning before I left for work."
2: "I don't keep track of your things. I only keep track of your own. I didn't move them if that's what you're insinuating?"
1: "I wasn't insinuating anything. I just thought you might have noticed it somewhere."
2: "Like I said, I don't take notice of your things."
1: "Okay. You've established that. I was clarifying what I thought before you established your lack of interest in everything that's mine."
2: "Fine. Leave me alone and close the door."
1: "Why are you in such a poor mood?"
2: "I told you I don't feel well."
1: "No, you told me you were tired."
2: "I'm tired and I don't feel well. I want to be left alone."
1: "So you think it's okay to treat me poorly because you don't feel well?"
2: "I would treat anyone poorly because I don't feel well. You are not an exceptional case?"
1: "And you don't think that's a problem?"
2: "I wish I was feeling better. Then I wouldn't have the demeanor I do."
1: "But until you are recovered, you think it's permissible to be unloving towards the people you love?"
2: "Who said anything about unloving? I just want to be left alone..."
1: "And to bring about being left alone you lash out so that people won't want to be around you. You lash out at people that don't deserve to be lashed out at. I didn't make you sick, and even if I did, I didn't want to. So, don't take it out on me."
2: "And you think I wanted to lash out at you? It just happened. Besides, you're one to talk about unloving. What's more unloving than not forgiving someone you love? You could have shown me patience and interpreted my interactions with you sympathetically. You could have seen that I was in no mood to talk and so forgiven me for being curt. Maybe even better, you could have been a little more observant, seen that I was in bed, and deduced with that sweet, big head of yours that I was not well, and left me to rest. Do you really need to ask a person who's in bed at 4 pm if they are okay? Am I normally in bed at this time?"
1: "You act as though it is some sort of capital offense that I was concerned about you. I thought you weren't well, and so I asked to verify that suspicion. Then I could do something to help you--like get you something to drink or call the doctor..."
2: "Or leave me in peace."
1: "Yes, or leave you in peace. I want peace too, you know. I want peace and justice. I want to not be shit on because you don't feel well. I want an apology and then I want to leave you alone."
2: "And I want a little fucking sympathy! I want to be able to focus on my healing so that I can get back to normal. And justice?! How's this for justice? You lost your book, so you should find your book!"
1: "As if you need permission to focus on yourself. You never do anything but that. I'm sorry I bothered you to ask for your help. I thought you loved me and wouldn't be too put out to utter a few words about places it might be. After all, I loved you enough to try to be of help to you and your sickness."
2: "And justice strikes again! You did something for me so I should do something for you. Can't you just give me the gift of a quiet afternoon and take care of yourself while I'm sick?"
1: "I didn't even know you were sick!"
2: "I was in bed!"
1: "You could have been napping! Maybe I wanted to take a nap with you!"
With that, 1 slammed the door and stamped off to the kitchen where he found his book under a box of Kleenex. 1 thought of how he should be more forgiving; 2 thought of how sorry she was for not being civil with the man she loved. They cuddled that night prior to falling asleep and had accomplished more through remaining silent than they had in trying to speak earlier that afternoon.
November 15, 2008
Incomplete thoughts on a proper sort of embarrassment
Philosophers and nearly unanimous in taking human selfishness as fundamental. In a field where disagreement is the fuel of development, where 10 arguments rip down a proposal for every one argument that sets up a positive proposal, such unanimity is noteworthy.
How can a person live life without noticing that other's are concerned about themselves more than us, and that we are more concerned about ourselves than others? (How else could life possibly work?) Spend any time with humans, and this trait will be displayed more than any other. Less debatable than whether a person knows a certain proposition is whether a certain person is self-concerned.
With that general principle established, what are we as agents to do with it? In interacting with others, we ought to expect them to place their own interests higher than ours (in the event that they do not overlap). Additionally, we should expect that we instantiate similar placements (despite any wistful desires to the contrary). Selfishness is the default, and so we approach the world accordingly.
Approaching the world thus provides a reason to take less offense. A person undermines you interest: it is to be expected. You undermine the interests of another: it is to be expected. We are responsible to ourselves before we are responsible to others. First we place the oxygen masks on ourselves, then on incapable passengers. Without the basis of self-interest, survival becomes unimaginable. How could a person really endure without beginning with self and then addressing others? Nature is a stern mother; if you do not take care to do your chores, you cannot go out and play. ("Go to your room," and there you rot.)
Approaching the world thus provides a reason to be embarrassed. So overwhelming is the selfish tendency, that to be considered at all (and all-the-more to be considered more highly) by another should move us to a sort of shame. "Who am I to receive your concern?" "What could I have possibly done to make you think you should compromise your own time (and space) for me?" "You are wasting valuable time on me." How embarrassing it should be to receive a gift! "You have ceded your own natural vitality to me--have expended your resources to nourish me?!"
"Matthew, this is too much. You take your division too far. Yes, people are generally self-interested, but not always. They are also interested in others. Look at the parent-child relationship. The creators of life naturally tend to the lives they create--even at their own expense. That must temper your expectations and with it the possibility of offense increases and embarrassment decreases. People do owe us legitimate consideration. We ought to scold others when we do not receive it and ought not be so surprised when we do. Is that not the more honest assessment of human nature?"
No. Nature only demands preservation. Something else demands perpetuation. Preservation only concerns the self. Perpetuation looks outside. Human nature, insofar as it is of this world, only is concerned with securing its own existence.
"But what of the yearning for fame? What of the life that is spent in tirelessly in the pursuit of notoriety, for instance? How does that pertain to securing one's existence? Being well-known does nothing to keep one alive and flourishing."
I do not deny that fame contradicts the natural drive, but that is precisely because it is unnatural.
November 16, 2008
Bafflement
If someone were to ask me:
2: "What baffles you the most?"
1: "The nature of the space between people, the area where relations occur."
2: "What about that is so baffling?"
1: "Nothing else seems so unpredictable. Nothing else can generate such starkly divergent effects from what their causes were."
2: "What do you mean?"
1: "A man, from a place of loving-kindness, tries to coordinate something with a woman. He sees a problem in their relationship, a place of discord, and wants to resolve it. He wants them to be working well, to be "firing on all cylinders." This requires a bit of discussion, perhaps a little confrontation--but all solely for the sake of final resolution and problem-solving. How is it then, with such intentions, that the result can be a further muddling? How is it that something that began with a desire for improved relations can end in hysterical arguments, further antagonisms, and greater discord? What is the space between individuals like? Somehow, the medium must contort the message. Or rather, sometimes it can contort it. Of course, sometimes intentions align with conclusions. So, sometimes the medium seems to not get in the way, to not divert or misconstrue the attempt from one party (whatever end it may have). And there appears to be no rhyme or reason behind it. There can hardly be odds calculated as to whether the space between individuals will further or disrupt communications. It strikes me as disturbingly random. I honestly have no idea how something will be interpreted, even though I may have taken time to formulate it as genuinely as possible. I may as justifiably expect to be thought of as hateful as I would as loving upon offering an olive branch to another person. At once, a person can say "How dare you?! Who are you to try to make peace with me, you scum!" as, "You tender-hearted man, of course we can be at peace. I know why you extend your hand towards me with the gift of consolation."
2: "And the difference between the two scenarios you attribute to the space between individuals. Why don't you attribute it to one or both of the individuals themselves? Why don't you blame the messenger and not the road the message travels on for the message arriving improperly? Or, couldn't it be that the recipient has the wrong prescription for his glasses, and thus cannot read the message clearly--despite the fact that no message could be more legible to the person with clear vision?"
1: "But that would require me to pass judgment on the interiority of another being and how could I do that? How could I be so bold as to assert that another person is wearing the wrong glasses, as it were? Moreover, how could I be so self-assured that I insist that my messages are always (or even usually) so righteous?"
2: "So, in the name of conceptual ease, you heap your shortcomings on a thing that isn't even real? Honestly, do you really think there is a medium at all? Do you really think that something else contorts a message? There are only two things involved in interaction between two people: person 1 and person 2. The only blame (or responsibility, if you prefer) to be found is to be found in one or the other (or both)."
1: "And if I am not comfortable blaming one or the other (or both)?"
2: "Then you are not comfortable with truth."
1: "Or at least not comfortable with so deep a notion of responsibility. Where is the justice in condemning one or another (or both) for failure? How can we blame, pass such severe judgment, upon beings who cannot be so transparent in their interactions with others? It stands to reason that if we cannot be so transparent with ourselves, we cannot be so with others. And really, how can we know ourselves so well as to present our intentions, wrapped up in a bow? Can there be any final certainty in such an assessment? What of the subconscious? What of our tendency to be wantonly ignorant of our own shortcomings? Wouldn't that make us more likely to heap communicative failures on the other? Isn't my own bafflement an improvement over that state by trying to lay it at the feet of a non-entity (neither the self, nor the other)?"
2: "If you think suspension of belief is an improvement, then I suppose it is."
1: "Enough."
Bridges
What I long for most is to build bridges between souls. Leaving the question of what is a soul behind for its lack of relevance (after all, need we say more than that it is the totality of everything incorporeal of every individual?), what is a bridge and how is it built?
A bridge is a relation between two people. Specifically, in its perfection, it is the avenue across which all contents that are within a person and are effable may travel. This bridge is the road that transports our most hidden shames, keenly felt sentiments, and most light, daily trifles.
Describing its function says something of its raison d'entre. Bridges are constructed in order to relieve the pressure of being the only self to experience one's self. Bleakness and hopelessness are the consequences of the intimations of isolation. It is not enough to be alone. True, some people may desire isolation, but that is from an over/under-estimation of oneself. Either one thinks one is so valuable that sharing oneself with another would be tantamount to being robbed or one is so convinced of one's own depravity that the thought of another knowing one's state is stultifyingly frightening. When people have an awareness (a cognitive and conative mixture) of what their soul contains, then there is a necessary yearning outward. We wish to be thanked for what is good in us and forgiven for what is bad. Every individual presents a possible disciple and confessor to every other individual.
How does this relation actualize? Through active transparency and engaged viewing on the part of both parties. Transparency is the state of being bare to another, of volunteering as much information about one's self as appropriate (where appropriateness is defined by the maximum amount possible while allowing for full transparency to be enacted by the other). Viewing consists of turning one's attention to the other in such a way that one takes in what is volunteered and calls for other information that is germane to forming the most accurate picture of the other as possible. The limits of possibility are most often proscribed by one's finitude and the constraints of language. Space and time physically limit bridges (bodies can only get so near and for so long); language incorporeally limits bridges (words clip reality).
The nature of the soul also places restrictions on bridges. Anyone who soberly assesses the limitations of one's self-knowledge can see how other knowledge becomes an all-the-more-tenuous affair. Mercifully, knowledge in this instance is a means rather than an end. The end is the establishment of a relation between two individuals; the exchanging of words and actions and the time spent in proximity are all ways of establishing such a relation. The relation involves aspects that are both effable and ineffable and thus involve knowledge that can be explicated and an awareness that outstrips description. Love is the name usually ascribed to this mixture of the cognitive and conative. So, what I long for most is love.
September 06, 2008
Forgiveness
What are the consequences of not forgiving wrongs--addressed at either ourselves or another? First, we grab hold of justice. Injury is done to us, so we injure others through withholding forgivness and establishing enmity. Second, we lay claim to self-righteousness (that is, when we are not the one who wronged ourselves--although self-righteousness may happen here as well via personal bifurcation, (e.g., the good part and the bad part of the self). In comparison with the wrong-doer, we are elevated. We are above doing evil. We were victimized and seek rightful retribution. Third, we beckon others' sympathy. Through being indignant, others recognize our prior injury. Others, thus, yearn to alleviate our suffering.
All of these reasons for opting for antagonism are, at bottom, selfish. Given what I have already written about the bankruptcy of self-sufficiency, it follows that such reasons will not suffice for justifying the response.
What of its opposite, then? What are the consequences of forgiving wrongs? Most threateningly, the wrong doer may fail to learn his lesson because he never feels the sting of retribution. Most beneficially, if the forgiveness is genuine, then we are freed from the nagging burdens of being wronged (of continual suffering over the wrong that perpetuates the need for antagonism). In itself, retribution can bring with it new pain, as the conscience recognizes the new wrong being committed (acting unloving towards a fellow). By the same faculty (if still operative in the wrong doing), an even greater sting than retribution may be inflicted: the lashing of humiliation. The wrong-doer is humbled by receiving mercy, which in itself transcends desserts. The conscientious wrong-doer can thus see beyond fairness into love. Any glimpses thereof are assured to effect more change than the greatest retribution because it speaks to the whole of the person as only love can.
September 07, 2008
What it is to be boring
For years, I have described myself as boring. What is it to be boring? Boring is a way of living relative to the exciting way. When asked, "what is good?" the boring person will say, "the same thing all the time," and the exciting person will say, "a new thing at new times."
How does my boringness manifest itself? I like oatmeal. When I say this, I mean that I could eat oatmeal for breakfast every day of my life. I could come to my bowl every morning and enjoy it just the same. If it tasted good yesterday, it must taste good today (because the taste has stayed the same). To an exciting person, oatmeal may be good on a Monday morning, but to have it the following Tuesday is to overplay oatmeal's hand. The goodness has been drained of it. Perhaps it will be replenished by next Tuesday, but oatmeal ought to be avoided until then.
Though a trivial example, it speaks to the fundamental quality of the person of solidity (those who are boring to those who are the people of fluidity). Solidity and fluidity are at loggerheads; they are the antagonists in a battle between two sorts of inertia.
An argument between solidity and fluidity:
1: "I have had enough damned oatmeal!"
2: "Is it too hot?"
1: "No, the temperature is fine."
2: "Is there not enough cinnamon and molasses in it?"
1: "No, it tastes the same as it always does."
2: "Then what's the problem?"
1: "That is exactly the problem."
2: "But I thought it was the way you liked it. You have told me before you liked it."
1: "I'm sure I did, and I meant it. But oatmeal every day?! That is ridiculous! People need variety. How many breakfast cereals are there? Couldn't you bear to have some frosted flakes this morning?"
2: "Well, I could. But I don't see the point. I've found what I like and I'm staying with it."
1: "Haven't you heard of the phrase, 'too much of a good thing'?"
2: "Yes and it has always struck me as misguided. If something is good, it can never not be good."
1: "That's ridiculous; there's a time and place for everything. Sometimes oatmeal is good and sometimes it isn't."
2: "If, as you have admitted, the oatmeal has remained the same as it always has, and once it was good and now it is not, then what has changed?"
1: "I don't follow you. What are you getting at?"
2: "Well, there are two parts of this equation: the oatmeal and you. The oatmeal has remained constant, but now the outcome is bad rather than good. So, it is you that has changed."
1: "So?"
2: "So, goodness changes according to your fancy. Are you fine with that?"
1: "Yes, how could it be any other way?"
2: "If that's the way it really is, I don't know why I'm trying to be a good person."
1: "I thought we were talking about breakfast here."
2: "But it's all related, can't you see? There's reality and there's you and truth is the interaction between you and reality when approached rightly. But, the way you approach it and indeed, the way you think it has to be approached, is so bleak. You weight your side of the equation to heavily. You say that something as weighty as goodness is completely altered by the way you feel about something at different times. You think that goodness is contextual, not that we ourselves are contextualized, but that truth is, at its core, relative to you. So everyone has their own truth; maybe some overlap and others don't. But none is privileged, not even theoretically."
1: "That's right. Truth isn't something that just floats out there. It changes with us because truth is true through us. So yes, sometimes oatmeal is good and sometimes oatmeal is bad. Sometimes being a good person means loving someone and sometimes it means hating someone. It all depends on you and what it is for you to be a good person."
2: "I don't think people are that powerful that they can make their own truth. I think reality ought to have more weight if either side of the balance must."
Do I eat oatmeal everyday? No, of course not. But, in theory, I could. I assent to the proposition that something that is good once is always good. (Note: by 'good' I mean that which fulfills a thing's proper function. Food, for instance, is supposed to taste good and be appropriately nutritive. Oatmeal fulfills both of those criterion.) I thus deny that things get essentially stale which were once fresh.
October 11, 2008
Reminder to Self
There is no way to access justification with any sort of finality. There is no way to answer the question, "why do you do that?" to the point of offering an assurance of righteousness. It is inconceivable of what would be like. At most we can offer subjective convictions ("because I like it," "because I think it is right," "because I think it is good," etc.) but the subjective explanations are not sufficient to meet the demands of objectivity.
Need we have more? Need we be able to stand in the light of certitude in regards to the warrants of our actions? No. "Ought therefore can," may logically give birth to "cannot therefore ought not." The subjective explanations must suffice for ourselves. We bring them with us to our death. We offer them up as a proposal. Every person's life is a proposition. "This is the way one acts righteously," one implies by every action.
What of the person who does not live without awareness of this implication? What of the person who denies it? Personal dissonance and loss of integrity takes place, although it may sneaking under consciousness. Perhaps it is the cause of the hollowness of so many moments of life, of boredom, of consistent and inexplicable dissatisfaction (which is really only unconsidered dissatisfaction).
October 11, 2008 - A basic metaphysical intimation: the notion of justice as love. - Where could we derive justice from? Not only from nature. Nature is not gracious. It is said, rightly, that "she gives life like a mother, but loves as a step-mother." Spending any time in nature, and opening yourself to it, will give you no premonitions of justice. True enough, she supplies the requisites for life. She gives sweetness in the taste of an orange or the sight of a bird's plumage. So, too, does she give the requisites for death. She gives the bitterness in the taste of hemlock and the sight of a chasm. And all with caprice, always without interest.
From where do desserts enter? If one had only a natural awareness, there would be no "oughts." There would be only "ares." Man, on a natural interpretation, ought not live. He simply does live. Man, on a natural interpretation, ought not die. He simply dies. From where, then, does a person draw the inspiration to say, "you should not have treated me so?"
Nature is both fair and unfair. Fair insofar as she is impartial and unfair insofar as she does not love. Her disinterestedness is the germ of our notion of lawfulness and the germ of our yearning to be loved. We know that we ought rationally to accept her indifference, but we feel the lack of her embrace as a refusal to grant the justice in appropriation without dissipation that is the essence of love. But is such justice justice at all? Is not clemency more just than the strictest adherence to the law? Is not this our inkling of the greatness of the hidden amidst the fairness of the brute world? And what is the hidden and how can we clarify this inkling? How can we live by it and perpetuate it?
October 30, 2008 - I would like to make a plea for everyone to practice a certain form of kindness. It requires little effort. It is, at its least, hardly more than nothing.
When someone addresses you, would you please respond? Be it as insignificant as a casual "hello," or as meaningful as long-winded voice-mail--could you please nod slightly or call back to say simply, "no comment,"?
Ignoring a person is to refuse to grant them existence. We exist to such a large degree in the consciousness of others. If I am refused signs of being perceived by others, how am I to know I am even here? Oh--how you have made me nothing! Could you not must the strength to sigh at a person?!
Apathy is the opposite of love. Hatred still involves interest in an object/subject. Apathy, though, is a sort of disinterestedness. Kant argued that the aesthetic experience of beauty was marked by disinterestedness in the object. Unlike most objects we come across, the beautiful object is for us desired for itself. We do not conceive of putting a painting (or lily) to use. It is simply enough to be in its presence. If we grant him that this is true for at least some beautiful objects, it follows that disinterestedness is not an evil in itself. In the case of aesthetic experiences, it is a recognition of an intrinsic good, an end-in-itself. And here we run into the source of the wantonness in acts of ignoring: it is a refusal to recognize an intrinsic good (the individual person). To not respond is to propose the person is of no use. The inconvenience of responding is displeasing enough that it outweighs the responsibility we have to be civil towards others. Ignoring someone disavows their worth because it forces the individual to become an object-something with a definite value to be placed in a consequentialist formula for action. You-the object to be denied--are wound-in-waiting. To be with you, to address you, would be like hurting myself (even if only the pain of being slightly inconvenienced). Thus, the usefulness of a person becomes the operative quality in decision-making and selfishness asserts its tyranny.
Enough. I think you get the point. Please, grant myself and others our humanity. Do not turn us into objects.
November 02, 2008
Love and Justice
2 has been having a rough day. Some juice from her grapefruit stung her eye, an inordinate amount of wrong number calls came in during inopportune times, and her head has been throbbing from caffeine withdrawal and the onset of a sinus infection.
1 has been having a fine day. The wind blew with merciful coolness on him, his peanut-butter and jelly sandwich tasted delicious, and the book he has been reading has gone a long way towards giving him courage that he knows he needs.
Upon arriving home to where 2 was lying on the bed, they shared this conversation:
1: "Hey 2, why are you in bed? Are you okay? You've been in bed a lot lately. Are your spirits out of whack?"
2: "I'm fine. I'm just tired."
1: "Oh. Well, I'll leave you be then. Have you seen the book I've been reading lately? I thought I left it on the counter this morning before I left for work."
2: "I don't keep track of your things. I only keep track of your own. I didn't move them if that's what you're insinuating?"
1: "I wasn't insinuating anything. I just thought you might have noticed it somewhere."
2: "Like I said, I don't take notice of your things."
1: "Okay. You've established that. I was clarifying what I thought before you established your lack of interest in everything that's mine."
2: "Fine. Leave me alone and close the door."
1: "Why are you in such a poor mood?"
2: "I told you I don't feel well."
1: "No, you told me you were tired."
2: "I'm tired and I don't feel well. I want to be left alone."
1: "So you think it's okay to treat me poorly because you don't feel well?"
2: "I would treat anyone poorly because I don't feel well. You are not an exceptional case?"
1: "And you don't think that's a problem?"
2: "I wish I was feeling better. Then I wouldn't have the demeanor I do."
1: "But until you are recovered, you think it's permissible to be unloving towards the people you love?"
2: "Who said anything about unloving? I just want to be left alone..."
1: "And to bring about being left alone you lash out so that people won't want to be around you. You lash out at people that don't deserve to be lashed out at. I didn't make you sick, and even if I did, I didn't want to. So, don't take it out on me."
2: "And you think I wanted to lash out at you? It just happened. Besides, you're one to talk about unloving. What's more unloving than not forgiving someone you love? You could have shown me patience and interpreted my interactions with you sympathetically. You could have seen that I was in no mood to talk and so forgiven me for being curt. Maybe even better, you could have been a little more observant, seen that I was in bed, and deduced with that sweet, big head of yours that I was not well, and left me to rest. Do you really need to ask a person who's in bed at 4 pm if they are okay? Am I normally in bed at this time?"
1: "You act as though it is some sort of capital offense that I was concerned about you. I thought you weren't well, and so I asked to verify that suspicion. Then I could do something to help you--like get you something to drink or call the doctor..."
2: "Or leave me in peace."
1: "Yes, or leave you in peace. I want peace too, you know. I want peace and justice. I want to not be shit on because you don't feel well. I want an apology and then I want to leave you alone."
2: "And I want a little fucking sympathy! I want to be able to focus on my healing so that I can get back to normal. And justice?! How's this for justice? You lost your book, so you should find your book!"
1: "As if you need permission to focus on yourself. You never do anything but that. I'm sorry I bothered you to ask for your help. I thought you loved me and wouldn't be too put out to utter a few words about places it might be. After all, I loved you enough to try to be of help to you and your sickness."
2: "And justice strikes again! You did something for me so I should do something for you. Can't you just give me the gift of a quiet afternoon and take care of yourself while I'm sick?"
1: "I didn't even know you were sick!"
2: "I was in bed!"
1: "You could have been napping! Maybe I wanted to take a nap with you!"
With that, 1 slammed the door and stamped off to the kitchen where he found his book under a box of Kleenex. 1 thought of how he should be more forgiving; 2 thought of how sorry she was for not being civil with the man she loved. They cuddled that night prior to falling asleep and had accomplished more through remaining silent than they had in trying to speak earlier that afternoon.
November 15, 2008
Incomplete thoughts on a proper sort of embarrassment
Philosophers and nearly unanimous in taking human selfishness as fundamental. In a field where disagreement is the fuel of development, where 10 arguments rip down a proposal for every one argument that sets up a positive proposal, such unanimity is noteworthy.
How can a person live life without noticing that other's are concerned about themselves more than us, and that we are more concerned about ourselves than others? (How else could life possibly work?) Spend any time with humans, and this trait will be displayed more than any other. Less debatable than whether a person knows a certain proposition is whether a certain person is self-concerned.
With that general principle established, what are we as agents to do with it? In interacting with others, we ought to expect them to place their own interests higher than ours (in the event that they do not overlap). Additionally, we should expect that we instantiate similar placements (despite any wistful desires to the contrary). Selfishness is the default, and so we approach the world accordingly.
Approaching the world thus provides a reason to take less offense. A person undermines you interest: it is to be expected. You undermine the interests of another: it is to be expected. We are responsible to ourselves before we are responsible to others. First we place the oxygen masks on ourselves, then on incapable passengers. Without the basis of self-interest, survival becomes unimaginable. How could a person really endure without beginning with self and then addressing others? Nature is a stern mother; if you do not take care to do your chores, you cannot go out and play. ("Go to your room," and there you rot.)
Approaching the world thus provides a reason to be embarrassed. So overwhelming is the selfish tendency, that to be considered at all (and all-the-more to be considered more highly) by another should move us to a sort of shame. "Who am I to receive your concern?" "What could I have possibly done to make you think you should compromise your own time (and space) for me?" "You are wasting valuable time on me." How embarrassing it should be to receive a gift! "You have ceded your own natural vitality to me--have expended your resources to nourish me?!"
"Matthew, this is too much. You take your division too far. Yes, people are generally self-interested, but not always. They are also interested in others. Look at the parent-child relationship. The creators of life naturally tend to the lives they create--even at their own expense. That must temper your expectations and with it the possibility of offense increases and embarrassment decreases. People do owe us legitimate consideration. We ought to scold others when we do not receive it and ought not be so surprised when we do. Is that not the more honest assessment of human nature?"
No. Nature only demands preservation. Something else demands perpetuation. Preservation only concerns the self. Perpetuation looks outside. Human nature, insofar as it is of this world, only is concerned with securing its own existence.
"But what of the yearning for fame? What of the life that is spent in tirelessly in the pursuit of notoriety, for instance? How does that pertain to securing one's existence? Being well-known does nothing to keep one alive and flourishing."
I do not deny that fame contradicts the natural drive, but that is precisely because it is unnatural.
November 16, 2008
Bafflement
If someone were to ask me:
2: "What baffles you the most?"
1: "The nature of the space between people, the area where relations occur."
2: "What about that is so baffling?"
1: "Nothing else seems so unpredictable. Nothing else can generate such starkly divergent effects from what their causes were."
2: "What do you mean?"
1: "A man, from a place of loving-kindness, tries to coordinate something with a woman. He sees a problem in their relationship, a place of discord, and wants to resolve it. He wants them to be working well, to be "firing on all cylinders." This requires a bit of discussion, perhaps a little confrontation--but all solely for the sake of final resolution and problem-solving. How is it then, with such intentions, that the result can be a further muddling? How is it that something that began with a desire for improved relations can end in hysterical arguments, further antagonisms, and greater discord? What is the space between individuals like? Somehow, the medium must contort the message. Or rather, sometimes it can contort it. Of course, sometimes intentions align with conclusions. So, sometimes the medium seems to not get in the way, to not divert or misconstrue the attempt from one party (whatever end it may have). And there appears to be no rhyme or reason behind it. There can hardly be odds calculated as to whether the space between individuals will further or disrupt communications. It strikes me as disturbingly random. I honestly have no idea how something will be interpreted, even though I may have taken time to formulate it as genuinely as possible. I may as justifiably expect to be thought of as hateful as I would as loving upon offering an olive branch to another person. At once, a person can say "How dare you?! Who are you to try to make peace with me, you scum!" as, "You tender-hearted man, of course we can be at peace. I know why you extend your hand towards me with the gift of consolation."
2: "And the difference between the two scenarios you attribute to the space between individuals. Why don't you attribute it to one or both of the individuals themselves? Why don't you blame the messenger and not the road the message travels on for the message arriving improperly? Or, couldn't it be that the recipient has the wrong prescription for his glasses, and thus cannot read the message clearly--despite the fact that no message could be more legible to the person with clear vision?"
1: "But that would require me to pass judgment on the interiority of another being and how could I do that? How could I be so bold as to assert that another person is wearing the wrong glasses, as it were? Moreover, how could I be so self-assured that I insist that my messages are always (or even usually) so righteous?"
2: "So, in the name of conceptual ease, you heap your shortcomings on a thing that isn't even real? Honestly, do you really think there is a medium at all? Do you really think that something else contorts a message? There are only two things involved in interaction between two people: person 1 and person 2. The only blame (or responsibility, if you prefer) to be found is to be found in one or the other (or both)."
1: "And if I am not comfortable blaming one or the other (or both)?"
2: "Then you are not comfortable with truth."
1: "Or at least not comfortable with so deep a notion of responsibility. Where is the justice in condemning one or another (or both) for failure? How can we blame, pass such severe judgment, upon beings who cannot be so transparent in their interactions with others? It stands to reason that if we cannot be so transparent with ourselves, we cannot be so with others. And really, how can we know ourselves so well as to present our intentions, wrapped up in a bow? Can there be any final certainty in such an assessment? What of the subconscious? What of our tendency to be wantonly ignorant of our own shortcomings? Wouldn't that make us more likely to heap communicative failures on the other? Isn't my own bafflement an improvement over that state by trying to lay it at the feet of a non-entity (neither the self, nor the other)?"
2: "If you think suspension of belief is an improvement, then I suppose it is."
1: "Enough."
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