tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17771432365345991012024-03-12T16:36:39.960-07:00Urban LucubrationObservations on misanthropy, anonymity, and the value of silence.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-49679033856170808512011-08-07T00:43:00.001-07:002011-08-20T15:45:15.372-07:00LiberaDamn.<br />
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lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-73302712516389816462011-07-20T01:30:00.000-07:002011-08-20T15:45:19.311-07:00On GriefI don't have many friends. I never have. The ones I do have are few and far between, and inevitably, they last for a handful of years at most. <br />
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Sometimes I think about how my life must look to others. Transient? Nomadic? Flitting from cause to cause, friend to friend as if the very thought of permanence is damning.<br />
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An old friend - an old best friend - once told me that I was unknowable. <i>Unknowable</i>, he said - screamed - in my face. I never really thought about how I must come across to those who know me. Those who enter into any sort of relationship with me do so with the knowledge that reciprocity is not in my nature, and that whatever profound sharing of thoughts and minds occurs - it will be temporary. Invariably one day, I'll leave and I won't come back. I'll move on. Because that's just what I do. I imagine that few individuals would be willing to enter into a friendship with someone who has already seen its end from afar. <br />
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I suppose I can understand why many are reluctant to embark upon something so transient. Short-lived. Unknowable. How difficult it must be for an individual to share affection with someone who shares so little of themselves. Those I leave behind think me cruel. That once I have moved on, I no longer care. That I am utterly dispassionate toward the trail of grief I leave behind. <br />
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Grief.<br />
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Aaron died yesterday. Accidental overdose. I always told that fucking kid to quit mixing his highs. Never did listen to me.<br />
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He is - was - a few years older than me, but that doesn't stop me calling him kid. The way he looks - looked - at the world was really a league of its own. Naive. Fascinated. Every breath he took was a wonder. Granted, he was the only person who thought so - his mother was kind of a bitch. We used to run together, and not in that 6 am-Kelloggs-healthy living way, either. <br />
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I don't know exactly what it was that we had, but it was good. This rather fucked up mélange of anger and alienation and desperation, expressed platonically like friendship was the only way out. It's funny, because for most people friendship is the goal, not the means. I think we were just both pissed off kids looking for some artefact of society to rip apart.<br />
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I was a fucked up kid, and this fact will never change. What's even more fucked up is how utterly un-fucked up the world thought I was. This was perhaps more damaging than any successful charge of juvenile arson or vandalism or animal cruelty could ever be. There's only one thing worse than an angry, destructive kid - an angry, destructive kid who got straight A's and was teacher's pet all the way through junior high. One is easy to fix, another utterly impossible. I'll let you figure that one out.<br />
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If I ever had to pick a past friendship that I will likely always remember, it would be Aaron. He was the only friend I've ever had who understood what it is to struggle. To genuinely struggle. To struggle against one's own nature. The two of us got up to some awful shit, but it was always honest. We never felt to the need to hide anything from each other - the sadistic gleam in our eyes; the utter power upon knowing that you are the sole cause of another agent's suffering. We never felt the need to conjure justifications for our actions whose sincerity was intended only for the recipient. We were both fucked up, but we were honest about it. For perhaps the only few short years in my life, I felt vindicated. <br />
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I think that this sensation in the pit of my stomach is grief. Granted, I would hesitate to label Aaron anything even remotely resembling conventional friendship. Regardless, I think that what we had was the closest degree of genuine affection either of us were capable of. <br />
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In the end, maybe that's all that matters.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-29892710251479352722011-06-25T19:53:00.000-07:002011-08-20T15:45:08.897-07:00IridescentThis song gets me every time.<br />
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Linkin Park is a band that will always be something significant to me. I think it's because their growth as a band so perfectly mimics with my own maturation and developmental trajectory, both chronologically-wise and content-wise. They're not my favorite band, and very few of their songs are actually on my "repeat" playlist, but there is something there that will always resonate with me. <br />
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I first jumped on the Linkin Park bandwagon in 2001. I was still in elementary school at the time, when Linkin Park released their first mainstream success - Hybrid Theory. Needless to say, Hybrid Theory was a gigantic, concentrated, repository of adolescent anger and "fuck you, fuck me, fuck the world!" sort of mentality. The subject matter was dark, the lyrics depressing, and the premise rather juvenile. It was the musical equivalent of an angry 11-year-old's diary, lashing out against the dismal cards that life had dealt him. The album dealt with everything from drug addictions to societal alienation, child abuse to self-injury, interpersonal drama to straight-out violence. <br />
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Linkin Park has changed a lot since then. But then again, so have I. I moved from a period of identifying with their music, to a place of simple respect. Because while I don't consider myself a moshing, die-hard fan, I respect their artistic merit. The tone of their songs has changed significantly since 2001 - matured, really. What they are now is a band looking back at the short-sighted days of Hybrid Theory from a place of increased self-awareness and wisdom. They've made the successful transition from being a victim in life to that of architect - no longer content to be merely a victim of adversity. <br />
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Linkin Park doesn't scream much these days, in stark contrast to their first few years of commercial success. Their fanbase has also diversified significantly because of this. The name "Linkin Park" used to conjure up images of truant, suburban 17-year-old boys strung out on coke and tagging derelict buildings on Saturday nights. Their concerts used to be little more than thinly disguised opportunities to pick fights, drink alcohol in public, and inhale second-hand smoke from the hundreds of pot-licking young men moshing furiously in the crowd. <br />
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It's apparent however, when examining Linkin Park today, that while their artistic vision has matured, their fans have matured with them. Because those 17-year-olds are hitting their 30s today, many of them in stable careers and starting families. <br />
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Linkin Park today, in 2011, has a specific flavour to their music that draws me. It's not quite adversity anymore. They don't sound like angry, desperate youth who are suffering - lost amid a 21st century globalized society that seems to be the personification of dispassion. Not at all. The Linkin Park of today sounds like men who have lived through a decade of hardship in their younger years, and now look back with a more self-aware, forgiving eye. Their newer songs reek of something their old songs did not: <i>Hope</i>. That's it, I think. The Linkin Park today sounds like hope. <br />
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It's a change that has also occurred in my own maturation process. Growth is not about forgiving or forgetting. Growth is about acquiring a paradigm shift - moving away from a place of anger to a place of silence. A place of grace. A place of resignment, and a place of forward motion. <br />
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The Linkin Park today is comprised of six men with far quieter minds than they used to have, and that is why no matter how far apart their artistic vision and my own musical preferences may grow, I will always have a copy Hybrid Theory on my CD shelf.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-25279759620581187272011-04-20T00:32:00.000-07:002011-04-20T16:57:30.501-07:00Classical Song(s) of the Week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Classical Song (#1) of the Week: Nella Fantasia, performed by PCCB<br />
Composer: Ennio Morricone & Chiara Ferraù<br />
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PCCB never lets me down. I'm not certain as to the date of this performance, but given that I recognize the Head Chorister as Baudouin Aube, it must have been fairly recent (ie. 2010 - present). The piece itself is very well-known both locally and internationally, hence the initial reaction from the audience. The Italian lyrics are a bit butchered (not that I can tell), but it's understandable given that PCCB is a French choir. Nevertheless, I would say that they remain my favorite classical treble choir to date. There are close competitors, for sure - Libera and Vienna Boys Choir (VBC) to name a few, but I've never really been that interested in the typical VBC repertoire. And as far as Libera is concerned, while their music is immensely pleasurable to listen to, I would not in a million years throw them into "classical treble" territory. A good example of this contrast, would be to compare the above performance of Nella Fantasia with Libera's "Time" - complete with EMI music video:<br />
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As you can see, it's apparent that Libera is not a classical group, despite many of their songs having lyrics in Latin. PCCB and Libera run in very different circles. The boys in PCCB undergo much more formal musical training that typify the "boy-choir sound", where Libera boys seem to be taught a much more "pop" sound. Libera's strengths are its marketing, its contemporary/New-Age songs, and commercial appeal. The boys themselves - vocal technique and skill-wise - would be completely out of their league if compared to the larger subset of classical treble choirs and cathedral mixed choirs. That being said, I'm an enormous fan of Libera.<br />
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Glad to see that Aube is holding his own now as Head Chorister. Personally, I find him a bit better than his predecessor, but that's largely a matter of preference. Aube has a much clearer upper register, I would say. For those of you who are screaming at me to address the serenading elephant in the room, no I am not confusing PCCB with PCSM (Les Petits Chanteurs de Saint-Marc), as many are wont to do. Apparently it happens a fair bit given that both are technically treble choirs, although PCCB is a boys-only choir. <br />
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For those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about, Jean-Baptiste Maunier (or JB, as the rabid fans call him) is most well-known for featuring in Les Choristes, a 2002 movie about a cathedral choir. I haven't been able to find an English version of the film, so I watched it in the original French given that my French is workable. Personally, I'm a bit skeptical when boy trebles rise to fame this way given that it inevitably becomes a beauty contest as much as a singing one - ie. Anthony Way, although one exception I can think of in this case is probably Aled Jones. But I certainly won't argue that Maunier had a phenomenal treble voice (last I heard, when his voice broke he was replaced as Head Chorister by Emmanuel Lizé). The piece for which he's most well known for is called "Caresse sur l'océan".<br />
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Classical Song (#2) of the Week: Caresse sur l'océan, performed by PCSM<br />
Composer: Bruno Coulaislucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-62550535829293375112011-03-24T01:11:00.000-07:002011-03-24T01:12:08.724-07:00On FlightI am looking for a fresh start. <br />
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I wonder why it is that people idealize and romanticize the idea of starting anew - tabula rasa; clean slate. They're still the same person, they will continue making the same mistakes, no matter where or how far they run. <br />
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One can flee to another city halfway across the world; lost amid the gray, gray canvas of nameless faces going nowhere. But the first night he rests, he remembers that the sky is still the same, and the clouds floating by are the same ones as the night before, and the night before, and the night before that.<br />
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Nothing really changes. The only thing that changes is that when you awake in your new life, you add another notch to your bedpost, and run again. Except, you tell yourself, this time will be different.<br />
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It never is.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-19253078394851885002011-03-05T21:51:00.000-08:002011-03-24T01:12:19.820-07:00On Growing UpAn excellent panel discusses the evident trend among Generation Y's teens and young adults - "Emerging Adulthood". A well-rounded discussion with both economists and developmental psychologists exploring why youth today are taking longer to reach "traditional" developmental milestones, whatever those may be (or indeed, if they're even relevant in the 21st century).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/a1hwXDjbgms?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-57246188858823986612011-02-28T01:28:00.000-08:002011-02-28T15:45:35.396-08:00On AmoralityPsychopathy has been a longstanding research interest of mine, and it will be a topic which - hopefully - I will pursue into academia, should the stars align. I am not certain if current researchers in the area share my perspective, but psychopaths are - to me - far less deviant and malevolent than they are typically judged to be. I view psychopathy merely as a personality construct which in and of itself is morally neutral. <br />
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It is a fairly justifiable assertion that most, if not all, research psychologists were initially drawn to the discipline by a personal connection of sorts. This assertion is one which dangles implicitly; unspoken but assumed among academic circles. Granted, research interests almost always diversify as researchers become entrenched in the ivory halls, but it was always something personal that set ablaze the initial spark of curiosity; of interest, of possibility. The ex-depressed researcher who studies stress and coping, the perfectionist who studies perfectionism, the autistic who studies autism, and the psychopath who studies psychopathy. It is not surprising that one excels at what one knows best. <br />
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All but a rare few in my social circle understand my motivation to pursue research psychology. My research interests since then have now expanded to include emotional regulation, consciousness, visual cognition, autism-spectrum disorders, and evolutionary psychology. I also have a great interest in correlated and/or related personality constructs such as antisocial personality disorder, narcissism, and machiavellianism. <br />
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To address the serenading elephant in the room: Yes, I have considered the possibility that I exhibit many psychopathic characteristics. No, I have concluded that I am not a psychopath - that is, my psychopathic features are not present at a sufficient level by which to receive the threshold research label of psychopathy. That being said, I'm not sure if I draw this conclusion out of empirical rigor or wishful thinking. I am aware that, as I am, I am atypical in many regards. I do share an astoundingly high number of psychopathic features, I will admit. <br />
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Most laypeople do not realize that psychopaths do not, in fact, possess a deficiency in emotional understanding. Psychopaths often excel at reading others, adopting another person's perspective to better control the social interaction. Psychopaths are perhaps most aptly characterized by a lack of empathy, but this lack of empathy is of a distinct flavor which is not to say that psychopaths cannot "put themselves in another person's shoes". It is particularly the superior ability of psychopaths to adopt the viewpoint of another that makes them, very often, so dangerous. Psychopathic lack of empathy is more the inability to simulate another person's experience of a given event. It is coupling of an impressive ability to read the intentions and emotion states of others, with a genuine lack of compassion. In laymen's terms, psychopaths know but do not care.<br />
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This is largely why psychopaths are largely seen as immoral or amoral. To a psychopath, the moral laws and legal laws are equivalent. It is generally accepted in contemporary research that most of human morality is based upon emotional experience. Moral cognition therefore hinges on the experience of emotion. Emotions evolved because they allowed for humanity's ancestors to respond quickly to any given situation. As most individuals today realize, there is no course of action undertaken with such swiftness or vigor other than those we believe are morally right. Emotion provides an incentive - a conviction - to pursue a course of action with as much efficacy and speed as possible. Presumably, these courses of action are those which have proven to be evolutionarily adaptive. For instance, consider the universal moral violation of murder. It is clear even back during primordial times that murdering one's neighbor would result in cultural disapproval. For the early member of humankind, such ostracization and explusion from a society (eg. village) could potentially result in death. Humans function optimally when they operate in societies of other humans, with each individual contributing a unique, specialized skill. Hence, most individuals today have evolved the innate revulsion toward murder. Very commonly when asked why they disapprove of murder, people respond that it is a result of a "gut feeling" or "conscience" rather than intellectual reasoning. Individuals derive positive affect from prosocial behavior, and in that sense, they very much condition themselves to that which they are already evolutionarily predisposed.<br />
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Perhaps you may see now, why the moral poverty of a psychopath is problematic but not obvious, nor readily identifiable. I resent the association that exists between psychopathy and "evil". Evil is a word that I thoroughly dislike, both because society tends to misuse it and the fact that I do not believe in moral axioms. Morality will always be, to me, a point of view - a perspective on actions taken, a judgement of propriety. Without moral individuals there is no concept of morality, only action. The universe behaves as it behaves, not as it ought to behave. <br />
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For this reason, I often find it difficult to engage in moral discourse. As a vocal member of the secular/atheist movement, I often find myself in debates regarding the prescription and discussion of moral conundrums. These usually take the form of two teams of debaters, with stances determined randomly at the flip of a coin. Such intellectual exercises are useful for evaluating numerous moral truths, but over time I have come to the realization that - despite both parties agreeing to advocate their designated position to the best of their ability - there is always a "correct" answer. It does not matter if an individual is randomly assigned the role of devil's advocate - there is ALWAYS a correct answer which hangs implicitly in the air. There is an unspoken agreement that 1) there is a correct moral stance to take, and 2) regardless of how reasonable "immoral" arguments may be, a consensus will eventually arrive upon this moral truth. Accordingly, I encounter a great deal of difficulty defending this "correct" answer. I do understand the reasoning behind this correct stance, but it is at an intellectual level only. There is no conviction behind my words. There is an entirely hidden layer of moral subtext which I am never privy to. Even when arguing the "right" stance, I experience no emotional conviction. Over time it became abundantly clear that most individuals adopt moral stances because they "feel" wrong to some extent, whereas I am not similarly compelled to distinguish between moral and immoral. The morality of crimes, to me, is a function only of its potential consequences to the self. <br />
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This understanding of morality appeared early. As a child, I was bitter and cynical and ruthless. I shoplifted, I set fires, I schemed, I manipulated, I tortured and killed neighborhood cats, I lied indiscriminately, and I saw people only as objects within my environment. For all these actions I regretted and regret nothing.<br />
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To be frank, human compassion is not something that comes naturally to me as it does others. Empathy is not something that I was reared to understand. Perhaps I never will, but I do wonder. Some mornings when I awake, I feel a spark of motivation; a vibrant touch of zeal to attempt to understand what it means to be a good person, but it is fleeting. It dissipates before I can muster the self-awareness to understand what it was.<br />
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Other terms I would find myself pondering the universe within a peculiar intellectual paradigm - that of an infinite universe. I have touched on this before in previous posts, but whenever I find myself contemplating the universe a few million years from now I become apathetic. Most people would think that because I find the human species so insignificant, that I would not hesitate to do as I will. This is a wary assumption, because my orientation on action and inaction is precisely the opposite. Because I am aware that my existence is only in this moment - in a few billion years no species would still be living to have any recollection of the human race, and therefore, myself. There is nothing so infinite as to be understandable. There is no reason why I must hesitate to, for instance, murder my neighbor in his sleep. There is no reason to refrain from manipulating others for my own sadistic pleasure. There is absolutely no reason critical enough as to refrain from destruction for the sake of free-floating morality.<br />
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Because I do not believe that morality is intrinsic or axiomatic. Morality, from my perspective, is nothing more than a large, species-wide, generally agreed upon democracy. To that understanding, perhaps the purest understanding of our existence must be understood through the eyes of children. Children who have not yet attained moral reasoning are, by far, the purest method we have by which to make sense of our time here. For children are not immoral so much as amoral. <br />
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Perhaps then, those axiomatic altruists who spend their lives and careers defending the well-being of children, were onto something after all.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-57290648206220282952011-02-28T01:07:00.000-08:002011-02-28T01:10:03.147-08:00Classical Song of the Week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='360' height='306' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/jZL3POaATn8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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Classical Song of the Week: Miserere Mei, Deus<br />
Composer: Allegri<br />
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Remains my favorite classical choral piece to date. There are many versions of Miserere, some sung by contemporary groups and others by traditional cathedral choirs. I do think that the gravity of this piece is best conveyed through traditional church choirs that still employ boy sopranos. I am not a treble purist by any stretch of the imagination, but I do prefer the timbre of a young boy's voice as the Soprano I soars to an unbelievably clear C6. <br />
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This particular performance is by the King's College Chapel Choir, certainly one group that I follow closely. A very tight performance, as usual. The theme of this piece is forgiveness and seeking of redemption. Although I am not religious myself, I find that the song adopts an entirely novel level of enjoyment when one frames it as a lament - a plea for forgiveness to the Judeo-Christian god. Very nice.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-49945478646154184422011-01-25T03:16:00.000-08:002011-02-27T02:03:27.058-08:00On Jerk Skepticism<br><br>I just wanted to digress for a moment here, and talk about something that has been bothering me for a number of years now: "Jerk Skepticism".<br />
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As most individuals are well aware, religion is something that occupies an enormous niche in contemporary culture. It has exerted an immense influence on human history, and is the thing from which much of modern morality and social norms originate. There have always been those who actively promote, as there have always been those who actively dissent. Individuals on either side of this divide tend to hold rather traditional - and often outdated - stereotypes of their opposition. It is a mistake to assume however, that either the religious or atheists are completely homogenous groups in and of themselves.<br />
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Being an active member of my secular community and attending lectures and seminars surrounding controversial topics (eg. intelligent design, young earth creationism), this notion is something that became immediately apparent. In the past, I assumed that because skepticism by definition involves rocking the boat, it is a philosophy that is inevitably confrontational. This assumption is one that I question. <br />
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A few months ago, I brought one of my Catholic roommates to a "skeptics" lecture. The speaker was Dr. Jonathan Sarfati from Creation Ministries International (CMI). A critique of Sarfati's arguments for Young Earth Creationism is lengthy and well beyond the scope of this blog post, but needless to say it was not a very impressive - or indeed, accurate - representation of contemporary Christian apologetics. The thing that struck me most about the lecture however, was not necessarily the content. It was my roommate's reaction to the audience and the intellectual environment as a whole. Having limited experience with the skeptical community, the primary thing she remarked upon was the hostile arrogance exhibited on part of a few atheists.<br />
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This hostile flavor of skepticism is what I have come to term "Jerk Skepticism". It describes a particular subset of the atheist community which treats skepticism as a position rather than process; a conclusion of truth rather than an orientation toward truth. Having attended her first skeptics event, my roommate commented on the blatant vocal intolerance toward religion at the lecture. Throughout the presentation, she reported that she continually overheard whispered comments of a vicious and spiteful nature toward both religion and religious individuals. The question and answer period following the lecture was also peppered with accusations, profanity, and <i>ad hominem </i>insults directed toward the lecturer rather than the lecture. <br />
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I attempted to offer some justification for the things that she observed, but I fell short. This observation is something that I, quite frankly, felt ashamed of discussing. What could I have possibly have said to defend the integrity of the skeptical community? Individuals in skeptical communities are continually trying to discredit religion, but given the status quo orientation of many atheists today it is understandable why many religious people view skepticism as a negative presence in society. Ultimately, despite the fact that religion is both empirically and logical flawed, it demands certain features of conduct which I find is missing among jerk skeptics.<br />
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In many ways, this skeptical hostility undermines exactly what it is trying to achieve - attempting to demonstrate the foolishness of religion to believers. This negative, confrontational attitude adopted by far too many atheists, is in actuality fueling religious observance. Intentional or not, skepticism is represented by skeptics. A religious person who steps foot into the secular community will immediately note the people who practice it. It was disheartening to realize that, had I been my roommate, I would have similarly come to regard skepticism as a force which resorts to personal insults and arrogant intolerance. <br />
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Many skeptics today have lost touch with the origins of skepticism: Humility. I myself am often guilty of this. Various practices of the skeptical community have now become similar to practices of religious communities. In this sense, many skeptics are hypocritical in their intolerance to consider the possibility of error. Religion is often criticized for failing to seriously contemplate alternative explanations. However, this criticism is - in my experience - rapidly becoming also applicable to the skeptical community. The bottom line is that religious individuals seem much more welcoming of atheists than atheists are welcoming of religious individuals. Being non-judgmental, socially supportive, and welcoming are features of the religious community which many jerk skeptics do not share. This observation worries me immensely, because it is a strong motivator for religious individuals to reject atheism without having actually considered skeptical arguments. Jerk skepticism allows for religious individuals to take the moral high ground. It is a relatively valid concern, one which unfortunately is based upon accurate descriptions of many atheists.<br />
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On the other hand, I consider myself an "Olive Branch Skeptic". I do believe that true skepticism should be incredibly humble. Skepticism is a perspective which does not purport to know or prove anything - it only requires that any claim be supported by evidence. <br />
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I have observed that, for many skeptics, skepticism is equated with actively attacking another person's point of view. This is a dangerous practice because attacking religious individuals allows them to argue that skepticism is exactly what its practitioners demonstrate - spite, intolerance, and arrogance. Too often, skepticism becomes a position to be defended rather than a tool to seek truth. Any skeptic should bear in mind that by practicing jerk skepticism they are indirectly strengthening their opponent's conviction.<br />
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<br><br>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-33505425277920399622011-01-01T23:14:00.000-08:002011-04-20T17:03:41.886-07:00On Fresh StartsI have never understood the jubilation surrounding January 1st. For most individuals, New Years Day is a moment of renewal; of new years and new starts. Of course, one can endeavor to seek new beginnings - shedding those extra pounds, quitting smoking, applying themselves more rigorously to their studies and so forth - but people do not change. Change is a steep, guttural, uphill climb which, even when conquered, is not a moment of freedom. You see this demonstrated quite aptly, for example, in ex-addicts. Even after he has triumphed over his demons and put down the needle, once he has succeeded in climbing the hill, he can never really get off. It is a paradoxical but established fact that ex-addicts can never really use again, recreational or otherwise. He dares not. It has taken him every fibre of strength to reach the top, and he dares not descend lest he be confronted with another hill steeper than its predecessor. Despite his triumph, he is perpetually confined to the peak of his successes and will never move forward.<br />
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My friends have been regaling me with tales of their New Years resolutions lately. They have all taken pacts to better themselves somehow. When they then inquired about my own resolutions, I replied that I had none. Many of them were taken aback at this. "Is there really nothing about yourself that you wish to change?"<br />
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There are several things I wish to change about myself, none of them attainable. If they were attainable then this question would be useless, considering that I would not be the person I am now. There is no meaning in asking myself such questions. It would accomplish nothing. I do admit that this perspective is rather cynical, but then again, I am a cynic. I have always been and most likely will always be.<br />
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Most individuals within my social/professional circles think that I am silent because I am a misanthrope. This could not be farther from the truth. A genuine, organic misanthrope would either retreat from humanity in disgust or, conversely, be exceedingly vocal in his distaste toward people. I am silent because there was a point when I did believe in people. There was a time when I did not see the world through a lens of rage and fire - both figuratively and literally. There was a time when I wanted to be a moral person because it was what everyone around me was doing. After I discovered however, that there was a layer of human experience from which I would always be excluded, I devolved into apathy. Having struggled to understand morality and conscience for years, it was revealed to me that the world of youth and strawberries and ice cream at the park had always been closed to me. The world of unconditional love and friendship and intimacy and attachment and family warmth were merely words thrown around by people - abstractions at best. These were simply not things I would ever be capable of understanding as I see them experienced by others. Why not, then? Why not let the world burn? Why should I keep fighting and struggling tooth and nail for an ideal I could never appreciate even if it was attainable?<br />
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Moral action is not in my nature. Morality for me takes immense, painful effort and self-restraint. Most individuals in my social circle believe that while I may profess to dislike people, there is compassion underneath the chill. They observe me as I smile at a young child, as I pay for my goods like every other citizen, as I tell white lies to protect others, as I commit my time to charity and supporting my fellow human beings to the best of my ability, and they <i>assume</i>. They assume and will never cease assuming humanity in others. It is a projection of their own goodwill. Few would understand how it feels to have to constantly restrain one's own nature. Every individual should be able to live as he is. Few people see the strain behind every unnecessary kind word, every averted lie, every act of mercy, every modicum of grace. To resist using my understanding of people to manipulate and hurt and destroy is an uphill climb whose peak I have never seen. I am beginning to wonder if this effort will ever be worth it. <br />
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Fresh starts are mythical things. For the past few years I have given quite a lot of thought to the idea of flight. Changing my name, severing all social connections to pursue a life of anonymity in some other city. I used to think that it would make me happier. To more contemporary self-analysis however, I am beginning to realize that the burden I carry is not one localized to geographical location. It is something that will follow me wherever I may flee. <br />
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During these brief moments of doubt, I recall my younger days. While I have never believed in the value of humanity, there was once that I believed in redemption. In my youth I did believe that individuals can change themselves if the motivation is genuine; if their will is strong. I believed that if I behaved morally, that these morals would eventually be internalized. That I would eventually be rewarded for being a person against which every shred of my nature rebels. I saw the smiles and happiness in those who profess to be good people, and I sought to emulate their goodwill.<br />
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Now at 22, older and more secure in myself, I have long since made peace with this moral void. The silence I observe today is one not of passion but of resignment. I hypothesize that most individuals find moral action rewarding because such selfless and prosocial behavior is a reward in itself. This magnitude of positive reinforcement within the larger system of moral conditioning is not to be underestimated. That being said, while I may be ruthless I am also a scientist. I am by nature manipulative and predatory; sadistic, cruel, destructive, predisposed to callousness, emotionally stagnant, and unmoved by the emotional pleas and misery of others, but I am also open to the possibility that, in the long run, my persistence may be worthwhile. <br />
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At this point however, I can only hope that by simulating my goal, I can achieve it. I can only hope that by acting as if I am moral, I may eventually derive some small measure of moral understanding. Should I fail in this, should I fail to develop some small measure of concern, then speculation as to a major decision in my approaching future may disturbingly progress from thought to pursuit; from will to action.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-22612485231908297842010-09-28T00:43:00.000-07:002011-04-20T00:47:34.853-07:00The Faith Project - Introduction<div style="color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="color: white;"><br />
</div>The Faith Project is something that I have been working on for the past few years, beginning in 2007. As an atheist heavily involved in the local secular community, I join multiple church communities across multiple denominations in Vancouver (BC) in hopes of discovering - from an insider's perspective - what draws people to religion.<br />
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At my first visit to any church community, I assume the identity of a young student with no religious background who is interested in learning more about their teachings, values, and tenets. This allows each church the opportunity to provide instruction from the most basic level as per their community practices. <br />
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</div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Why did you start the Faith Project?</span></i></div><br />
Having grown up in a church myself, I was heavily involved in the religious community as a child and adolescent. I officially abandoned Christianity at the age of 16, although my doubts began far before then. Nevertheless, I am aware that atheists remain a minority in the human race, and I am curious as to what particular properties religion has that lends itself to such a large following. I do consider the possibility that my atheism is a result of church bureaucracy and/or negative experiences with certain communities. The Faith Project is my way of giving Christianity a "second chance", by wiping the slate clean of all previous religious understandings/notions and attempting to re-absorb Christian teachings from the ground up.<br />
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<div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Isn't the Faith Project insulting to Christianity?</span></i></div><br />
No. I do not attend these religious gatherings to deliberately cause controversy or disruption. I do not belittle the community's beliefs in any way, shape, or form, and in fact am genuinely eager to hear what they have to say. I am certain that any Christian would agree that no individual who is genuinely interested should be turned away.<br />
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I am not there to judge, I am there to learn. While it is true that I am an adamant atheist who attends these meetings/masses completely aware that I am unlikely to become a believer, my role is that of an observer. I am not there to champion the cause of disbelief, nor am I there to deliver a laundry-list of theological contradictions inherent in their faith. The goal is for each community to accept me as one of their own - a believer - and thus provide religious instruction with no suspicion or discrimination. <br />
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<div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Aren't you scared you'll end up being converted?</span></i></div><br />
I do not fear conversion in the same way that no scientist should ever fear the truth. I welcome the possibility - to do otherwise is ignorant and hypocritical. If I myself do not wholeheartedly attempt to accept the teachings offered me, I have no right to resent religion for refusing to consider alternate beliefs. <br />
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<div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">But if you already know all the teachings, why present yourself as having no religious background?</span></i></div><br />
Because the only way to receive the unbiased teachings of a particular church community is to abandon any pre-conceived notions that you may have. It is abundantly clear that the presentation of Christianity during my youth was either misguided or incorrect. If incorrect, then beginning with a clean slate would correct any errors in my understanding of Judeo-Christian theology. If misguided, then perhaps a novel perspective on religion (eg. acceptance rather than structure) may cause me rethink my position.<br />
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<div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">How many churches have you been to so far?</span></i></div><br />
To date, I have been affiliated with 3 churches: one for 13 years, another for 2 weeks, and the last for 2.5 years. I have also recently joined 4 Catholic communities. My most positive experience to date has been with a smaller religious gathering located in East Vancouver called Mosaic.<br />
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<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i>What is your ultimate goal for the Faith Project?</i> </span></div><br />
Honestly? Conversion. My goal is conversion. Sounds slightly bizarre for someone who is such a vocal atheist and secular activist, but only by willing to take this risk am I able to fully understand the mind of a believer. <br />
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If I do begin to feel, over time, that I am starting to believe the teachings at a level beyond intellectual speculation, then I will accept that. I am willing to accept the risk of conversion because should it occur, it will no longer be a risk but a blessing. That being said, it will always be impossible for me to appreciate ideologies which are incompatible with empirical reason, rationality, and common sense. It is with this single nugget of self-knowledge do I take the spiritual plunge. What is unbelievable will always remain so despite my familiarity with its arguments.<br />
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My goal is to seek truth, not science or god. I trust that my search will lead me to the correct option eventually.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-67252588555961416042010-07-03T01:59:00.000-07:002011-04-20T00:49:30.610-07:00On Academia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aub.edu.lb/fas/smec/PublishingImages/self_help_library_home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://www.aub.edu.lb/fas/smec/PublishingImages/self_help_library_home.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span id="goog_1789133527"></span><span id="goog_1789133528"></span><br />
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Today I'm going to be writing about something I don't normally write about: Myself. This blog is but one of many, however it is my only public blog and so I generally reserve it for things that are more externally oriented.<br />
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As an undergraduate student interested in pursing an academic career, I am heavily involved in my university research community (as far as an undergrad is able, anyway). I work in various labs conducting research, and I network with professors and graduate students alike. <br />
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However, I am beginning to realize that academia is a slightly different career than how I pictured it as a child.<br />
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I have always wanted to pursue academia. As a child and youth I was vastly, immensely curious. This curiosity was universal and extensive - I considered every career with great seriousness, from music to literature, from medical school to law school, from artist to mathematician. Being in a fortunate family situation, I found many opportunities to pursue training in anything and everything that interested me. <br />
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My mother was indispensable in this regard. She is the youngest of 8 siblings, most of whom hold some sort of advanced degree - 3 MDs, 2 PhDs. My grandfather was a music professor, and my grandmother was a teacher. Due to such maternal influences, whether my older brother and I would pursue higher education was never in question. My mother believed in academic achievement, and humored my constant barrage of requests for math tutors, physics summer camps, science fairs, creative writing workshops, academic prep classes, conversational French groups, public speaking, electronics camps - she indulged my interests in piano lessons, flute lessons, musical theory, skating, curling, horseback riding, tennis, soccer, gymnastics...the list goes on. My summers were consistently filled with some sort of educational endeavor, mostly at my own prompting. <br />
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I was allowed to pick one birthday gift per year, within reason - my mother's default rule was (my current age) x 2 dollars as a monetary ceiling. My interests changed from year to year like the wind. One year I asked for a microscope, another year an illustrated anthology of 18th century literature. In 3rd grade I asked for an electronics breadboard and wiring, in 8th grade I asked for a small telescope, and in 10th grade I asked for a crystal construction set. <br />
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My mother found these bizarre educational requests hilarious and told me that as I got older, I should begin to consider narrowing down a career path. At first I thought she was insane! Afterall, why couldn't I be a professional musician AND a university professor AND a chemist AND a psychologist AND a doctor? My 8 year old mind was confused and (admittedly) slightly affronted. <br />
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Yet the one thing that has remained constant from childhood to present is my unadulterated, immense lust for learning. It is insatiable, and the world of academia was a natural path on which to focus my energies. As I listened to my mother describe it to me, I thought that I had finally found a suitable path. Academia, to my childhood understanding, is the great frontier of human knowledge. The greatest intellectual challenges could be found there at the edges of human learning, and I wanted to be there! I wanted to stand there and look into the fascinating abyss of the unknown and conquer it. It was exhilarating and exciting, and I looked forward to growing up.<br />
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Then I hit university.<br />
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University was a place where I found belonging. I found people and professors and graduate students who understood my quest for knowledge. I found individuals who shared my motivations and my perspective on life. I found people I could converse with comfortably, at ease, without feeling the need to change the way I talked and the topics I talked about. <br />
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The deeper I sink my teeth into the academic world however, the more and more I found that it was less and less the ideal I imagined.<br />
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The curiosity is still there. The lust for learning is still there. The frontier of human intellect is still there, broad and dark and vast and inviting, but along with it came things that I struggle to reconcile myself with.<br />
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Because academia is not simply about this great frontier. In many ways, I am beginning to realize that the academic world is incredibly, immensely, inconceivably competitive, cutthroat, unforgiving, political, and diluted with professional bitterness and questionable allegiances. Many graduate students fight tooth and nail with their best friends for publication and single tenure positions - jealousy is rampant everywhere in every corner of its social infrastructure. I learned that, in many ways, HOW you say it and to WHOM you say it, may matter more than WHAT you say in the long run. <br />
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As a child I retreated to the library to avoid the playground politics of my age-peers - things I did not understand and, later, grew to detest. Imagine my surprise and horror when I found them rampant in what I thought was the more pure, most sacred nirvana of human knowledge.<br />
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The destructive junior high rumors, silent treatments, and verbal artillery had been replaced by departmental Monday-morning office speculation, research credit exclusions, and professional emails loaded with volatile words. The medium of attack differs considerably - PhD-holding academics can afford to be more selective and extensive with their hateful, bitter vocabulary than 10 year olds - but the political ill will remains. Best friends compete - nastily - for single professorship positions like kindergartners fighting over the last red crayon. Brilliant, talented researchers are cast aside because they are interested in controversial topics many profit-driven organizations refuse to provide funding for. Tenure is appointed via one's curriculum vitae (CV) - the academic equivalent of a professional résume - which in turn is composed of successful publications. That being said, publication is very much a zero-sum game: competition is harsh, and the world's researchers fight for a handful of publication slots in journals which are, in turn, published only once every 4 - 6 months. The reality is that for every successfully published paper, there is now one less slot for your own.<br />
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The strength of the scientific community is now also its most potent deterrent. Peer review is the process by which other experts in your field select papers for publication. Ideally, reviewers evaluate the strength of the research alone, however in reality, such evaluations are often peppered with personal biases, funding potential, institutional prestige, and old fashioned personal animosity. <br />
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Many graduate students fall through the cracks. The graduate and junior academic years are notoriously difficult, and graduate students have one of the highest suicide rates in the world. Most are very aware of the fact that universities/colleges also have unspoken age restrictions of tenure appointments - realistically a junior academic has only a limited number of years of which to produce research of tenure-calibre. Naturally such immense pressure often occurs at the expense of scientific integrity - it is easy to rationalize falsifying research data to oneself when one's entire potential career is riding on a single study. Moreoever, negative results that fail to support a hypothesis in a meaningful way (ie. non-null), are rarely published. <br />
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I would hope that despite all these impurities, the light of scientific progress is still the guiding force in academia. I choose to believe that all such obstacles are inevitable but minute elements of academic research. <br />
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I do not see myself anywhere else but academia. Nowhere else could my immense, lifelong curiosity be satiated but on this frontier. Despite the harsh sea conditions and jagged landscape, I choose to believe that as I stand on this edge of human learning and look into the undiscovered sea, I will be reminded of why I am there and that persistance will pay off despite my pessimistic foresight. <br />
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I choose to believe that the one unifying element that all of academia shares is this passion for knowledge. I choose to believe that despite its human failings, the academic world is fundamentally driven by this passion. I choose to believe that, ultimately, this passion will be worth it.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-10526942666104082352010-06-20T02:01:00.000-07:002011-04-19T23:48:22.774-07:00MBTI Reading ListAs mentioned in my YouTube video, here is the download link for the Reading List:<br />
<i>EDIT: This link has been removed. If you would like access to the list, please PM me.</i>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-63863164139997878902010-06-19T23:29:00.000-07:002011-02-27T02:08:19.474-08:00On Moral Restraint<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrikkTTZBaDpeLjyxy1spA47pEXjrnkSnNw1-XRE3LePKfIjKmI0h-IoSRHFsSp4OzrFkA-Sxb6y91RXVY3aQLEqwDWGrhrOzlym-t6ILMTnF-RDZuazbhcMXQiAEgleF6aj1qNKZiFqc/s1600/boy_on_cliff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrikkTTZBaDpeLjyxy1spA47pEXjrnkSnNw1-XRE3LePKfIjKmI0h-IoSRHFsSp4OzrFkA-Sxb6y91RXVY3aQLEqwDWGrhrOzlym-t6ILMTnF-RDZuazbhcMXQiAEgleF6aj1qNKZiFqc/s640/boy_on_cliff.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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I think it would be beneficial for every individual to, at some point in their life, experience the edge of a cliff.<br />
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Wilderness is not necessary. Domestic cliffs would suffice - human carved buildings of steel and glass and concrete would suffice. Afterall, the material out of which our challenges are composed, in the end, is irrelevant.<br />
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More relevant then, would be the height of such a cliff you encounter. Where do you stand? Are you perched upon the bottom, solid ground beneath your feet - complacent in your comfort and safety, secure in yourself but always looking to climb - desperately, desperately? Or do you flicker upon the edge like a ghost, hovering on the periphery - fearful of nothing more and nothing less than yourself?<br />
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Consider the spatial significance of such a cliff. Perhaps you have been racing through the streets, your lungs burning and your hands frozen, rearing up in surprised horror as you encounter it. Or perhaps, you are one of those who have seen this cliff coming for a period of time, perhaps months, or even years. For you, the cliff signifies an ending, its significance only to mark the limitations and constraints of a land that you have known and an end you have reached. And now it forces you to choose.<br />
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You are no hermit and life is no marketplace, but though life is lived alone, there are those who are not in accord with your decisions, and in extension therefore, your actions. You must accept that they will do as they can to destroy your will. You must accept the majority's outrage because morality is no longer a spectrum upon which you are judged. The new morality is one where you do as you want because you can, and you do what you are compelled to because the justification is your own. <br />
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After every choice made, it is only natural to look back and doubt. If the decision you finally made desecrated lives and punished unjustly and invoked terror in the world, you ask yourself whose bidding it was, really, that you carried out. You do not think yourself capable of such cruelty and abomination and malice, but there is always something there that lurks.<br />
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Every individual's life is a series of decisions, and for the casual observer we are always so keen to point and exclaim: <i>"You see here? This was the choice that defined this man's life, and if only he had the vision to realize the significance of a single moment, such tragedy could have been averted."</i><br />
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I would disagree that knowledge would have made a difference. Humans beings are not creatures of reason, afterall. They are put there by chance, and they spend their miserable lives milling about murdering each other in their sleep, allowing their ignorance to spread like malevolent fire. Their standards are based on shoddy sand, their ethical systems built on transient things. One man murders and is hailed as the medium of justice, while another man murders and delivers not justice, but has it delivered to him. There is no sense, and there is no consistency, and there is no intrinsic, axiomatic sense of right and wrong. <br />
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An individual who stands on a cliff and commits error then, can he be faulted? For what is temptation but a primitive urge to make something of oneself in a chaotic, insignificant world that does not care for laymen?<br />
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I stand on a cliff.<br />
<br><br>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-42506485920980545212010-04-21T01:40:00.000-07:002011-02-27T02:18:40.263-08:00Existence Without Context<br><br>I have always been very far removed from my peers, hovering in the periphery of their world, never quite understanding.<br /><br />Like any other young person has done - and will always do - during this tumultuous period of life, I question what it means to live without context. Oftentimes I feel that I am alone in this search for context, because even the justifications that my peers offer me, I am confused by.<br /><br />I do not equate context with "meaning". The search for the meaning of life is a clichéd, endless question whose answer will lose all meaning if it is ever found. I leave such a vague quest to the philosophers who are only too aware that their search is self-perpetuating.<br /><br />Individuals situate themselves in different contexts. They will then judge their behaviors and decisions by this context. The contextual scope of life is different for everyone. Some people situate themselves within a circle of friends and loved ones, and they proceed to live their life for these people. This context is by far the most common, and certainly the most pervasive. But what about those of us who do not live for others?<br /><br />I find it difficult to understand this concept of living for others. It is inscrutable to me because life is entered and departed alone. Why leave, then, an enduring mark on a world you will leave behind? I am familiar with the notion that individuals experience positive emotions when living for others. However, roughly translated, this would equate to living your life in the pursuit of pleasure.<br /><br />This Pleasure Principle is not a novel idea, but to me it seems as if this context is much to narrow to adequately be considered a context for existence.<br /><br />By existential context I refer to the idea of placing oneself within the larger system of which we currently perceive to be the universe. Stop now, to contemplate what the world may be like in 800,000 years. Once one begins to engage in this sort of abstract thought, one realizes that the only certainty he has is that 800,000 years from now, he will no longer exist. What he may do in this lifetime will not be remembered. He thus has no permanence in time; no place in time.<br /><br />It is not the grief or desperation that one may experience upon knowing that generations of human beings will not know of him. There is less significance in that thought, because such a thought is arrogant and proud. The salient and pressing matter here, is when you situate yourself within this timeline itself, armed with the knowledge that time will go on and on into possible infinity. It is difficult to reconcile myself with the fact that I arose into conscious existence out of mere chance, and the universe would have probably been little different had I not been here to think this thought.<br /><br />The reality is that our species is nowhere near to discovering our origin. The kinder, commonly religious perspective is that we are the centre of the universe. God created us in his image, and once our species is ended, time is ended. But the probability of this being true is so infinitesimally small, myself being an atheist notwithstanding. How many species have come before us, who thought that they themselves were all that ever have and would exist? How many species will come after us?<br /><br />To cope with such an idea, I distract myself. I comfort myself with material success and learning, taking comfort in my achievements and the events of the present. This is a very common approach - to situate ourselves with the known world alone and thereby be content with where we are at the present.<br /><br />I find the very thought of the existence of existence to be obscure at best. There is no way to reconcile oneself with the notion that the existence of anything is unnecessary. Everything we can ever conjure - time, space, matter, energy - exists unnecessarily. This may be, however, a product of our limited understanding of causality.<br /><br />I do believe that, as a member of the human species, I will cease to exist once death has occurred. It may be that I still exist, but I will have no knowledge of this. I do not believe in a heaven or hell. I believe that upon death, I will simply become unaware of everything that ever was and ever will be.<br /><br />Even if I was religious however, all conundrums I have now would remain. Consider that I, hypothetically, am a devout Christian. The apocalypse has come, and humanity is destroyed. Naturally I would find myself in heaven, a place of eternal happiness. I find it difficult to understand how my soul could last for eternity. The idea of perpetuality is not something that the human species was built to understand. Perhaps if I was there, in heaven, such concerns would no longer exist. However as a living person, now, I struggle with the idea of heaven or hell where essentially time no longer exists.<br /><br />And this is what I refer to when I remark upon how my existence lacks context. I am not only insignificant, I am non-existent when one considers the possibility of infinity.<br /><br />The layperson considers himself to have the authority of permanence. He sires children whom will carry on his genetic material and lifelong ideals, he interacts with people whom will remember him. In every abstract way he will have left his mark on the human species.<br /><br />I have no doubt of this mark. I am aware that regardless of what I do, I have changed this world in some way. If I had not existed, the universe would be different than it is now. I see no theoretical puzzle in this. What I struggle with is the notion of where my place in the universe is, after the human species has vanished; when every subsequent species that had some memory of humanity has been rendered extinct. The last shard of our mark upon the universe - within the memory of others - has now vanished. In this void of existence, we are no longer merely insignificant. We do not exist enough to even be considered, to even be known.<br /><br />This perhaps, is the primary reason for which I have yet to discover a context that will make me content for the duration of my life. Once an individual places himself against this backdrop of infinity, every single coping mechanism he has ever conjured is now meaningless. I attempt to construct context within my social circle, but I fail to derive any genuine wisdom from those around me. I suppose it is somewhat self-contradictory, given my opinion of human relations.<br /><br />I have attempted to construct context out of learning and knowledge. I have always been a scholar at heart, and my immense curiosity affords me some temporary goal; temporary comfort. Nevertheless, the quest for intellectual purity still falls short.<br /><br />I have attempted to construct context out of some supernatural deity that would offer me absolution. I have toiled endless at my spirituality since I was a child, but still faith eludes me. I find it difficult to hold aloft an ideal against which every shred of my rationality rebels.<br /><br />The individuals with whom I interact consider me a stable, impressive character. To this fact I am not naive. They consider me a high-functioning, self-actualized, and compassionate individual. Little do they know of my existential rage and apathy. I am not the ideal human specimen that I seem.<br /><br />That being said, I am above all else persistent. My search will continue.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-86790324077338174372010-01-31T03:00:00.000-08:002011-02-27T02:20:19.304-08:005 Books that Changed You<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">"This can be a quick one. Don't take too long to think about it. Five books you've read that will always stick with you. First five you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Tag 5 friends, including me because I'm interested in seeing what books my friends choose."</span><br /><br /><hr /><br />I could have written here a list of books which are considered "profound" - merely Google them and there are hundreds upon thousands of lists out there sporting big authors and classics - some of which are so convoluted and lengthy and complex and utterly boring that the list maker probably hasn't read it (Ulysses, anyone?).<br /><br />Some of my most beloved books are transparent in plot, simple in language, obscure in reception, and trivial in reputation. I selected these books not because they are profound, but because they made a profound impact on me. I go through a myriad of books a year, and while I certainly retain the information that I gather over the years, much of the original text is lost in my memory. There are however, a few that stay with me for reasons unknown.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. Heart of Darkness (Conrad)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs139.snc3/18657_278767521726_681911726_3938464_365045_a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 276px;" src="http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs139.snc3/18657_278767521726_681911726_3938464_365045_a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Comparatively speaking, compared to the rest of my list, I read this one rather late. I didn't read this until I was 15. I'm not going to say that it changed my life, because what changes lives is not books, but rather, the choices we make walking in the shoes of protagonists. I do not believe that all fiction is worthwhile. Fiction that teaches us nothing is a waste of time - life is too short, and our knowledge of the universe is too limited for us to waste time on trivialities.<br /><br />Heart of Darkness remains the book most significant to me because it is one of those rare books in which darkness prevails from beginning to end, with no reprieve even beyond the epilogue. There is no hero saving the day, no fairy godmothers, no kindness, no grand revelations about human compassion and endurance. There is just suffocating wickedness and profound cruelty and depravity and horror - utterly ruthless from beginning to end.<br /><br />The storyline follows Marlow, a colonial sailor headed to Africa looking for work in the ivory trade. As he is traveling toward his work post near the Congo River, he hears more and more praise the closer he gets in regards to a mysterious character by the name of Kurtz. Kurtz, he is told, is the finest specimen of humanity that the so-called "civilized" white West have to offer. The workers deify him - lift him upon a godly pedestal of human civilization, intellect, moral character, and goodness; an "emissary of progress", and a "beacon of light".<br /><br />The further Marlow sails into the "Dark Continent" of colonial Africa, the brighter grows the praise about Kurtz. He is longer merely a man, but a ghost and a god. As Marlow journeys toward the heart of Africa the reader journeys with him towards what must surely be, finally, a standard of moral conduct that is both selfless and universal. That ideal - that perfect ideal, is the only thing that sustains both the reader and Marlow as he wades through trials and tribulations; arid domains infested with "barbarians" and darkness and evil. To Marlow it has become something greater than a single individual, greater than himself - the redemption of humanity, and it is with that thought in mind that he endures.<br /><br />The climax of the story - Marlow's anticipated meeting with Kurtz - is ambiguous and unsettling. To this day numerous Conrad scholars debate its meaning. Some are of the opinion that their single conversation is a grand triumph; a victory that burns brightly in the holy dark. Others contend that it was not an immense victory, but an immense defeat - a defeat so grand that there exists no conceivable hope of ever emerging from a state of moral depravity.<br /><br />To the few Conrad scholars that I have contacted, while most concur that Heart of Darkness is a dense, concise work of genius, few believe that the book's message was anything but celebratory. It was a triumph, that all say. It was "an affirmation, a moral victory paid for by innumerable defeats, by abominable terrors, by abominable satisfactions. But it was a victory!" (Conrad, Ch. 2)<br /><br />And one may choose to interpret it as such. Victory is always kinder to the victor. I do not discredit anyone if they choose to glean from it a lesson rather than a tragedy, because it is kinder that way.<br /><br />To me however, the confrontation between Marlow and Kurtz was not kind. Through an investigation of their dialogue, it becomes apparent that Kurtz is not speaking to Marlow, but rather, to Marlow as single specimen of the human race. It is this grander audience that he addresses.<br /><br />Kurtz is an angry, broken man whose grief has turned inexorably to rage. He is wicked and vile and Conrad saturates his presence with demonic imagery and curt, punctuated sentences as if every word spoken is unnecessary - and it is, it really is. Marlow and the reader alike are in shock and denial - this denial of humanity's true nature continues on after the reader is finished, the story is read, and the day is done.<br /><br />The title itself (Heart of Darkness) can be interpreted in one of two ways:<br />a) (The) heart of darkness<br />b) (A) heart (composed) of darkness.<br /><br />Clearly, one is kinder than the other. The reader can either choose to identify darkness as an external entity independent of oneself, and therefore the story becomes a journey toward the heart of darkness on earth - a story of bravery and nobility and conquest.<br /><br />Alternatively, the reader must reconcile himself with the notion that to discover the heart of darkness, one need only look within.<br /><br />I greatly admire this book because it makes no judgment on the "rightness" or "wrongness" of our decisions, only the consequences - one cannot fault Kurtz, because to condemn him is hypocrisy. Conrad makes no effort to introduce the concept of moral-immoral duality. Typically, the message of such works of literature emphasize the dual existence of good and evil, and that the existence of one is the necessary and sufficient condition for the existence of the other. I do believe however, that Conrad posits this novel in the form of both a warning and a reminder.<br /><br />Heart of Darkness is ultimately a work of profound tragedy. The tragedy does not exist in the darkness itself, but rather, in the absence of light. More hopeless than wading through the dark is the notion of darkness without reprieve; a profound cynicism and loss of hope that redemption will ever be possible.<br /><br />This is an excellent piece of literature, but let's be honest here - it's awesome because it's misanthropic and angry and cynical in such an enormously epic way.<br /><br />Heart of Darkness = Win.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. The Bible (by "god", apparently)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs159.snc3/18657_278769451726_681911726_3938469_2399311_a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 266px;" src="http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs159.snc3/18657_278769451726_681911726_3938469_2399311_a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I just threw this one in there because it was an interesting read, and it took me 12 years to truly finish. Judeo-Christianity has been such a significant presence in human history, that I felt it deserved my attention by merit of that alone.<br /><br />Writing style is great, syntax was superb in some areas - particularly the lyrical Psalms. Some of the fairy tales however, lacked character development.<br /><br />The author should seriously work on that.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Catcher in the Rye (Salinger)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs159.snc3/18657_278769361726_681911726_3938468_655880_a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 297px;" src="http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs159.snc3/18657_278769361726_681911726_3938468_655880_a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Alas, JD Salinger, may your angry, angry, hermit soul rest in peace.<br /><br />I will be honest in saying that the moral of the novel did not strike me as groundbreaking in some profound philosophical way - there were no Joycean epiphanies or grand revelations about humanity. I do believe that the moral of the story was that life does not have a moral, and we should not live it expecting one to appear.<br /><br />Ultimately, it made this list because I read it during a pivotal period in my life when I began to eschew conventional morality for my own brand of (admittedly dubious) moral relativism. I met Holden Caulfield during a period of my childhood when I realized that things failed to move me as it did for my peers; there is comfort in solidarity - you cannot be an immoral person if your eyes are blind to the judgments of others. Life is a journey we begin and end alone, so really, who gives a flying fuck what conventional morality has to teach you about being human. Just live life until it's done, then, you're done.<br /><br />Holden desired to preserve the innocence of children - their sincerity, naivete, and blindness. I am, in many ways, far less noble than him. I'm not sure what to make of that.<br /><br />I disagree with the notion that "there is a sucker born every minute". First of all, suckers are clearly made by a intellectually-wilted society that demands obedience, not born. Secondly, there are a hell of a lot more suckers created every minute than the statement would suggest.<br /><br />There are certain individuals who choose to take the moral high ground - whom declare for themselves a responsibility to protect the morally blind. I lack their nobility. I have no issue with stealing from the blind.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Without Conscience (Hare, PhD)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs159.snc3/18657_278772866726_681911726_3938476_6633789_a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 284px;" src="http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs159.snc3/18657_278772866726_681911726_3938476_6633789_a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I picked this book off the library shelf when I was 11. It was newly published just a few weeks prior. This book spurred my lifelong interest in personality psychology, and I followed Dr. Hare's work all through junior high, highschool, and now into university.<br /><br />I'll be honest, the book wasn't particularly enthralling. It was far too sensationalized for my taste - a tad too much dramatization and shock value phrasing. That being said, I do understand that often times this is necessary to make learning accessible - accuracy and complexity is often sacrificed when catering to more generalized audiences. Nevertheless, it made this list because it was such a significant moment that shaped the course of my academic and intellectual career.<br /><br />I have always lacked interest in positive psychology, that is, the psychology of functional, chronically happy people. It is not that I think positive psychology is not a worthwhile pursuit, because it is. It really is. Simply the amount of funding that goes into gifted child psychology, for example, make it worth it, notwithstanding the almost infinite reservoir of research avenues.<br /><br />The simple fact is that such people bore me. I have no interest in studying sheep.<br /><br />It is clear that psychopathy fascinates the public. The motivations behind such a fascination are often rooted in fear - fear of victimization, but more critically, fear that their neighbor could be harboring such terrifying people - fear that they are sleeping with the enemy.<br /><br />Ironically, and curiously, few are interested because they fear becoming one, or of discovering that they are already beyond the point of no return. Such a motivation reeks of judgment, and efforts to distance the self from the abominable at the cost of ignorance.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. Rule of St. Benedict</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs139.snc3/18657_278797641726_681911726_3938555_7028608_a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 267px;" src="http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs139.snc3/18657_278797641726_681911726_3938555_7028608_a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I am not a theist. I do not structure my life around a divine entity. I do not pray. That being said, the Rule of St. Benedict is most aptly described as a guide for monastic life.<br /><br />This piece of writing did not change my life, but it did change my lifestyle. As a secular humanist, to read the Rule of St. Benedict with specifics in mind is foolish and futile. However, there are a great many elements that I do find attractive in monastic living. They have nothing to do with god or living a conventionally "godly" life.<br /><br />There are 4 things that I structure my life around: silence, gravitas, solitude, and simplicity.<br /><br />These are elements which are highly congruent with the monastic lifestyle, regardless of divine origins or purpose. Such values are not to be taken literally nor lightly. I have no desire to join the ranks of monasticism, considering that the goal of monasticism is too seek god. Rather, it is the monastic mindset that appeals to me, which I had already adopted long before reading the book.<br /><br />For instance, silence does not refer to audible silence. To be silent is difficult but not straining - something which can be accomplished by any individual. To my understanding of silence, silence is less about noise and more about the need to create noise. Observing silence is to realize the value of a quiet mind.<br /><br />Similarly, gravitas affords a certain level of solemnity and poise. It is not to say that life may not be enjoyed, but rather, that life should be taken with some degree of seriousness.<br /><br />The notion of solitude naturally lends itself to a high regard for simplicity. My bedroom is spartan, my belongings few, and my dresser sparse. To refrain from excessive materialism is not, contrary to popular belief, merely about ridding oneself of things - it is the ridding of the desires which led us to a drive for possession.<br /><br />There do exist a few minor technicalities which I have adopted or abridged from the Rule of St. Benedict. For instance, while the cornerstone of monasticism is prayer and faith, I have neither, and so see no benefit from the integration of these habits. I do however, adopt the periods of extended silence - hours or days during which I refrain from speaking and am silent.<br /><br />Moreover, monasticism concerns itself greatly with the notion of detachment - material relations, interpersonal relations, and familial reasons alike. This philosophy I have abided by for years. The Rule of St. Benedict is a religious text from which I gleaned a holistic mindset, rather than specific monastic rules. To this day, secular monasticism remains my life philosophy of choice.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-90994745901488857052010-01-20T20:18:00.000-08:002011-02-27T02:18:40.263-08:007 Years in the Making - Vancouver 2010 Olympics<br><br><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CQ0t5pdSME8&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CQ0t5pdSME8&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br><br>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-77679679519694908762009-12-08T23:56:00.000-08:002011-04-20T00:50:48.407-07:00Critical Point<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFjl7idONDiyB5wJt1AHPgxhjyW0nCF1x5rBX0QA__B2dPHJkonwBCHUhKBodQ9a_Dp__jTNf0m3mvxjpqgQO5vq6cL3x39w1xHpZkvOAWb7bOncjsiWKLbM4voeqfRlc6QPh1IQm2IA/s1600-h/cas_cyber1440.900.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413149424094735890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFjl7idONDiyB5wJt1AHPgxhjyW0nCF1x5rBX0QA__B2dPHJkonwBCHUhKBodQ9a_Dp__jTNf0m3mvxjpqgQO5vq6cL3x39w1xHpZkvOAWb7bOncjsiWKLbM4voeqfRlc6QPh1IQm2IA/s400/cas_cyber1440.900.png" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 350px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
The Academic aspires to transform a thirst for action into a thirst for knowledge. Learning is able to forestall, if only for a little while.<br />
<br />
Perhaps if he can immerse himself in the darkest, arcane, most depraved facets of human nature willingly; if he can engage the wicked and the vile with academic innocence, it can be forestalled and possibly, even eliminated.<br />
<br />
If he shines brilliant enough, vibrant and ablaze with insight in his study, he may be able to divert attention from concealed matches in his sleeve. He can convince his colleagues and wise men that, he too, is disgusted with the depraved dark.<br />
<br />
He is fearful; makes every attempt to tame his nature. It snarls and tempts, never with force but with compassion and reason. The entity knows him best.<br />
<br />
When the sun is ablaze he provides empirical standards for morality, but at night he watches. The teacher becomes the taught. He observes silently, with predatory restraint; bides his time. <span style="color: #333333;">He hopes it never comes, but he bides.</span><br />
<br />
If he casts himself wide; proclaims publicly a fascination with the dark, they will overlook him. Foolish, curious, intellectually pure, perhaps, but not the same. He is an observer, they say. The sting of smoke in his lungs as he lets the match fall deftly into the holy dark.<br />
<br />
<br />
It burns brightly.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-36833398593513070282009-11-07T02:25:00.000-08:002011-04-20T00:51:27.439-07:00On Other People.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO4wl7maIcz7ODhZU0-YiZ5u4-P5r6yYTOHDsjj05HuU2SErFd8vGmFbXoG1rj7EzzxNh_MtkNQLWUIUJZST0se4L6EPChbAMchnXfobBXBe79VFJP3LD_DoT9tDCyACKZuDcGTBpLZM/s1600-h/Alone.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401308973734515426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO4wl7maIcz7ODhZU0-YiZ5u4-P5r6yYTOHDsjj05HuU2SErFd8vGmFbXoG1rj7EzzxNh_MtkNQLWUIUJZST0se4L6EPChbAMchnXfobBXBe79VFJP3LD_DoT9tDCyACKZuDcGTBpLZM/s400/Alone.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 600px;" /></a><br />
<br />
I forget that people actually engage in relationships beyond what I am familiar with. It seems like something people take for granted; that I take for granted. This is the problem with spending so much of one's time in solitude - you only see a small portion of the human experience, and sometimes it can blind you like a bug in a cup. Sometimes it can hit you full force before you have a chance to ready yourself; it can strike out of nowhere, a sudden reminder, and you are sent reeling to the earth gasping for air. <br />
<br />
I forget occasionally that my experience is atypical. I have no close relations; platonic or otherwise. Do I wish I had any? I cannot answer that much like a colorblind child cannot truly desire color - what she desires is to conform and to belong, not color. In the same way sometimes I look at people in their loving, compassionate families or couples walking hand in hand and I feel a tug of curiosity. <br />
<br />
A tug of puzzlement, and it knocks the wind out of me. It strikes me suddenly, painfully, this curiosity - this realization that I am not the common experience. That everyone around me throws around their platitudes and endearments as I do, but they mean it. They mean it in a way I may never understand.<br />
<br />
I do believe part of it is fear. I am scared. There is little I genuinely fear in this comprehensible universe, and of the few things I do fear one of them is the unknown. It is a primitive reaction - the caveman who is conditioned to fear the dark and of being in a situation for which he lacks sufficient knowledge or preparation.<br />
<br />
In a critical sense I have never been a child, but this is a primitive, childish fear that I identify. I fear to enter the world of the common experience, I fear becoming ensnared in such complex intimate relations, I fear that one day I may longer be able to view the universe in this detached, objective manner that I am capable of now. I fear that one day I will find myself in such a relation, and that I would lose my identity, my focus, my quest for truth. <br />
<br />
I am a scientist, above all else. A scientist of human understanding. It is the only thing I have ever had, and I will fight to maintain this objectivity to my dying breath because if I lose this last shred of detachment - the only thing that I truly own - then I will be left with nothing.<br />
<br />
If ever I am in such a state of profound intellectual grief, there will be embarked upon a legacy of parallel destruction. It would be the point of no return.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-46081904131033955712009-10-18T00:23:00.000-07:002011-02-27T02:18:40.264-08:00A Life Behind Me<br><span style="font-style:italic;">"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:11-12)</span><br /><br /><br />I am not a religious individual. I once thought myself truly devout, but those days are long past. I remember when I was a child, that my dream was to be known. I do not need to be loved, I remember telling my mother during a late-night confession involving cookies and 4th grade science projects. I remember telling her in my 8-year-old grasp of the English vernacular, that love to me is not necessary in order to be known. To be known, one only has to be feared.<br /><br />My mother has never been an astute woman, but she makes up for in effort what she lacks in competence, and I cannot fault her for that. In retrospect, as I relive that moment in my current memory, it was fear that I saw in her gaze. Fear and confusion and a solemn spark of something dangerous, for surely she cannot have birthed a child that was so utterly devoid of human understanding. <br /><br />- But that means you will go jail. Do you want to go to jail?<br /><br />I thought that was very clever of her; surprisingly clever. What does a child understand of criminal repercussion? What can a child understanding of imprisonment - of lost time - as punishment, if to her death is still an abstraction and she has all the time in the world? <br /><br />I am not a child anymore. There is a tradition that upon passing 20 years of age a child becomes an adult - capable of their own fate and their own consequences. To the world I am incredibly young still; they think me naive, inexperienced, a youth acting on an adult stage. To a great extent this is true, for all intents and purposes the adult world still views my peers and myself as children still. But among the children, they sense it, they smell it - no longer one of them, and it is only among children am I not a child.<br /><br />My mother never quite mentioned that night again, as is her wont. My biological family is incredibly dysfunctional, of this we are not naive. It is a tense conglomeration of repression and denial and avoidance and of running away from problems one cannot hope to solve or find solace from. My mother is frugal by nature - a quality whose most extreme manifestations I have inherited, and as such, she does not believe in lighting or in heating bills. It is rather poetic then, that the temperature and lighting in our family home so bellies the frigidity and judgment and coldness in our relations. <br /><br />There is one thing I will never understand and is, in truth, partly the motivation behind years of curiosity and academic pursuit. This enigma is my older brother. We share half of our genetic material, and a nearly identical rearing environment. Yet our hopes, our anxieties, our vices, and our demons are so polar, it is as if we never met until the day we die. <br /><br />I have hypothesized on it extensively. My brother by nature has a congenial, warm temperament and genuinely enjoys the company of others. There was very little competition between us by virtue of our vastly differing priorities and abilities. In the face of incompetent parenting, he sought love and belonging in his peer group, and found it. In the days of Christian youth groups and highschool parties, our house was always filled every weekend with his impromptu barbecues and functions and get-togethers. In time, he managed to connect with our father and maintains a solid, if not loving, relationship with him.<br /><br />Both my brother and I were raised in a church - in theory it should have been an incredibly protective factor. Our connections to the church community were extensive and longstanding. We had both begun as toddlers, and the community had essentially watched us grow and blossom before their eyes. We were both "headed somewhere in life", expected to make something extraordinary of ourselves in God's world. We were youth leaders, role models for younger peers, the kind of kids whom parents of other children at church would point to and remark "you should be more like them". We were the golden siblings in the English congregation; up and coming youngsters destined to be leaders in the church community. I do surmise that had it not been for my contributions by virtue of birth to that church, I would be even more cynical than I am now.<br /><br />Because there was kindness, there was compassion in that church, but my days there also taught me that while God was infallible, humanity was not. I recognized the church for what it was - a quivering, insecure mass of patriarchal Elders and gossiping housewives and political scheming and power-mongering and hypocrisy. But the social aspect of it was certainly protective, I will not deny that. My elder brother in particular, flourished in church - he found his niche, his belonging there.<br /><br />I sought comfort through intellect. I dove headlong into encyclopedias and science projects and literature and philosophy and psychology. I swam with Moby Dick and twirled the world of subatomic particles around my fingers; danced with relish in the grand halls of Conrad and Joyce and Kafka and (regrettably) Freud, I walked the streets of Ancient Rome and flew upon golden wings with Icarus and mythological Greek gods, and I studied everything a 12-year-old could amass on developmental psychology and, more heatedly, all the literature I could find on abnormal child development for years and years and years. Needless to say, my social life suffered and I never developed a peer group, never found a group of friends whom I identified as true peers. I never developed a solid understanding of humanity and emotion, I never belonged, only observed. Contemporary psychology would call it a pathological failure to attach to a primary caregiver, but I call it failing to give a flying fuck about humanity.<br /><br />I am an adamant disciple of the notion that while life is not deterministic, life consists of a few critical decisions - of things done or not done - that determine the entire course of our eighty years. As the years pass I am beginning to realize that I am drawing closer to a decision that could very well condemn me to the ranks of dark humanity. The idea is obsessive and pervasive; I find it difficult to believe that one day I will have to awake and face the consequences of my actions.<br /><br />I fail to descry any shred of constructiveness or contribution to humanity that my decision could bring. It would be a career of selfishness - of gratification that I can neither justify nor ignore. It would be the taking of what I want from a world that I will offer nothing in return. I am not naive to the moral incompatibility of my actions.<br /><br /><br />Freud once wrote that if a child could destroy the world, he would. I most definitely would have.<br><br><br>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-21258710171106299952009-09-07T22:40:00.000-07:002011-04-20T01:01:50.284-07:00On Life as a Ghost<a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3558/3617481411_98772ac693.jpg?v=0" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3558/3617481411_98772ac693.jpg?v=0" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 333px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
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For some individuals, life is a vivacious, extraordinary phenomenon whose novelty will never wane, never so much as falter until the day they die. I never believed my childrens' pastor when she told me that for every child the Lord has a plan, that for every youth the Lord has a path, and that all I had to do was follow his banner. <br />
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I do not believe in a god anymore, because more wretched than urban despair is an urban despair that is by necessity, bestowed by god through his inaction. I could never compromise, never make peace with such a cruel master. <br />
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I awoke this morning to the sound of youthful cries and shouts that typify mornings at a university dormitory. As I sit here and listen to the same sounds an hour to midnight - my roommates thoroughly inebriated in the next room over - I come to the realization that there is little that is able to move me anymore. Life has become little more than a state, a static moment of existence held aloft and burning only through inertia. <br />
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I never possessed a zest for life even as a child, and this apathy trails my every passing day like a lovestruck hound. I compare myself to my peers, to the specimens of humanity I see everyday and I feel as an alien. Their drunken pounding on my dormitory walls, their exclamations of hilarity, their music vibrating the walls - it irritates me, sends an itch down my stomach but also provokes a shameful thrill of sadism.<br />
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I am a loner. <br />
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It is difficult to explain this to those who are familiar with me at school or at work, because in these contexts I am always outgoing, always quick and talkative, always amiable and eager. This facade is both necessary and expected, and because of its necessity I bear it no ill will. It is simply another duty I perform.<br />
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My relationships are superficial at best; I am careful to maintain my distance. There is nothing I fear more in this comprehensible universe than to find myself involved in an interpersonal affair from which I cannot extract myself immediately at will. This perspective, naturally, is not mutual and I am aware that I have alienated many acquaintances as a result. <br />
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Contrary to popular belief, this does bother me. I am, in all facets of my life, a ghost, and being the subject of malcontent does not lend itself well to invisibility. Through such collateral affronts, I find that those who remain in my social circle are those who do not place demands upon me which I am unable to perform. <br />
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I do have one such friend in mind as I write this, and it is her that this post concerns. She is a year younger than I, but we have been friends since highschool and such trivial differences disappear upon entering post-secondary education. She is kind, and very patient but more importantly she understands that even though I do not actively seek her company, I enjoy her company. This unspoken implication hangs in the air, and it is well met.<br />
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Tonight, she hosted a house-warming party to which she invited every friend she holds dear, including myself. The date has been set in advance, and she is aware that I know of its occurrence. She showed up halfway through her party as I sat in the darkness of my room, knocking on my door to update me of its progress and to bring me small confectioneries. <br />
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I value this friend because she understands that I am incapable of maintaining any real sort of intimate, human relationship, but that I do regret it, and it is this effort that she tends. She does not fault me for my inadequacies, and does not take offense at my isolation. She made the invitation with open arms and warm smiles, fully knowing that I would not attend. <br />
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I am a ghost. I spend the bulk of my life in isolation and silence. I am alone but not lonely, for it is in such invisibility that I find comfort and peace. I am incapable of responding rigorously to the demands of social life - this is a deep inadequacy that I have long come to terms with. I have tried for years to find some measure of peace and purpose in the modern world, in the average existence of a western individual, but I have found nothing in such study. The quietness of resignment is the only solace I have, and I cling to it like a drowning sailor cast adrift into the vastness. <br />
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I am the hermit at the foot of the mountain, having shouted and hollered words of early wisdom to the marketplace, but was not heard and so now is silent. I am the quiet gaze that follows anonymous strangers as they make their noisy rounds in the metropolitan rain. I am the friend who fails to ever become more than an acquaintance, out of reach because my phone is off and I do not attend gatherings. I am the conversationalist that enthralls hordes of colleagues, but never seek to reach beyond the intellectual connection - the lecturer, the educator, the entertainer but never the friend. <br />
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From an archival perspective, this tendency to leave nothing behind means that I transfer from clique to clique, school to school, and workplace to workplace leaving nothing behind but records of work well done or nameless grades. It may sound inadequate to the average observer, but I view it as a positive quality. Because I am invisible and spiritually homeless, my home is everywhere. <br />
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There is a beauty to wandering the urban streets at night, the lights flickering overhead, cars blaring by, adolescents giggling with their schoolmates, a couple enthralled with each other - lost in a world of vibrant possibility and connections yet to be made. There is a beauty in the urban landscape that I will never be able to articulate sufficiently. As the Gregorian chants register quietly through my earphones - a black figure dwarfed amongst buildings of human grandeur and monstrosity, I feel small as my boots walk the streets that have been walked by hundreds of thousands of unnamed feet. <br />
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I am humbled by such grace, and slip back into the city.<br />
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<center><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='550' height='487' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzxmPPBJ4ywzQB7L7yyiJdbG8ySEGqDVRlaH9cbxPUmsX6frSax6wweiGkEo3ORCGc75ZBPdgd8a3inAYNcJQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></center>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-45325867518548181712009-09-06T01:04:00.000-07:002011-02-27T02:22:25.612-08:00Divergence (taken from an old blog)<i><br />Hotchner: You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent. When you grow up in an environment like that, an abusive and violent household.. it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.<br />Vincent: Some people?<br />Hotchner: What's that?<br />Vincent: You said some people grow up to become killers.<br />Hotchner: ...And some people grow up to catch them.<br /><br />(Criminal Minds - 1x08)</i><br /><br /><br /><hr style="border:dashed gray; border-width:2px 0 0; height:2;"><br /><br />I've always been fascinated by criminology. So much effort and national resources are put into apprehending criminals, and so little into preventative measures. This disproportion seems irrational to me.<br /><br />What interests me is the distinction between criminality and potential criminality. In theory they are somewhat indistinguishable, but in practice their difference can span a lifetime. By "criminals", let me exclude the lesser crimes - petty theft, lesser assault, and misdemeanors. It would also be useful to exclude motivations which are more or less universally understood: monetary gain, simple vengeance, or passion. What is left is what our society currently labels motiveless and sadistic; not understood and therefore abominable.<br /><br />Suppose a pair of siblings are reared in such a way as to closely match the FBI checklist of environmental/behavioral risk factors for serial murder: abusive father, domineering mother, separation from primary caregiver before age 5, dysfunctional/abusive and often violent home environment, emotionally invalidating parents, chronic low self-esteem, social isolation, previous suicidal ideation, repressed rage, pyromania, extreme cruelty to small animals during childhood/adolescence, lack of empathy, emotional callousness, record of substance abuse or pathological psychiatric history. Let us further suppose that these siblings also happen to fall into a certain subset of the general demographic into which organized serial murderers often fall: male, above-average intelligence, employed in a white-collar occupation, owns a vehicle, married with children.<br /><br />Given the environmental factors and behavioral signs, it is also highly likely that these siblings may show early signs of psychopathy during early childhood. Suppose no intervention is made, and their personalities are firmly cemented in adult life.<br /><br />The question of fault, then, begins to emerge. The current understanding of the criminal mind in western legal courts is that while traumatic upbringing may lessen punishment, it does not excuse guilt. It is interesting that while a modern day jury will be more sympathetic once presented with abusive family/life histories of a convicted criminal, they will still not allow this information to excuse guilt. This seems to be an inherent contradiction in that while it is acknowledged that upbringing unwillingly shaped a child into a sadistic, cruel murderer, this child is still not excused from responsibility.<br /><br />And suppose that while one sibling went on to lead a (relatively) ordinary life, the other went on to torture, eviscerate, decapitate, and murder scores and scores of couples who reminded him of his parents. Does the law-abiding nature of the first sibling mean that an abusive upbringing cannot garner sympathy for the second sibling in a court of law? This follows the rationale that, of course, since the first sibling experienced the same abuse and did not become a murderer, upbringing had no bearing on the choices of the second.<br /><br />It seems clear, but the simplicity of this conclusion must be tested further.<br /><br />A common response to this dilemna is as follows: "It doesn't matter what he's been through, he made a conscious decision to break the law and therefore must be held responsible".<br /><br />Care must be taken when deciphering the concept of "conscious decision". While I certainly agree that the criminal is aware of right and wrong, I disagree in that he may be completely coherent in his moral ability to choose compared to another individual. I do not excuse his guilt, but one must sympathize with his compromised moral compass.<br /><br />The decision to commit serial murder is not a single decision. As Douglas wrote very succinctly: "The creation of a serial murderer begins in childhood." The human child is programmed to adapt to its environment; its very existence is honed to acquire knowledge and change itself so as to best survive in that environment. As such, a child who is reared in a household where it is taught compassion, honesty, integrity, and self-worth will align its morals and later its world-perception to these values. A child who is exposed to abusive parenting, emotional invalidation, inconsistent punishment, and cruelty will "endure, endure, and endure whereupon he will curl into himself. He will learn that people are mere objects; he will be incapable of empathy or conscience, and at the very deep-sated core will be a child of intense, repressed inner rage." (D., 2001).<br /><br />Is it the child's fault if he grows into a remorseless, sadistic adult? Should he be punished for any action he takes on its behalf?<br /><br />Or perhaps the interesting question still remains: how different, really, is the first sibling from the second? If both share fundamentally the same personality and experiential characteristics, what difference does it make that one acted upon it and the other did not? Is the first sibling merely more competent at repressing his sadistic, homicidal urges? Will it emerge later in life? How much fault should be placed on the criminal if his "conscious decision" was indeed conscious, but shaped by other factors and variables beyond his conscious control?<br /><br />Western individuals are quick to place the blame solely upon their "monsters", but perhaps only because they are afraid to admit that it is because they created these monsters. They are so quick to create an abomination out of phenomenon they cannot understand; so quick to shift the blame from themselves. A child raised in a compassionate, moral environment does not grow into a moral wasteland of an adult.<br /><br><br />Afterall, as Carl Jung once wrote: “The healthy man does not torture others - generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers."<br><br>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-34933954762984415032009-09-04T00:42:00.000-07:002011-04-20T01:09:02.399-07:00On People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.fotoblur.com/imgs/0/0/0/2/2/9/4/97858.jpg?v=0" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://www.fotoblur.com/imgs/0/0/0/2/2/9/4/97858.jpg?v=0" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I am a student; one youthful mind against a universe that is all too ready to patiently teach me my imperfections - a universe that is swift to anger and slow to forgive. <br />
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I initially had a great deal of difficulty selecting my specialization for post-secondary study. It was not that I enjoyed every potential discipline, but that my holistic understanding of truth would not permit me to attempt a lifelong career of academia while fully aware that the nature of knowledge is such that to overlook a single element is to err. As of this writing, I am currently pursuing a double specialization in Research Psychology and Computer Science.<br />
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To every mind, they are apparently polar opposites in discipline, in technique, in method, and in philosophy of understanding the world and its inhabitants. They appeal to me because whereas one discipline represents a world that I intuitively understand, the other represents a world in which I am seemingly born colorblind; rudderless and adrift without any real control condition to which I can compare my findings.<br />
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The particular area of research I have been involved in for several years is the study of dark personalities (narcissism, psychopathy, and machiavellianism), more specifically in the psychopathic continuum and its applications to the forensic population. I am not a diagnosed psychopath, but I share with this minority population a profound absence of emotional understanding, and the subsequent compensation we must utilize to stay afloat. Even though I cannot identify with their lack of fear and impulsivity, I find a kinship in our mutual opinion of emotional motivation as opaque and unknowable.<br />
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Whereas general society frowns upon psychopathy as a choice comparable to criminal behavior, it is not always so simple. Consider that much of psychopathic manifestations occur as a result of compensation for inborn deficits; an effect of an organic cause. If a child has no understanding of the emotional motivations behind average human behavior, then he must discover an alternate methodology for interpreting social situations, not limited to rationalization, intellectual study, observation, and experimentation. People become to him not people but objects, objects whose state of existence goes unquestioned but not unnoticed. <br />
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An individual with deficient emotional experience would also, conceivably, lack the barriers to self-actualization which in much of humanity is a source of restraint. If this individual does not experience love, then they are incapable of reciprocity. Likewise, if this individual does not experience guilt, then what is to stop him from manipulating people in his circle of influence, from committing theft without thought, from torturing animals as a child, or from reveling in the pain of others? <br />
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Dark personalities may be merely interpreted as a dimension of intensity - all of humanity is narcissistic, psychopathic, and machiavellianist but the diagnostic criteria for research purposes set aside a minority population who take these characteristics to extremes. <br />
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Consider also that serial homicide offenders, a large portion of whom exhibit signs of schizoid and psychopathic personality, are also a result of their rearing environment. Although childhood abuse is not a predictor of later serial homicide or psychopathy, it is overwhelmingly significant. Nearly every single incarcerated or executed serial homicide offender in the FBI database have histories of physical, sexual, or psychological abuse. <br />
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It is not difficult to imagine that, given decades of negative environment coupled with social isolation and peer rejection which invariably follows from a lack of empathy, this absence of emotional understanding can be a slippery slope toward the development of a dark personality. <br />
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I recently returned from a youth leadership camp, in which one group activity involved sharing our personal testimony and perspective. I was asked to describe my perspective on human interaction. I proclaimed that I found humanity much too interdependent than the existing justification for being so - survival via social cohesion. This interdependency beyond mere sharing of resources is not something that I intuitively understand. Likewise, there are many facets of human interaction that I am only now competent in because I have spent years of quiet observation and study.<br />
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Understandably, they did not fully understand, so I endeavored to illustrate by example. <br />
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<a href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2009/4/4/1238846344625/Jade-Goody-Funeral-Funera-014.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2009/4/4/1238846344625/Jade-Goody-Funeral-Funera-014.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 390px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 599px;" /></a><br />
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You are at your uncle's funeral, I presented. You are a small child, and all around you the adults are quiet. Your aunt is sobbing into your mother's shoulder; broken, dry gasps under her veil, but all that occurs to you as you watch them is how uncomfortable it must be to have someone cry into your neck. All that occurs to you is what self-restraint your mother must have in order not to push her away in disgust as the saline dribbles down her blouse.<br />
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Your second uncle is standing rigidly as the coffin is lowered, and he does not so must as twitch or sway. It is thirty-seven degrees centigrade and he is wearing his black, thick wool navy uniform complete with white-vested cap, but you look at him and giggle because, finally, here is another person who does not understand why people are weeping at a funeral. Here is another person who does not understand why another person's death causes a community to grow silent and somber. <br />
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He lowers his gaze and frowns at your celebratory grin. You are are gruffly told to respect the dead. It then occurs to you at that moment that you are alone, that he is yet another gray member of the city that weeps at funerals. To respect the dead it seems, to you, is futile, but you remain silent. <br />
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To avoid reproach and punishment, at future funerals you always shed tears and give platitudes. You spend the next decade blending into the emotional majority in an intricate dance of complex mimicry and forced substitution. You have become an excellent student of conventional moral and emotional conduct, although they exist to you at an intellectual level. You confuse goodwill with avoidance of punishment, and you confuse compassion with social reputation. To you these internal and external motivations are one and the same, but as time progresses you come to the realization that you are different, that while the world turns and people experience love, joy, and empathy you remain stagnant - such things but mere abstractions. As the next decade approaches, you become embittered. You begin to utilize your studies in malevolent manipulation, your absence of remorse leads you into antisocial behavior and criminality. At thirty years of age, the judge finally sentences you to life imprisonment, and as you plead your case - childish need for belonging, you are rejected and begin to harbor a profound, deep-sated rage. <br />
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I do not doubt that this child made poor decisions, but every individual makes poor decisions. It is humbling to think that within 1% of the population (Hare, 1989), is the capacity for intense malevolence. This lack of complete emotional experience may begin with an organic precursor - a genetic predisposition, and when coupled with peer rejection and parental abuse, is a dangerous combination of inability to identify with others, sadism, and a fiery foundation of rage. Is the child himself to blame, even when so many formative factors were beyond his control? An absence of much needed intervention, as stated by the criminal justice system, explains but does excuse poor decisions, but we must remember the child.<br />
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We must remember the child.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-63252887258452521552009-09-01T00:56:00.000-07:002011-02-27T02:19:29.316-08:00Urban Noise<br><br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2386/2178621140_96d8636531.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 333px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2386/2178621140_96d8636531.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Joseph Conrad once wrote, controversially, that "we live as we dream - alone" (Heart of Darkness, 1899). The public malcontent that arose from this proclamation was not one of disagreement but denial, for as much as humanity values interpersonal constructs such as love, compassion, and unity, such things are not in his nature. Society I believe, is too interconnected to a point where the greatest good is sacrificed for the common good. The protesters and lobbyists forget that as we enter this world bloody, unwilling, at the enormous physical pain of another human being, and ultimately alone, so we will also leave it alone. <br /><br />The city is never quiet, never solemn, never still. The insignificant suits and ties that line its capillaries and infest its streets never quite stop screaming. They go at it day and night, never quite pausing long enough to contemplate, even for a minute, the fact they are scurrying about furiously to please a 9 to 5 boss whom will never return the favor. It's pathetic, but more than that, it fascinates me at an intellectual, academic level. The study of darkness is a pursuit I hold close to heart.<br /><br />With that in mind, two weeks ago I engaged in a 5 day period of silence. It was not a particularly extended period of time, as my current record stands at 11 days two years ago during Christmas break. <br /><br />It was a period in which I did not speak, and endeavored to be as silent as possible in routines and habits. The monastic life, one which values humility, introspection, and silence, is a close approximation to the experience. From the perspective of practicality, I am unable to indulge this practice beyond school vacations as often as I'd like, as many a time academic and professional obligations require reentry into the world of urban noise. <br /><br />The 5 and 11 day periods of silence were not difficult, as I am an individual well accustomed to being a ghost. It is a reaction I know well, like a dear friend who was never quite everything you ever wanted, but are satisfied with because the rest of the world confuses you. <br /><br />For the average western individual, I imagine such a practice would be insurmountably difficult in ways in which I am unrestrained. I lack any intimate relations, platonic or romantic, and have a superficial social circle who are all, in some manner, invariably linked to my professional and academic life. In my daily discourse the rule of silence is not a rule, but rather, an observation. <br /><br />Silence is a practice which entered my life with minimal effort - the result of a state which, to me, occurs naturally and without thought. I discovered as a child that if I let the urban noise surround me, I become invisible. To be a ghost is to walk the streets in the city rain, anonymous and adrift - the blessing of quiet observation and silent grace. <br /><br />In all honesty, the city night is the only thing in this comprehensible universe which is able to afford me some small measure of comfort. I am unseen but felt, for accompanying a natural state of invisibility is the natural state of observation. <br /><br /><br /><br />The gray man in this gray city passes by me without a glance.<br>lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1777143236534599101.post-36178514832858147612009-05-19T01:12:00.000-07:002011-04-20T01:31:08.846-07:00On Nostalgia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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I haven't spent much time in my childhood suburb as of late, since I've relocated to the adjacent Vancouver metropolis for school. I haven't genuinely walked the streets and weaved through shortcuts as only a native can, in a very long time. Realistically it's only been a year, perhaps less, but I am young and in one's days of youth a year is a lifetime.<br />
<br />
I look at the streets differently now, much more differently than I did as a child. Somehow home never looks the same when you return following a period of maturation. It doesn't feel like home anymore, not like it ever did, really. Even the shortcuts learned when skipping school or exploring with classmates feel foreign; alien. I felt like an intruder, like the intimacy of these streets that no non-local should ever know about were unwillingly and unwittingly passed onto me by some accidental chance.<br />
<br />
I felt like a shadow, one whose time has past and was clinging onto some remnant of nostalgia. I see no one on the streets that I recognize, and so many stores and buildings have changed - not significantly, but enough - that I would look upon an intersection and not remember what memories I made there.<br />
<br />
I suppose this emotion would be described by people as grief. It doesn't chill my body like it would for others, but there is something ringing intermittently there that tells me the time to move on is nearing. One day, soon, I will leave this city and never return. As I walked again on the deserted weekday streets, it struck me that this must have been how the ancient Romans felt as they watched their empire fall into decay. It happens almost imperceptibly - an overgrown temple, fading marble, and abandoned villas that gradually lose the sound of children and festivities of daily life. Things and places that once had a purpose now stand only by the mercy of humanity's obsession with the past. Like a mother who sits in her grown child's bedroom - left immaculate and in the state he left it in - and gently fondles dusty toys and ragged teddy bears, whilst brokenly longing for the days of packed lunches and soccer practice and broken curfews.<br />
<br />
I ran into him in the City Hall parking lot.<br />
<br />
In younger years I would look to him as a superior, but now I spoke to him as equals. He waved and beckoned me over and asked me what I had been up to in recent years. What to say? These sort of passing conversations on sidewalks among acquaintances were never really meant for substance, but to say nothing would be a lie.<br />
<br />
I responded truthfully. School, work, rinse and repeat. It felt like I had made childhood out to be such a scam - you think you're finished upon highschool graduation and then suddenly you realize that you are nowhere close. There are still years of schoolwork and cliques and confusion and searching and youthful exploration left in your life, and then suddenly highschool doesn't seem like a monumental rite of passage anymore.<br />
<br />
But then maybe adulthood is a larger scam, because it's a scam you don't see coming. You perceive children as your peers, and then suddenly and abruptly they will rebuke you because you are no longer part of their youth culture. And then finally, finally, once you have settled into an existence of mediocre purpose, it is over, and you feel that time has been snatched away right at the moment when you have best discovered how to spend it.<br />
<br />
On this note, I stopped and regarded him seriously. He looked older; the wrinkles more pronounced and his hairs graying.<br />
<br />
"I think it's a surefire sign that you're growing up when you come to realize that all the successes of humanity are merely instruments of which to pass time. No better than a child building a castle with imaginary bricks - you build and build and build toward something that you define yourself; that otherwise wouldn't exist. And if you lose sight of where to place the moat or the gate or the tower or the lord's manor, well...then you're kinda' fucked."<br />
<br />
Life can be summed up as a desperate scramble to pass the time, really. Except that it's sort of self-delusional because you scramble and scramble and then suddenly when it's over, you feel like there was never enough - like the gods had cheated you out of a year or two or maybe three. But really, that year would have been spent at the office, standing in the Monday morning coffee line making inane, superficial conversation, listening to the news during the 5 o'clock traffic jam, or watching re-runs of shitty soap operas and yelling at your neighbor's dog to please shut the fuck up because it's 4 in the morning and you need to wake up early tomorrow to do it all over again.<br />
<br />
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I really have nothing more to say.lucubrativehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12152892507627493137noreply@blogger.com0