Category: Philosophy

Nostalgia nags like a scab to be picked

December 24, 2022

The weight of Christmas Past pulls at my mind, a melancholy anchor I drag around. In its wake an odd mix of bitterness and joy. Joy at the memories, bitterness at the fact that such memories won’t stay buried.

The Season demands pleasant greetings—though false and egg-shell deep, subject to crack as soon as the revelers drift behind me. I’d as soon skip to March or April, avoid all of this. Yet there exists this tug at the wire that wraps my heart. There is a yearn to recall past holidays and the happy frolic they no doubt enjoyed. It’s the music, mostly, like that of a syringe full of boiled smack, I slap my forearm and stab the dial. “O Tannenbaum… It’s beginning to look… Dashing through the snow…”

Maybe that’s what I need, a long bump of snow and a shot (or twenty) of heady aquavit. Or ouzo. You know I love that licorice-anise flavor. And screw you if you don’t. But, an endearing, merry screw-you, you know?

But hey, it’s Christmas, right? Or rather, the Holidays—gotta be Politically Correct. I favor Saturnalia, the death of the old year the birth of the new one, full of empty potential.

Here’s some AI imagery for you. May our future AI Gods award us an equally cheerful season, if nothing more than to keep us, their human servants, jolly, dulled by alcohol and nostalgic thoughts of the past.

A joyous forest christmas scene full of christmas trees, presents, beautiful colored lights, in the foreground is a devlish imp, in the style of Dali

... .

Humans and the aesthetic

October 30, 2021

I’ve been watching bonsai videos lately. I don’t know why. There’s something about taking a straggly adolescent tree, shredding it to its core and produce something humans would find beautiful. There’s the time aspect too, the fact that once you strip some seedling down to its naked trunk, chop its arms and head off, bend it sideways and command it to “sit and stay!” that you have to wait years while the pathetic Charlie Brown’s bonsai either handles the trauma and flourishes — or dies.

And I got to thinking, a dog wouldn’t give this tree a second thought, that is, right after it pissed all over it. Nor would a robin, or a gecko, antelope or a mountain lion. Too small to provide shade, too nasty to eat, maybe there’s some bugs to be found crawling through its diminutive branches… But other than that, meh, just another woody green thing to be ignored.

We humans seem singularly adapted to layer an aesthetic sense of beauty, or the lack there of, over top of everything we experience in the world. The most mundane items of everyday life may be imbued with the qualities of feng shui, chi/qi, or wabi-sabi evoking the true essence of their purpose — or not. There’s some ugly shit in the world.

I’m reminded of Neil deGrasse Tyson’s comment that, of the billions of species that have existed since the rise of complex life 500+ millions years ago, higher intelligence evolved just once as an extended species (Homo). “I guess higher intelligence must not be all that important for survival.” Sharks and crocodiles would agree.

And with this “higher intelligence” it would appear we got the added bonus of arbitrarily assigning an aesthetic quality to anything within our environment. I look at these bonsai trees (bonsai literally means “planted in a pot”) and I can immediately distinguish which exude elegance and charm and which are gnarled witch-sticks leaning toward the fire. And I’m convinced my dog couldn’t care less.

But then, maybe she does care… Care about other things. “Oh my, what a wonderful smell that is, wafting in through the open car window.” Or the corvid perched on the rooftop, “That’s one clean, white ground roller there. I think it needs a bit of aerial deposited decoration.” What of a dolphin’s delight in the curve of the surf, or the standing pulse of a bow-wave? How about the sweetness of a strawberry or banana for a chimpanzee?

Perhaps our delight or disgust of that which we experience, and how they influence our behavior is not ours alone.

If you read Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink then you’ll recall how our subconscious, our first 1/2 a second of experience can instruct us in our aesthetic judgement. It’s a thing we cannot stop. We instantly “know”. But I ask myself, why should my interpretation of the world and my personal opinion of its beauty or ugliness have meaning beyond my own mind, beyond my own life?

My dog rolled in something again. Damn, that’s some skanky shit.

“You’re joking, right?” she whines, “That was the best smellin’ dead-thing I’ve found in many moons.”

Writer’s Log: The Scientific Case for Evil

October 10, 2021

Back cover blurb:

Dr. Tern Wallace hoped his discovery would prove the afterlife. Inter-dimensionality combined with the Universe’s compositional gaps left room for the “otherness” many thought composed the spirit world. That and the decades of research, the divorce of two wives and the estrangement of his children were worth something, weren’t they?

He flipped the switch and the intricate customizations of the MRI machine began to whir. His subject, an irreconcilably mad dog, donated by the local pound, lay drugged within the humming doughnut of induced gravitational waves. His computer screens glowed. Where there should have been the almond shaped amygdala he found, nothing.

No, not nothing. He had suspicions as to what had replaced the brain’s fear center. Here was proof.

Dark matter. The stuff of astrophysicists, the missing matter of the universe, it theoretically surround us but was kept at bay by our own observable matter inexorably pushing back. Yet, its existence, induced to leak across the impenetrable boundary by the cruelty, the torture the broken German shepherd had endured at the hands of its owner, was undeniable. Evil existed.

Indeed, evil existed, manifested from dark energy, dark matter and, from what Dr. Wallace could tell, was spreading.

The machine spun down. Unfortunately, the side effects of the machine’s interrogation included the death of the subject. He would have to expand his research.

He needed other subjects. Human subjects.

He reflected upon his options. Could the mere thought of experimenting on humans mean that he, himself, had succumbed to this dark infection? He dismissed the notion. Science required information. How could science ever be thought of as evil? Tomorrow he would call his contacts at the asylum.

Waltzing Matilda – quiet coercion

August 11, 2021

I’ve been fond of the song Waltzing Matilda since forever. Whistling, strange words, catchy-tune, what’s not to like.

There’s a history of the song, of course, which depicts a rather unpleasant story about sheep shearers, a strike and the pursuit and suicide of one of the shearers near a pond.

The phrase, Waltzing Matilda is suppose to mean go on walk-about with your kit (swag, including your tent). But, I think there’s way more to the phrase that what we innocently take on. Reviewing the lyrics: (wikipedia)

Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his “Billy” boiled,
“You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.”

Chorus:
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his “Billy” boiled,
“You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.”

Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
“You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.”

(Chorus)

Up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred.
Down came the troopers, one, two, and three.
“Whose is that jumbuck you’ve got in your tucker bag?
You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.”

(Chorus)

Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong.
“You’ll never catch me alive!” said he
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong:
“You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.”

You’ll notice that each time the stanza, “You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me”, is spoken, there’s a specific directive implied.

  • I’m gonna drink my tea.
  • I’m gonna take you, sheep, kill you and eat you.
  • You’re commin’ with us, says the troopers to the swagman.
  • You’re all gonna follow me to the grave, says the ghost of the swagman.

That last one is especially poignant:

And his ghost may be heard as YOU pass by that billabong,
You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.

Is Waltzing Matilda, ultimately, a euphemism for dying? Not a very happy tune, now is it?

Creating vs Consuming

August 7, 2021

[Originally posted five years ago.]

I have a wise neighbor, Mike. We were chatting about various things and the concept of the creative process vs the consumptive process came up. Here’s a brief synopsis.

When you consume it’s like burning fuel in a fire. To retain the emotive high you get when you consume you must feed the flame. You buy a pair of shoes, they’re new for a week or two, but then they’re not—and you have to buy something new to keep that consumptive itch scratched. You consume a mobile game, a TV show, a movie, a blog post, a magazine article or a book as soon as you’re done, you want more. The flame of consumption cannot be allow to dwindle and die. Consuming becomes an addiction. In the case of oxygen, water and limited food intake, consumption is a good thing, otherwise, well, you die. But consumption of everything else becomes a losing battle—the inferno of your desire to gobble up those unfulfilling objects and experiences—will never be appeased.

In contrast, I give you the creative process.

When you create—anything—that creation becomes an established part of you. If you write, or paint, sculpt or build something the end product of your effort, even if the physical object doesn’t endure, will extend you. That is, the fact of its creation will always exist within you. You made it. Creation is an additive process. Every time you create you extend yourself beyond your prior boundaries. If you produce media art like pictures, music, or video, or you create motion art such as dance or activity/skill based (skating, skydiving, surfing, climbing, etc.) you are creating, you are adding to yourself (and to the world).

It’s somewhat ironic don’t you think?

  • Creation, the act of giving of yourself and your efforts to the world—adds.
  • Consumption, the act adding stuff onto yourself—subtracts.

Writer’s Log: 2350

June 12, 2021
  • February: Crawled out of my cave, looked around and crawled right back in.
  • March: Bah!
  • April: Still nope.
  • May: Fingers itching, must be vaccine side-effects.
  • June: Fuck me. Alright, alright, just quit squeezing my frontal lobe.

[Back cover blurb]

A-Nihilists: Tribe of Annihil-Nation

Members of a growing anti-society movement continue to expand their attacks against anyone and everyone. If you believe in anything, God, morals, society, human rights, animals rights, Save-the-Planet, free school lunches — you are a target. A-Nihilists are here to destroy you and everything you believe in. They live solely to convince you of the absurdity of existence.

Kamus joined at fifteen. His first act involved the explosive destruction of an I-15 bridge that spanned the Virgin River in St. George, Utah. It didn’t go well. He and his partners underestimated the concussive power of one-hundred pounds of ANFO (ammonium nitrate & fuel oil). But mostly, it was the too-short fuse Kam had used on the M-80 that detonated the makeshift dynamite.

Mistakes are often the best teachers. That is, if you can survive them.

Years later, that first lesson became a seed of doubt.

“If my purpose is showing you your purpose is bullshit…”

Sisyphus’ map of tiny, perfect things

April 15, 2021

I’ve posted about Albert Camus’ philosophy regarding Sisyphus and how imagining him happy is a way to look at one’s own mundane, plodding life.

And I’ve also mentioned how Groundhog Day’s Phil Connors embodies Sisyphus.

Nice artwork, eh?

Well, I recently watched a campy, but fairly endearing story that takes both of those themes and includes them in the script.

“The Map of Tiny, Perfect Things” (Amazon Prime) does a pretty good job of depicting the trope of being stuck in the same day for eternity. It may not be worth watching more than once (like Bill Murray’s film), but it’s worth at least one viewing.

What struck me, of course, is that this connection I’d made between Phil Connors being Sisyphus was one I’d shared prolly four years ago. And it was cool to see the theme exposed in a film.

There’s the map of perfect things (places)

 

The Dead Must Train Themselves

January 16, 2021

This is a continuation of the topic raised prior.

I’ve spent some time watching Black Mirror’s offerings and the one Duke Miller recommended, Marjorie Prime. The premise for these stories is that the living, bereft at the loss of a loved one, takes possession of a simulacrum. But, this virtual construct must be conditioned to behave like the deceased.

Who the fuck wants to do that?

Now, given the responses to the last post, it would seem the concept creeps some folks out. Others might find it hollow or shallow even. And then there’s the whole possibility question, could it actually be done? You’re all probably right on each front. However, I don’t know that the full potency of the idea has soaked in.

I’m convinced that this capability is coming. The crippled versions I’ve interacted with so far are limited I’ll admit. But, all the pieces are there. This will come to be, I know it. The first, I suspect, to be exposed as interactive agents will be dead celebrities. Those whose copyrights and trademarks are expired — open for exploitation, as it were. Imagine speaking with Shakespeare, or Nietzsche, Dickens or Darwin? Those representations will of course need Black Mirror’esque training, someone must do the deed of teaching ol’ William how to speak and how to be cheeky about love and life.

But that’s not where I think this will truly bloom (or die on the vine).

Given the technology—soon to be available, I’m certain I’ll be able to train my replacement. I’ll relate to him things I’d never tell anyone else, but things that would strike to the core of my persona. I’ll transfer other autobiographical stories that I’ve no intention of committing to paper, but would serve as flavor to any who come later — for those who might want to know me. I’ll record video of me speaking so that the DeepFake technology can make a model of me actually saying words. And I’ll de-age a bit, get back to around 45’ish, maybe.

I know my kids dig it.

Hell, wouldn’t you all be surprised to learn you’ve been talking to my digital duplicate now since early September. You think I survived that heart attack? Well, in a way, I did.

We are not conscious

November 27, 2020

Consciousness, at its simplest, is “sentience or awareness of internal or external existence”.

I’ve been thinking about the Singularity, the rise of the Machines, of AGI (artificial general intelligence) and how all of this may or may not give rise to AC – Artificial Consciousness.

We are not conscious. By that, I mean that this elevated concept of “Self” that we attribute only to ourselves—is a tautological illusion. It’s a transcendence we perpetrate as an ideal we set as an intelligence bar only we, so far, have attained.

Now, we can forever debate what consciousness is. No true definition has emerged from the age-old philosophical grindstone. But that won’t stop me from stepping up and out of the discussion and providing an armchair scientific analysis of the concept.

We think we’re conscious. OK, let’s go with that for now.

What if we take our brains, the source of our so-called consciousness, (we’ll include all the input senses and feedback loops connected to it), and cut our processing power in half. All the neurons, the tactile, aural, visual, all the sensory inputs and billions of neural connections — whack! Take just half.

Do you think the resulting entity would still be conscious? Who knows… Maybe, right? Okay, then let’s cut it in half again. And again.

Now we have an entity one-eighth of the mental capability of a human. Is that creature conscious? Let’s say they have the cognitive and sensory capacity of a salamander. Conscious? Some will still say, who knows? Well, for the sake of argument, let’s say Newt is incapable of the notion of “Self”. If they look in a mirror they won’t see themselves, a, you know, “Hey, don’t I look gooooood!” moment.

All we did to get to Newt, and his unconsciousness, was to regress our own capability backwards. If we progress in the opposite direction, doubling Newt’s brain and sensory power, we arrive at humanity’s ability level. And we’re to believe that once we get “here,” we’ve magically attained consciousness?

Maybe, consciousness is simply a capacity concept. What we think of as being self-aware is merely our vastly more complex and proficient ability to observe and analyze ourselves and our surroundings. Processing power. A numbers game.

We “think” we’re conscious, but maybe what we really are is being excellent at consuming data, examining that data and inferring outcome from that data, that is, following sequences of events to some conclusion. I think therefore I am.

Given this theory—that what we call consciousness is merely a critical amount of processing horsepower—we can expect that once an artificial general intellect acquires the threshold of an equivalent amount of cognitive and self-referential feedback processing, that it, too, will be just as “conscious,” as us, that is, not at all.

~~~

The corollary to this thesis would be: what of the artificial entity that is twice, ten times or a thousand times more cognitively capable than us humans? Would that entity truly have attained “consciousness”? Or, is this special concept we’ve awarded ourselves really just a numbers game, no matter how great the count?