I Am Not Special

All of the evidence I've seen suggests that humans are not the ultimate creation of some god. In fact, when I reflect upon the horrors humanity has endured during the past 100 years it seems obvious that nobody is watching over us.

Some people think we are being watched and cared for. Consider these verses from the Bible (Matthew 10:29-31):

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them shall fall to the ground outside your Father’s knowledge. Even the hairs of your head have all been numbered. Do not be afraid; you are more important than many sparrows.

Nobody has ever tried to sell me a sparrow, but that's probably not the point of this verse. What is its point? It appears to say that we're special to God — more so than a bunch of birds, anyway.

What a strange assessment of reality! Think of the millions of lives that could have been saved during the last century if a creator god had simply lit up the heavens with a giant sign that said, “Hey, stop all that fighting, silly humans!” Consider how many millions more would have been saved if the first chapter of the Bible included these words:

And God did then create invisibly tiny creatures that could make people sick unto death unless the water in which they lived was boiled for the duration of five hundreds of heartbeats.

Maybe that verse didn't make it past the final edit.

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The whole idea that we're special doesn't hold water. Unlike a sparrow, that theory doesn't fly. A theory that makes far more sense is the one that says we are animals that descended from some kind of ape.

As the photo montage above shows, it's not too much of a stretch to imagine that I came from something vaguely simian.

For some reason I want a banana. 

In any case, deep down within me there's a strange sense that the universe will prevent us from destroying ourselves. I have no good reason to believe that, apart from the fact that we've had the ability for several decades and haven't done so yet.

That deep-down feeling is almost certainly wrong. It is probably akin to the feeling that, throughout history, has made it possible for soldiers to cope, even though all their comrades are being cut down. “It can't happen to me.”

They deeply believe that they're special!

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Life isn't consistently atrocious, of course. If I'm open to the good nature of my fellow hairless apes, I usually find that things work out well. When we humans have the chance, we're really good at being what we evolved to be:  social creatures. 

That doesn't make us special, though. Lots of other animals are social. In fact, some animals, such as ants, are better at it than we are. Of course, we can out-run ants, and in my opinion we sing much better than they do, so it kind of evens out.

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If we are not special then we are as free as we want to be. There's nothing preventing us from dying, and there's nothing preventing us from living. Nothing except our beliefs to the contrary.

One of those limiting beliefs is “I am special because I am unique.” It seems to be one of the favorite ideas of Western civilization. Yes, we are unique. Nobody has my life history; nobody has yours. But we don't rise above the context in which we live, either. We're not that special.  Nobody is.

I used to wonder if people like, say, Stalin were special (in a horrible way) because they left such a stain on history. However, even the cleverest of them — Genghis Khan, perhaps — did not function alone. Each of them could only do what their society — their tsotl — made possible, and that society always reflected its own context.

As some people have pointed out, Hitler could not have become dictator if not for the Treaty of Versailles and the power of radio. Add to that some wily henchmen and a lot of blind luck, and there you have it:  He was not so special after all. He was, however, as nutty as squirrel scheiße.

What about somebody nicer than Stalin, Genghis or Hitler? How about, say, Jesus? Well, if we put aside all the stuff that seems to have been added to what Jesus actually said and did, we start to wonder if we know anything at all about the guy. The more we investigate, the more we begin to suspect that all we can really know about Jesus are the tidbits his time and place permitted us to hear about. Perhaps we hear a hint of this in the Gospel of Thomas:

Jesus took Thomas aside and told him three things. When Thomas returned to his companions, they asked, “What did Jesus say to you?” Thomas replied, “If I tell you even one of the things he told me, you will stone me.” 

Wow. Maybe Jesus was a bit too special for his time, though not quite special enough to not get killed.

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Much of what I write in this blog doesn't appear anywhere else. It's original stuff coming direct from me to you. How special is that? 

Well, given my life history it's not hard to understand what I am doing, and how I'm doing it. And if there's anything really original and valuable here, all I've probably done is write it a few years ahead of somebody else. If I've said anything truly ahead of my time, few people will pay attention until the time arrives. All things considered, this blog isn't special, and neither am I.

Still, you have to admit:  It's pretty neat that an ape can type.

What is the Meaning of Life?

What is the meaning of life? We could look up the word “Life” in the dictionary, but that's not really what people are asking. What are we being asked? What does the question about meaning mean?

Perhaps it means, “What is life for?”  That is to say, most “meaning of life” questions are probably asking, “What is the purpose of life?”

Well, as I see it, life is what creates purpose.

Look at a spider building a web. Is there any question where or what the purpose is? It's life attempting to continue to be life. Look at a tree clinging to the very edge of a cliff. Is there any doubt about the purpose of putting out roots? Look at the tree's leaves. Their purpose is obvious to anybody with a bit of science knowledge.

Consider a flower. Its main purpose is connected with reproduction — the continuance of life. Yes, as a side benefit the flower is lovely, but above all it is something life created, on purpose, for the benefit of life.

If life is what creates purpose, then perhaps asking about life's purpose is like asking about light's shine. 

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Go for a walk along a beach and pick up a small stone on the shore. What is its purpose?

Well, until you came along, it was just a rock. Now, though, it's something of interest to a living, perceiving being. At long last it has some kind of purpose. Maybe you can skip the rock over the water — yet more purpose! But in every case it's really your purpose, not the rock's.

Unless a rock is alive in some strange way (with a tiny sparkle of awareness spread over a billion years, perhaps) then it cannot have anything resembling purpose.

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It seems that a non-living thing like a rock cannot have an intrinsic purpose. Can it actually have anything at all, though? It doesn't own anything in the human sense; it doesn't have moods; it doesn't even have color unless a living being perceives it as such. It does, however, have mass.

A really big rock, like the moon, can tug on the tides even when nobody's paying attention to it. Even a rock can possess physical attributes. But it doesn't have a purpose unless one is attributed by a living thing.

Does the moon “want” to create the tides? No, it just does what it does, according to physical laws.

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What, in fact, is purpose? Is it not bound up with the future? A human being might construct a concrete support  pillar to hold up a building. The pillar doesn't — and can't — care that it's a structural member, but the human intent is to prevent the building from collapsing in the years to come.

How did the pillar's (human-assigned) purpose get tied up with the building's stability? Is purpose simply about ... continuation? (Here's the weirder version:  Is purpose life's repudiation of the very processes of entropy that define time's arrow?)

If so, then what about biological viruses? Some people say they are not “truly” alive. It certainly isn't much of a life for the individual virus: all it does is attempt to be fruitful and multiply. On this basis alone, though, I would classify a virus as a kind of life. And there's purpose in there.

What about a computer virus? It, too, attempts to be fruitful and multiply. A really sophisticated computer virus can recognize and counter threats. That makes it far more life-like than a mere rock. Is there any doubt it has purpose? It, too, is a kind of life (in my opinion).

I should point out that viruses per se do not create purpose. It's the action of life itself — the evolution of the extensible anti-entropic process — that creates purpose, not the individual repercussions.

You might object that I'm defining life too broadly. Let's look into that.

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Imagine a universe with no life whatsoever. No replication of evolution-prone pattern. Just energy and matter careening around in a dance of ever-increasing entropy. There is no purpose in such a universe. Nothing has any meaning. It just is.

Oddly enough, the same might be said of our universe. We just are. The dance of entropy is hard to resist. Most of what we do (like picking a slice of apple pie instead of cherry pie) is ultimately meaningless. But still we struggle against entropy, winning tiny victories in the face of an uncaring, dead cosmos.

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So, to summarize all this chatter, what is the Meaning of Life?

If you are craving a Really Big Meaning, consider this: it's possible that one day, somehow, life will be completely victorious over entropy. In such case, entropy would drop to zero — which is precisely how things were at the start of the universe. The next step was the Big Bang. In this wacky scenario (that I don't claim is true), life itself creates the next universe, which means we're creating the next Creator God. How's that for meaning!?

But it's not necessary to speculate that wildly. We don't even have to say that viruses are “kind of” alive. We need only observe that, as humans, we create purpose while we live. We can't avoid it!

It is strange to ask about the meaning of life when we are the very life of meaning.

Always the Best Choice

Ev'rytime I choose
Endeavor to select
I pick the end I want
The outcome that I need

Perhaps I tell myself
That it is for the best
Quite often it works out
Precisely per the plan

I get results I thought
I needed most to have
While basing what I chose
On data I should doubt

With motivations set
By habits and beliefs
 I always choose the best
  The very, very best

   It's never second best
    The strategy I use
       Inflexibly smart
          Dynamic'lly inept
 
                It feels as if I'm free
                     Inventing who I'll be
                           I manage not to see
                                 The choice was making me

Idiocy

Note: A video version of this article is available on YouTube.

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I was walking along a narrow, winding country lane when I heard the distinctive buzz of a 4-wheeled ATV (All-Terrain Vehicle). A moment later it streaked by me. It was racing along at nearly four times the speed limit of 15 MPH. The rider, who was in his early 20's, must have had the youthful conviction that he was indestructible, because he was standing up on the stirrups and was not wearing any safety equipment — not even a helmet.

As I watched him disappear around a blind corner I muttered, “Idiot!”

It suddenly dawned on me that it wasn't doing him any good to identify him as an idiot. In fact, it wasn't doing anybody any good — it certainly didn't help me. Hadn't I already seen that he was behaving unwisely? If so, who was I informing of his poor judgment? Why work myself up when he was already gone?

All good questions, but not easily answered. This kind of habitual brain noise afflicts most people. If its source and destination were obvious, wouldn't people just turn it off? After all, it wastes energy and increases stress.

As the sound of the ATV faded into the distance, and the last echo rebounded off the mountains, I became annoyed at my mind. In particular, I took exception with the part of my mind that wanted to be informed whenever an idiot was spotted.

Frustrated with my own stupidity, I conducted an impromptu experiment. One part of my mind said to another, “I don't want to speak to you!” I'll leave it up to you to imagine which part was speaking to which.

A minute later, the death-defying ATV rider came tearing back around the corner. Instinctively leaping to the side of the road, I observed that his speed was far faster than normal traffic, and then experienced surprise that he didn't flip over at the next corner.

As he disappeared from view, I recalled having once exclaimed that he was an idiot. This time, though, he didn't get the label.

Was this experiment a silly mind game I was playing with myself? Perhaps. But there was quietness inside. It didn't require maintenance. I wasn't impressed by it. It was just quietness.

It persisted for about an hour while I chatted online with some idiots. Except they weren't idiots for the first 55 minutes or so. Then suddenly, they were idiots again.

Geez, I'm such an idiot.

An Open Letter to an Associate # 2

The following letter (with a few minor differences) was sent to an interested party who is a highly active member of an online atheist community. He has shown interest in the things I say, and in this letter I summarize what I've been writing about in this blog.

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What I speak and write about is a rational approach to matters traditionally tackled by religion. It is a “spiritual” quest minus the mystical mumbo-jumbo.

The big question goes something like this: Why are people so unhappy? This might be alternatively stated as: “How can we be happy?” but as I mentioned in my article Memetic Turning Points, there is a danger in stating things in seemingly positive terms, because it assumes we have the wisdom to know what's good for us. It's far better to sort out our cognitive distortions first.

Now the first and most obvious place to look is within the human brain, seeking out what is significant about us. It's not tool use, because animals can do that. It's not even abstract reasoning, because some animals can do that, too. If there was something about brains that I would peg as significant, it would be our facility with syntax and our highly sophisticated ability to process imagined realities. These may turn out to be related capabilities, as it is easier to imagine us evolving one special capability instead of two, but they really do look like two different abilities.

In any case, we might be mistaken to look into the brain. The actual problem, I suspect, is outside of us. No, it's not The Devil, but it's something like that. The memes which we take for granted set the context in which we live. And some of those memes are making us miserable and may even kill us.

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Consider this: no animal has been observed getting depressed in the wild. But put them with humans and they can get downright neurotic. Now that might simply be because they don't belong with us (though domestication would seem to address this argument). Be that as it may, most non-human animals find it quite trying to live with human animals. And human animals definitely find it hard to live with human animals.

It is said that a frog will not jump out of a pot if you increase the temperature very slowly. Eventually it will die and be cooked. A similar mechanism might be occurring with humanity and its memes. These mental tools have evolved alongside us, and we are indeed “swimming” in them.

Memes could be said to create us just as surely as the genes in DNA create us, but there's a difference: once you're born the genes stop evolving. Memes continue to evolve (or be replaced) while we live. Indeed, our lives are dominated by memes battling for our minds. I hope I don't have to explain that point, but I can give two examples just to make it clear: religions and television commercials want you to do what they want you to do. And in so doing, they want you to not do what some other meme-bearers want you to do.

It's a war for our minds, and this war is not actually being directed by humans. No, we're not being dominated by space aliens or some human conspiracy. We are being twisted around by the tools of our own creation, some of which are thousands (maybe millions) of years old. That's plenty of time for those meme complexes to have evolved highly sophisticated strategies.

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It's hard to be happy in the middle of any war. It also doesn't help when we are being recruited as weapons in that war. And if we say, “No way, I'm having no part in this rubbish!” we find that we're so deep into it we have no choice but to participate — unless, perhaps, we want to go live alone in the mountains in Montana. (Arguably, that's just a different kind of crazy, but it's hard to argue with the reasoning.)

It would be unreasonable to propose that we simply ditch all of the memes. Most of us would die in their complete absence because we've evolved with them. Besides, some of them (like how to make fire) are very useful. But it's tough to pick and choose while we're in the thrall of the conventional memes.

Our only choice, it seems, is to “master” the memes — get on top of them and stop identifying with them as being “us”. This, it seems to me, is what Zen masters have been trying (and mostly failing) to convey to us. I also believe that it was what Jesus was saying before his words got distorted by his followers. But I mention those related views only in passing; it's not an appeal to authority. The only valid authority here is you.

And by “you” I mean the authentic organism, not the meme-infested version that culture has persuaded us to believe in. Getting to that authentic organism is not easy. But it may be possible, at least partially for most of us, and fully for a few rare others.

The Perfect Death

The following article was inspired by two people in an online chat room who heard about my cancer and then spent the next hour frantically telling me about various “miracle” cures they'd heard about. I didn't believe a word of it, though I did check out a few of their links. I didn't want to be rude, but I didn't feel like a debate about alternative medicine. I finally convinced them to switch topics, and gave them my sincere thanks for caring.

And wow, did they care. They seemed really upset! They desperately wanted to explore every nook and cranny to beat off the specter of my demise. Indeed, my situation had them in such a state of worry that it made me feel kind of bad about the whole dying thing.

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Given my current precarious state of health, I have extra incentive to think about death. I don't actually think about it much, because as various people have observed at various times: death is easy; it's living that's difficult.

Nonetheless, the subject does cross my mind from time to time. Last night, as I walked the dog, it occured to me that I can think of two types of death, which I can relate to two different songs. I can imagine a rotten death and a perfect death. There are surely other flavors, but I can't imagine one that's an improvement on perfect.

Saving the best for last, I'll start by describing the rotten death.

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Once, about 10 or 20 years ago, I heard a song on the radio that ended with a lonesome wail. I hadn't listened to the lyrics and I have no idea what the final wailing was about. Maybe he lost his girlfriend and felt like he'd never have another true love. I don't know.

Whatever the case, this singer really knew how to tug the heartstrings. That concluding cry of anguish somehow managed to pack in eternal loneliness, utter abandonment, existential angst, and a total loss of faith in ever again having a pleasant moment. As the song came to a close, it was as if the singer too had ended, leaving this world with a gut-wrenching "Whyyy!?" The song concluded with an icy-cold, agonized death.

It was so depressing that I'd tune it out every time it came on the radio. If I was in a public place and couldn't control the radio, I'd mentally tune it out. Anything to spare myself hearing that horrific terminal sorrow!

That, in my mind, is what a rotten death would be. A person whose last thoughts are that the dying is wrong! wrong! wrong! might also experience the emotions that song sobbed out to me.

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Yes, there are unexpected deaths, and tragic ones, too. Some deaths linger, and some seem custom designed to slay any notion of human dignity. There are unjust deaths and strange deaths. But if the person was living in a certain way, right until the effective end, there's a chance that the death can be perfect.

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At my funeral, whenever that is, I do not require a eulogy nor a public address. The people who want to think or talk about me can and will do so at their convenience. All I ask to happen at the final ceremony is that people sit still and listen to the entire 12 minutes and 16 seconds of the song “Starless,” by King Crimson. Then they can go home or go shopping. Whatever.

As they listen, they could and probably should ignore the lyrics. I do. To the extent that they think of anything as the tune plays, I'd like them to reflect that I have listened to that song well over a hundred times. And each time I found the ending absolutely ... perfect.

The ending isn't especially clever. By today's standards it might even be considered a bit hackneyed. But when the song finally reaches its last chords, you know it's over. And if you've been able to enjoy the musical piece, you'll be okay with it being over; you will have no desire for it to continue. It is complete. It is done. It has died a perfect death.

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There are surely other tunes like that, and “Starless” is simply the one that resonates with me personally. But I can hope that anybody hearing the tune hears it the way I do: with no significant mistakes. The song lives vibrantly until the final moment, and when it dies, there is no need to go back and change a single thing.

If somebody really lives until their final lucid moment, then perhaps they might experience that same perfect death. Nothing can further complete a complete performance. Even mistakes contribute essential parts to the tune that was their life.

We humans tend to hang on, kicking and screaming, until we draw our last breath. If that's part of our living, then that's fine. But when death finally arrives, can we let go, knowing that enough was done by this one person? That there's no need to expect this human animal to add anything more?

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Some readers may wonder what I think lies beyond physical death. I do not expect this consciousness to continue. Is that a problem? No.

Put it this way: I'm not overly concerned if my stapler breaks. There are plenty of other staplers, and lots of people who can make new staplers. The system that created my every moment will continue.

So it doesn't actually matter if I have a perfect death or not. It'll just be a whole lot more pleasing.

The X of Your Dreams

Yesterday I was idly curious about what people considered desirable. I'd already concluded that we're not going to see a giant rush to discover Truth. So what is interesting to the average person?

I searched Google for the phrase "of your dreams", including the quotes. This gave me numerous hits, such as “the woman of your dreams” or “the car of your dreams”. The first few pages of hits let me compile a list.

It seems obvious in retrospect, but at the time it only gradually dawned on me that my list of words could be organized in terms of Abraham Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, with a slight amendment inspired by Viktor Frankl.

Here, then, are the key desires of the human race, as revealed by Google:

Physiological Needs:  body, massage
Safety: home, land, city, apartment, bathroom, kitchen
Love and Belonging: boy, girl, man, woman, child, honeymoon, wedding;
dog, horse, sheep; bar, bartender
Esteem: job, career, team; high school, college; manager; website;
life, lifestyle; airport, bike, car; dress
Self-Actualization: power, wisdom, world, temple, meaning, mirror, color, direction
Transcendence: holiday, weekend, event, journey, resort, music

Yes, there actually was a highly-ranked link for “the dress of your dreams.” I'm not sure if I've listed “the massage of your dreams” in the right place. I was a bit surprised at how popular sheep are.

If you're compassionately curious about what motivates people, or if you're planning a marketing campaign and want to appeal to basic needs, now you have an objectively-derived list of what people think is important.

There are, of course, other ways to make such a list. I suspect, though, that they will usually show a similar conformity to the famous Maslow Pyramid.