Friday, 13 November 2020
Monkey Brains
Come, Friends, Let Us Away...
Thursday, 12 November 2020
You Have a Strange Attitude.
And take a long nap.
Ancient thinkers gave us many metaphors to understand this conflict, but few are more colorful than the one in Plato’s dialogue Timaeus. The narrator, Timaeus, explains how the gods created the universe, including us. Timaeus says that a creator god who was perfect and created only perfect things was filling his new universe with souls — and what could be more perfect in a soul than perfect rationality? So after making a large number of perfect, rational souls, the creator god decided to take a break, delegating the last bits of creation to some lesser deities, who did their best to design vessels for these souls.
The deities began by encasing the souls in that most perfect of shapes, the sphere, which explains why our heads are more or less round. But they quickly realized that these spherical heads would face difficulties and indignities as they rolled around the uneven surface of the Earth. So the gods created bodies to carry the heads, and they animated each body with a second soul — vastly inferior because it was neither rational nor immortal. This second soul contained
those dreadful but necessary disturbances: pleasure, first of all, evil’s most powerful lure; then pains, that make us run away from what is good; besides these, boldness also and fear, foolish counselors both; then also the spirit of anger hard to assuage, and expectation easily led astray. These they fused with unreasoning sense perception and all-venturing lust, and so, as was necessary, they constructed the mortal type of soul.
Pleasures, emotions, senses … all were necessary evils. To give the divine head a bit of distance from the seething body and its “foolish counsel,” the gods invented the neck.
Most creation myths situate a tribe or ancestor at the center of creation, so it seems odd to give the honor to a mental faculty—at least until you realize that this philosopher’s myth makes philosophers look pretty darn good. It justifies their perpetual employment as the high priests of reason, or as dispassionate philosopher-kings. It’s the ultimate rationalist fantasy—the passions are and ought only to be the servants of reason, to reverse Hume’s formulation. And just in case there was any doubt about Plato’s contempt for the passions, Timaeus adds that a man who masters his emotions will live a life of reason and justice, and will be reborn into a celestial heaven of eternal happiness.
Western philosophy has been worshipping reason and distrusting the passions for thousands of years.4 There’s a direct line running from Plato through Immanuel Kant to Lawrence Kohlberg. I’ll refer to this worshipful attitude throughout this book as the rationalist delusion. I call it a delusion because when a group of people make something sacred, the members of the cult lose the ability to think clearly about it. Morality binds and blinds. The true believers produce pious fantasies that don’t match reality, and at some point somebody comes along to knock the idol off its pedestal. That was Hume’s project, with his philosophically sacrilegious claim that reason was nothing but the servant of the passions.
Thomas Jefferson offered a more balanced model of the relationship between reason and emotion. In 1786, while serving as the American minister to France, Jefferson fell in love. Maria Cosway was a beautiful twenty-seven-year-old English artist who was introduced to Jefferson by a mutual friend. Jefferson and Cosway then spent the next few hours doing exactly what people should do to fall madly in love. They strolled around Paris on a perfect sunny day, two foreigners sharing each other’s aesthetic appreciations of a grand city. Jefferson sent messengers bearing lies to cancel his evening meetings so that he could extend the day into night. Cosway was married, although the marriage seems to have been an open marriage of convenience, and historians do not know how far the romance progressed in the weeks that followed.6 But Cosway’s husband soon insisted on taking his wife back to England, leaving Jefferson in pain.
To ease that pain, Jefferson wrote Cosway a love letter using a literary trick to cloak the impropriety of writing about love to a married woman. Jefferson wrote the letter as a dialogue between his head and his heart debating the wisdom of having pursued a “friendship” even while he knew it would have to end. Jefferson’s head is the Platonic ideal of reason, scolding the heart for having dragged them both into yet another fine mess. The heart asks the head for pity, but the head responds with a stern lecture:
Everything in this world is a matter of calculation. Advance then with caution, the balance in your hand. Put into one scale the pleasures which any object may offer; but put fairly into the other the pains which are to follow, & see which preponderates.
After taking round after round of abuse rather passively, the heart finally rises to defend itself, and to put the head in its proper place —which is to handle problems that don’t involve people:
When nature assigned us the same habitation, she gave us over it a divided empire. To you she allotted the field of science; to me that of morals. When the circle is to be squared, or the orbit of a comet to be traced; when the arch of greatest strength, or the solid of least resistance is to be investigated, take up the problem; it is yours; nature has given me no cognizance of it. In like manner, in denying to you the feelings of sympathy, of benevolence, of gratitude, of justice, of love, of friendship, she has excluded you from their control. To these she has adapted the mechanism of the heart. Morals were too essential to the happiness of man to be risked on the incertain combinations of the head. She laid their foundation therefore in sentiment, not in science.
So now we have three models of the mind. Plato said that reason ought to be the master, even if philosophers are the only ones who can reach a high level of mastery. Hume said that reason is and ought to be the servant of the passions. And Jefferson gives us a third option, in which reason and sentiment are (and ought to be) independent co-rulers, like the Emperors of Rome, who divided the empire into Eastern and Western halves.
Find Someone You Like, and Talk to Them.
Turning 13
Sir, we know you're a little bit groggy
And you're probably going to find it Hard to Speak
But don't try to talk or process too much now
We just want to let you know, that the medication you were given
Has put you in a suspended animation for quite some time
In fact, 45 years.
But where you are now, is in a place that doesn't require time
That saying, you are completely safe
And we are here to help you"
Superman’s Pal
A Best Friend is The One That Sees Through ALL of Your Disguises.
Action Comics
and
Wednesday, 11 November 2020
In, As You Say -- The Mud.
The Fool is Your Personal Hero
Jordan Peterson
Remember -- A Jedi can Feel The Force FLOWING Through Him.
Q : You mean it controls your actions?
Partially -- But it also Obeys Your Commands.
NABOO SWAMP - TWILIGHT. QUI-GON runs through the strange landscape, glancing back to see the monstrous troop transports, emerging from the mist. Animals begin to run past him in a panic. An odd, frog-like Gungan, JAR JAR INKS, squats holding a clam he has retrieved from the murky swamp. The shell pops open. JAR JAR's greta tongue snaps out and grabs the clam, swallowing it in one gulp. JAR JAR looks up and sees QUI-GON and the other creatures running like the wind toward him. One of the huge MTT's bears down on the JEDI like a charging locomotive. JAR JAR stands transfixed, still holding the clam shell in one hand.
JAR JAR: Oh, noooooooooo! [JAR JAR drops the shell and grabs onto QUI-GON as he passes. The JEDI is caught by surprise.] Hey, help me! Help me!!
QUI-GON: Let go! [The machine is about tp crush them as QUI-GON drags JAR JAR behind him. Just as the transport is about to hit them, QUI-GON drops, and JAR JAR goes splat into the mud with him. The transport races overhead. QUI-GON and JAR JAR pull themselves out of the mud. They stand watching the war machine dissapear into the mist. JAR JAR grabs QUI-GON and hugs him.]
JAR JAR: Oyi, mooie-mooie! I luv yous! [The frog-like creature kisses the JEDI.]
QUI-GON: Are you brainless? You almost got us killed!
JAR JAR: I spake.
QUI-GON: The Ability to Speak does not make you intelligent. Now get outta here. [QUI-GON starts to move off, and JAR JAR follows.]
JAR JAR: No...no! Mesa stay... Mesa yous humble servaunt.
QUI-GON: That wont be necessary.
JAR JAR: Oh boot tis! Tis demunded byda guds. Tis a live debett, tis. Mesa culled Jaja Binkss. [In the distance, two STAPS burst out of the mist at high speed, chasing OBI-WAN.]
QUI-GON: I have no time for this now...
JAR JAR: Say what? [The two STAPS barrell down on OBI-WAN.] Oh, nooooo! Weesa ganna.... [QUI-GON throws JAR JAR into the mud.]
QUI-GON: Stay down! [His head pops up.]
JAR JAR: ...dieeee! [The two troops fire laser bolts at OBI-WAN. QUI-GON deflects the bolts back, and the STAPS blow up. One-two. OBI-WAN is exhausted and tries to catch his breath.]
OBI-WAN: Sorry, Master, The Water fried my weapon. [OBI-WAN pulls out his burnt laser sword handle. QUI-GON inspects it, as JAR JAR pulls himself out of The Mud.]
QUI-GON: You forgot to turn your power off again, didn't you? [OBI-WAN nods sheeplishly.] It won't take long to recharge, but this is a lesson I hope you've learned, my young Padawan.
OBI-WAN: Yes, Master.
JAR JAR: Yousa sav-ed my again, hey?
OBI-WAN: What's this?
QUI-GON: A Local. Let's go, before more of those droids show up.
JAR JAR: Mure? Mure did you spake??!? [OBI-WAN and QUI-GON start to run. JAR JAR tries to keep up.] Ex-squeeze me, but da moto grande safe place would be Otoh Gunga. Tis where I grew up...Tis safe city. [They all stop.]
QUI-GON: A city! (JAR JAR nods his head) Can you take us there?
JAR JAR: Ahhh, will...on second taut...no, not willy.
QUI-GON: No??!
JAR JAR: Iss embarrissing, boot... My afrai my've bean banished. My forgoten der Bosses would do terrible tings to my. Terrible tings if my goen back dare. [A PULSATING SOUND is heard in the distance.]
QUI-GON: You hear that -- [JAR JAR shakes his head yes.] That's the sound of A Thousand Terrible hings heading this way...
OBI-WAN: When they find us, they will crush us, grind us into little pieces, then blast us into oblivion!
JAR JAR: Oh! Yousa point is well seen. Dis way! Hurry! [JAR JAR turns and runs into The Swamp.]
The Woman in The Dream
The Hooded Mystery Noblewoman in The Dream.
There is a beautiful, high-born laughing Woman in My Dream,
Everyone sees her in their dream, and She's the one that everybody knows, who spoke to them once before, but spoke without words --
And no-one has ever caught a glimpse of her,
or see what she looks like with an uncovered face.
There's a Lady who's sure
All that glitters is Gold
And She's buying a Stairway to Heaven
When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a Word She can get what she came for
Oh oh oh oh and she's buying a Stairway to Heaven
There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings
In a tree by the brook
There's a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiving
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Ooh, it makes me wonder
There's a feeling I get
When I look to The West
And my spirit is crying for leaving
In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees
And the voices of those who standing looking
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Ooh, it really makes me wonder
And it's whispered that soon, If we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason
And a new day will dawn
For those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow
Don't be alarmed now
It's just a spring clean for the May Queen
Yes, there are two paths you can go by
But in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on
And it makes me wonder
Your head is humming and it won't go
In case you don't know
The Piper's calling you to join him
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow?
And did you know --
Your Stairway lies on the whispering wind?
And as we wind on down The Road -
Our Shadows taller than our soul
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll
And she's buying a stairway to Heaven
ESAK'S Fist of Naked Power
On Virgin or Pigeon;
Our method is Science,
Our aim is Religion.