On the Importance of Factual Vigilance

Social platforms, as do their number of users, perpetually proliferate. As a result, people find more people with shared opinions and more people without. What I notice is that the former exceeds the latter. In both cases, the causes and yielded consequences are equally interesting. However, my focus is specifically on group activity and digital conditioning. Hopefully I can then quickly emphasise the importance of separating fact from feeling.

When people find likeminded individuals they form an associative relation. This boils down to an inherent homophily in terms of viewpoints i.e. the tendency of us liking those who agree with us. The accumulation in these relations leads to the formation of a group. With the formation of a group, there exists the possibility of negative group-related phenomena. On the internet this possibility is amplified to such an extent that it becomes a near certainty. This will be explored sporadically. In any case, there are three main reasons that cause us to disregard the truth.

1. We usually accept authority too quickly

Strength of feeling has proved to be much more important than facts and figures. People take cues from each other, and through the distortions of personal bias, uninformed opinion, misinterpretation and artificial interest, a cumulative error is born.

Accepting authority is as risky as it is easy. One can accept authority blindly, or through prejudices, or through mistaken judgements, or through other propensities. Cynicism is a quality imbued on a privileged few. Critical thinking, source analysis and other forms of verification are integral these days. Yet many people lack the capacity or prudence to fact check. Many people lap up what they are fed, and then regurgitate their basic levels of awareness onto the same palette from which they drew their ideas, leading to an endless cycle of tip-of-the-iceberg thinking. This negligent pretentiousness is obviously not universal, but remains consistent and palpable.

2. We are conditioned to bite-sized information

Pictures, videos, comments and updates do not form a representative view of anything. In fact, they are wholly unrepresentative due to their singular nature. But it just so happens that they are the most accessible and most understandable forms of media. Nobody wants to read a credited analysis of the Chilcot report: a CNN infographic will do. Nobody wants to research the nature of gun violence and race relations with an objective consideration of multiple factors and comparisons: 140 characters about injustice will do. What we are exposed to is a morsel of the truth, or often, a lie. Yet such fragments are what form our evidence. They are what back our opinions. They are the counterfeit ammunition we use to load our weapons of argument.

3. We are majoritarian         

                                                                                   

I would not use a majoritarian definition in its strictest sense. It is only what appears to us as the majority that seems correct. If you were on social media leading up to the Brexit vote, it seemed like Britain would vote Remain by a distinct majority. Yet this was a fake majority. There was no true representation of British sentiment. An entire demographic was ignored simply because they had little presence in media. We are constantly swept up in a torrent of external information. In such situations, phenomena like groupthink begin to take over. Instead of navigating the ocean, we let the current decide our destination.

All of this group activity, coupled with confrontation by unbowed dissenters, heightens a sense of belonging and cause. This can have a continuous effect of depreciation on validity and credibility. Effort and rationality is the only blade that can cut through a dense forest of malarkey.

Instead of reconciling differences, group activity has engendered more barriers now than ever seen before. The internet continues to usher in online activism and group feeling. We must remain self-reflective, self-critical and self-motivated. Everyone knows the internet is not gospel, but like many other instances in which we know something, the knowledge is not acted upon. Ignorance may be a virtue, but nowadays when ignorance results in division and death, it should not be a trait that we condone.

Commentary on My Mind at Six

“The past beats inside me like a second heart.” 

― John Banville

We often discover interesting memorabilia when we are hit with the sudden urge to clean and sort things only a few weeks before we sit important examinations. These curios are, of course, interesting in their intrinsic natures as relics of the past, and definitely not because they help us procrastinate. They trigger within us a variety of responses: amusement, embarrassment, nostalgia, lust, happiness, sadness. Their effects may be pronounced because we are a bit mentally unstable (supra important examinations), but I would argue the relationship between our reactions and our conditions is more to do with correlation than causation. Such flashes from the past must be explored regardless of circumstance. In this commentary I intend to create an anachronistic narrative between me and my former self. Such a narrative revolves around a decade-old artifact from my first years in a new school - an exercise book containing sentences which reveal the inner mental workings of an eccentric, if not slightly disturbed, six-year-old.

Source 1

There are many pathways of curiosity which we can take to explore this sentence.

Unfortunately none of them lead to a good place.

Lets begin with the obvious question: what is "tugged myself"? The trusty repository of definitions (Google) defines tug as: "pull (something) hard or suddenly". What is startling here is not the physically impossible feat of pulling oneself, but rather the fact that I must have thought of something similar to what is described in order to formulate the sentence itself. There was no copy pasting, no asking of parents or siblings for help: just pure independent thought. But that is not even the weird bit.

"I nearly choked"? What did I choke on? What was tugged that caused the choking? Was this self-punishment? What initiated it? A fit? No one will ever know. The only rational explanation that can be provided is that I pulled my tongue with my bare hands. Does that result in a near-choking experience? I have no idea. Try it and leave a comment below. 

Source 2

The teacher's red question mark says it all, doesn't it?

Being a good son and respecting your mother is quite a normal thing (bar some cultures), but the concept of yielding, of surrendering yourself to your mother, is reasonably disconcerting. Let's not stray to the realms of Mr. Freud and Oedipus for the safety of our respective consciences. Instead let's look at the essence of sacrificing autonomy. Doing so, for anyone, is just wrong, especially when you do it without questioning yourself.

But I did question myself, and that is the redeeming feature of this source. It is clear I developed notions of dominance, submission, the matriarchy and my own rights as an individual way before anyone else. So not everything's so bad!

Source 3

Yeah.

Clearly "I didn't know why" about many things, but this one takes home the title for the most creepy. As far as I am aware I am not a paranoid schizophrenic, but the hypersensitivity directly referenced in this is troubling, to say the least.

Aside from the wow-that's-actually-kind-of-messed-up factor, there is a glaring logical inconsistency in my thought process. Shadows are not really visible in the darkness, so clearly my IQ was yet to begin its exponential growth.

Source 4

This is actually one of the few written references which exist about my quasi-phobia of dogs.

But that is not what I want to focus on. The more interesting question is: why is it that puppies are not real but dogs are? At what point do puppies become dogs, thereby validating their realness? Is this transformation quick or slow, smooth or erratic? This perspective, of separating puppy from dog, must stem from how children are indirectly conditioned to believe that with age comes authority. Puppies, like children, are insignificant. They have not earned their place in the world. They were squeezed or cut out of their mothers to become useless pilfering organisms. On the other hand, dogs, like adults, are the movers and shakers. They are the hunters and gatherers. The providers and protectors.

In all seriousness, the general uselessness of the youth cannot be understated. Adults may tell us we are important, but as long as it is unclear whether or not teenagers are contributing to controlling the secret workings of the world via corporations and cults, I will refuse to believe it.

Source 5

I will not even blame myself for this one. The education system did this. I guess the imprint of a Western, capitalist and consumerist culture begins to form from an early age.

There are some intriguing things here. Firstly, why "white" sheep? I do not think I have ever seen a black sheep (even though copious reiterations of a certain nursery rhyme has ingrained the concept into my brain). Was it necessary to describe the colour of the sheep? Probably not, but I guess my superfluous authorial style was already starting to develop.

Apparently the only use for sheep (that are white) is their wool for making clothes. Who could have taught me such blasphemy? A vegetarian teacher? Sheep (especially young ones) have many other uses.

Source 6

Always dreaming, like, always having big dreams? Or always being stuck in a transitory, continuous space-time in which I cannot separate reality from fantasy? Probably the latter. In any case, the aberration in form, (the split between dreaming) must serve to emphasise the dichotomous nature of life and existence. I was aware of dualism and solipsism before philosophy was cool. Are you going to take that, IB TOK doers?

Source 7

This is another "I don't know ..." (Part IV), and it just gets better.

Considering the fact that the human sense of smell is constantly receiving information half of the time (the other half being when we exhale), it is not so far a stretch to say that one is continuously smelling something. However, there is a difference between purposely smelling something and getting a whiff of something. In this rhetorical question I appear to be doing the former. As much of a mystery that may be - of what I'm smelling and what it smells like - the more confusing thing is my continuous self-doubt. Why do I keep doing things without knowing why? Does this perhaps relate to my comments about living in an eternal dream state? Am I a schizo after all? Time will tell.

Source 8

Interesting syntax inversion. Anyways, clearly I had some sort of intuition behind this documentation of my body's response to cabbage. It may be that cabbage contains soporific chemicals, as do poppy seeds, and that is what caused me to act in such a way.

What I have now found out is that six-year-old me inadvertently uncovered a scientific goldmine through personal experience: according to wikiHow (the digital North Star for every lost and hormonal teenager) cabbage contains tryptophan, which releases "melatonin and serotonin for good sleep. It speeds up the onset of sleep, decreases the level of spontaneous awakenings during your sleep, and helps to increase the amount of refreshing sleep you get." If I had the powers of research at the age of six, surely such a finding would have resulted in a groundbreaking academic paper. How unfortunate.

Source 9

Let's just skim over the fact that I knew who Steve Erwin was and focus on this overwhelmingly confusing string of words. Why wasn't Steve Erwin careless, means why was he careful. So my question was: Why was Steve Erwin careful about the animals in the sea? This is one of those questions which is responded to not with speech but with a puzzled look - Steve Erwin just, cares. Why would you even ask that.

I must have held some sort of prejudice to sea animals because clearly I did not believe they deserved the same care as other creatures. Quite sad really. Anyways, rest in peace Stevie.

Source 10

Saved the longest one for last, and what a story this is.

What I admire about this comma-free journey of fifty-two words is that, as a little child, not only did I have the self-control to not kill myself in the story (a prospect which would have been much more exciting), but I also had the foresight to include a disclaimer at the end as a pre-planned resolution for any potential disputes. So considerate.

Another thing which is interesting is that this mini-story reveals a highly complex stream of associations. The given word to construct a sentence around was "bridge". How I managed to come up with what appears to be a microcosm of a short story is a great puzzle in itself.

*

It is odd to read your own words as if they were written by someone else. What is more odd is when these words comprise weird sentences. Upon reflection you realise that at the time you wrote them you did not think it was weird, out of place, inappropriate, uncalled for, offensive, or idiotic. In fact, the innocence is what makes childhood behaviour so amusing. 

The sentences I wrote reveal my thought processes, my likes and dislikes, my fears, my passions, my abilities - all of which would have been lost with the gradual decay of memory. Of course, there are some parts which probably ring alarm bells, and I wonder if I was ever probed about what I wrote.

Now, the only step left to complete the loop is to come back in ten years to this post, having forgotten all about it, and to read it with that new found sense of wonder, preferably at a time in which I should be doing something else, like preparing for important examinations...

Bukowski and the Meaning of Life

“The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire.” 

― Willa Cather

Charles Bukowski

Bukowski’s poem (I suggest reading it) is a blinkered and clichéd construction of reality stemming from his own life of abuse and misfortune, resulting in a dismissively pessimistic viewpoint. This is a poem from a degenerate, and perhaps only speaks to degenerates. I will however, for the purposes of this post, pretend as if the poem is a profound source of philosophical debate, and not a source to be examined by psychiatrists for an insight into the mind of a mentally broken man.

Bukowski suggests that we are two-dimensional creatures, and in doing so fashions the notion that our purposes are arbitrary. Through the collocation of “flesh … bone” juxtaposed with the collocation of “mind … soul” the conventionally complex portrayal of the human is challenged through a reductive portrayal. Bukowski immediately separates the physical from the spiritual and indicates that our lives are a simple combination of these two elements. It would be a sin (and completely wrong) to call Bukowski a metaphysical poet, but the concepts he is dealing with here are largely metaphysical. Specifically Bukowski is writing like a dualist, possibly suggesting that mind and matter are ontologically separate objects. This separation may relate to his youth and the injuries he received from his father. He was beaten three times a week with a razor strop and was socially humiliated due to severe acne. Bukowski says it helped his writing as ‘he came to understand undeserved pain’. There is an important transition to note here. The physical effects on Bukowski’s life (being beaten, having acne) had a direct result in his spiritual faculty (writing about pain). This transfer from a negative physical realm to a positive spiritual realm is a possible explanation for his inclination to adopt a dualistic viewpoint. Contrary to some beliefs this is not realism. The poem is not didactically (or esoterically) aiming to make anyone think about life realistically. Bukowski most likely aims to reduce the reader down to a subhuman state so that the reader can feel the lows Bukowski felt. This poem is not a universal meditation on the meaning of life – it is a singular memoir from a man who wants to prove everyone is arbitrary simply because he believes he is arbitrary.

Belief is the one single creator of meaning and Bukowski’s belief is shown in the poem. Maybe those who relate to his attitude believe it is a profound, universal and realistic treatise. Maybe those who cannot relate see it as a collection of lone, depressed, and subjective thoughts. To say that life means nothing is to believe in it. A proper belief is one which is rationally founded, and an improper belief is one which is irrationally founded. There is no rational ground to suggest that life means nothing. Those who believe life means nothing are extrapolating from personal experiences, exactly what Bukowski is doing in his poem, and are confused with what is true and what is not.

I take the quasi-hedonistic view that the meaning of life is based on aiming to satisfy desire. This is not traditional desire in respect to desires such as sex, power, and wealth (although they are included). Humans aim to do things which give them satisfaction. A person giving to charity earns the satisfaction of feeling charitable. A person practicing a religion earns the satisfaction of knowing he will not be punished in the afterlife. A person who sacrifices his life for another earns the satisfaction that his sacrifice would be for a good cause.

A ‘greater purpose to life’ is an inherently misleading phrase. The purposes or meanings behind life are simply the rankings of desires, which are relative depending on each person. Furthermore, if a range of purposes exist from which there are certain supreme purposes and then certain antithetical purposes (these must exist if a ‘greater’ purpose is to exist), then this range has to be founded on ethical beliefs. Ethical beliefs are of course regularly contested and doubted. Standardising the range would mean ranking beliefs, which simply cannot accurately happen. To summarise: the meaning of life is to satisfy desires, and the importance of each desire relative to each person reveals what is of a ‘greater’ purpose or meaning.

I must admit I went off on a tangent whilst exploring the meaning of life and now feel a reluctance to return to Bukowski’s craft (though I am sure you have already have guessed I do not really care about what Bukowski has written). I am neither a cynic nor a realist (these two words cannot be used interchangeably) but I can understand why one would be either or neither. The truth is: it does not matter. By taking different viewpoints (cynicism, realism or optimism) all you are doing is showing that everything changes depending on perspective. This is nothing new. What may be considered new is an answer to why we search for deeper meanings in life. It is an interesting answer, because I believe we don’t search for deeper meanings in life, we search for different meanings. Different meanings come from different perspectives, and these different perspectives inform our different desires, through which we reorder our beliefs accordingly to form a system of what is relatively meaningful.

Bukowski is not exploring a largely controversial concept, he is not a sage and he is not the new Socrates. He is simply canvassing issues of his life in the vaguest way possible so that an illusion of universality is created. The use of definitive statements formed from “nobody … nobody … nothing” are signs of delusion and depression, not truth. Bukowski makes us consider his corrupted stance so that we too adopt these signs of delusion and depression. Once everyone becomes like him, that is when everyone is ‘Alone With Everybody’, as we are all together with the same view that we are all alone. It is not a wrong outlook, but the problem is that it is not everyone’s outlook. The only thing I can commend Bukowski for is that he provokes self-examination within the reader to search for a personal view. His stance may be amateurish, but it is so definitive that it is an initiator of critical thought within those that are not so definitive, such as me or you, and for this purpose I think it is quite valuable.

(Visit the blog which inspired this response)