Archives for category: Philosophy

There is a fairly common belief that part of the basic nature of humanity involves some amount of selfishness. That, instinctively, people will look out for number one, and when it really counts, will leave their fellow man behind. This allows things like Capitalism and Liberalism, with their heavy emphasis on individuality and striving to raise oneself over others, to become bio-truths. When the paradigm of the day declares selfishness to be a part of who we are, the exploitation and oppression that arise from it become even more difficult to fight and overcome. If one despot is overthrown, for example, another will simply take his place as that is how our basic chemistry makes us.

Is it true? Are we naturally selfish? I am but a humble blog writer with no relevant credentials, but I would disagree with this assertion. The belief that we would naturally be selfish is based on the idea that self-preservation would allow our ancestors to make sure they weren’t eaten by a saber-tooth tiger. They only had to outrun the person they were with to survive, after all.

It is of course impossible to know for certain what makes up our biological impulses compared to what is nurtured into us, but I believe there is evidence even today that disproves selfishness as a part of our nature. The easiest place to look to see if self-preservation prevails is a place where human beings are being threatened with death every day. So let’s look at war.

The book On Killing by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman tells us that the utmost fear of a rookie recruit going in to battle is the fear of dying. However, the greatest fear of soldiers who have seen combat is letting their comrades down. The conditioning of soldiers is intended to strip them of their humanity until they are unfeeling killing machines, and this typically works. However, basic instincts would remain, and what we see by those who have faced the opportunity to either embrace their allegedly selfish nature, or stick with their friends, is that they almost always stick with their friends. Those who are ignorant of the ways of war maintain the selfish fear of personal death likely due to the common cultural belief that we are inherently selfish individuals, but those who have lived it show that the true instinct lies in our connection with others.

This phenomenon doesn’t just appear in war. Parents on welfare will frequently go without food so that their child will be able to eat. When the situation becomes dire, it seems that our instinct is to take care of those that we love, not abandon them in order to save ourselves.

So… cool? Most people associate selfishness with “bad” anyway, so why am I bothering to disprove it as a bio-truth? Because when we see it as a part of who we are, it seems almost necessary that greed and corruption permeate all levels of our culture. To strike back becomes futile, and the common trend is to join in and try to survive as best you can. We even have philosophies based on selfishness that are wildly successful. To achieve happiness, don’t change the world, change the way you look at the world. Reality is based on our perception and experience, and if one focuses solely on the way they perceive things, they would be able to achieve whatever they want: within the realm of their own existence.

But our reality is not the only reality. Each reality shares an interconnected dependence on all the realities of all the individuals around it. Think of it as a a lake, and every action we take is a stone dropping into the water, creating a ripple. If everyone throws in a stone, each ripple overlaps with all the others, influencing the pattern on the surface. We are not individuals, we are individuals within a community, and to ignore that is detrimental to both the community as well as the individual.

So if our basic instinct is to embrace our love, why is there selfishness? The entire premise of Grossman’s book is to look at what enables one human to kill another, and I believe the conditions that allow us to kill allow us to perform all manner of terrible things upon each other, and I look at this premise more in depth in my blog post here. I also believe that what we call empathy, or our ability to perceive the experiences of others through our own personal lens (oftentimes to the detriment of that other) allows us to act selfishly without recognizing the consequences of our actions as damaging to others.

How do we fight the selfishness that appears to be overpowering our culture? Foster the interconnected in our communities, listen instead of assume, disable the conditions that perpetuate both figurative and literal violence, and above all else know that deep down we are creatures of love. Expand the circle of that love to include more than just family and friends, and a difference will be made.

There was once a man named Abraham Lincoln. Now, Lincoln is known for a few things, like abolishing slavery, owning dapper hats, and a posthumous distaste for the theatre, but one story that is slightly less known is that one day Abe and a buddy were riding in a carriage discussing altruism. Lincoln was saying that there is no such thing as a truly selfless act, and his buddy was saying, yeah bro, there is. All of a sudden the carriage came upon an adorable little pig stuck in some mud. Abraham Lincoln demanded the carriage driver stop, leaped out of the carriage with his coattails all a-flutter, rolled up his sleeves, and rescued the pig. Dusting himself off, Abe climbed back into the carriage. His buddy, triumphant, declared, “Saving that pig did not affect you in the slightest! That was a truly selfless act!” and Abraham Lincoln, being the wise-cracking mother fucker that he is, smirked and replied, “If I hadn’t saved that swine, it would have bothered me all day.”

Do I agree with good ol’ Honest Abe? That there is no such thing as a truly selfless act? No, I don’t. I’m using this story to illustrate the fact that people who do nice things for themselves are smug assholes.

Too often do I hear people say to do nice things, and nice things will happen to you. Or to do nice things because it’ll make you feel good. Or do nice things and people will finally respect you. These are the reasons that Abe Lincoln claimed that a truly selfless act is impossible. Doing nice things for personal gain or self-image doesn’t make you nice. It makes you a dink. You’re like those people who are always so God damned cheerful, but everybody knows that it’s just a ruse and they’re really a creep. Just because your actions might be considered nice or beneficial to others, it doesn’t make you a saint if your justifications are self-serving.

A Batman once said that it’s not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you. That may be how others will judge you, but it is not who you are. Your essence as a person is not based on the opinions of others, but on your consciousness alone. If the quality of that consciousness is based on self-serving motives, then regardless of how many pigs you save, you’re still kind of a twat.

The obvious alternative is to do nice things for other people. That is also stupid. There is no way to predict the outcome of a “nice” act, and so to rely on the reactions of other people to dictate the merit of an act will constantly vary. Did you ever give a gift you felt sure would make somebody happy, and have it rejected or met with apathy? It’s the thought that counts, right? The thought to do something nice for someone else? What good is a thought if everybody loses? An act cannot be judged based on its outcome because the outcome will never be known prior to the act itself.

So if the consequences of an act don’t define it, nor does its intent, the only thing left is the act itself.

But Dan, don’t actions lack any inherent value?

That is an excellent point, italicized text. We as subjects create the value for every single act, but that does not exclude the possibility of projecting that value outside of ourselves when it comes to morality. Therefore when we act, we do it not for ourselves or for others, but for the deed itself. This allows us to abstain from self-righteousness, as well as foregoing the risk of a moral quandary due to unanticipated consequences.

This does not mean that we are obligated to hold others to account under our morality, for it is still our own and will always be unique to us. Just because we project it outside of ourselves does not mean that we must forget its original source. Neither does this mean that absolutism is the answer, and projected morality does not have to be rigid, but can be just as fluid as the situation merits.

Hold on, so we’re just supposed to pretend that something that comes from within us is actually outside of us? How can a form of ethics be based on make believe? 

All forms of ethics are based on make believe. Ethics is impossible to nail down; hence why it’s one of my favourite things. This is just a theory of mine to prevent people from being terrible, and also to help them realize that deeds are not necessarily the only method of defining somebody’s character.

I believe in Western culture we have become disillusioned with modernity. Not just the postmodernists who have long since abandoned the structured lifestyles, rigid individualism, and scientific order that make up our contemporary society, but subconsciously I believe we all have some amount of disenchantment with where our culture has ended up. As an escape from our existential malaise, likely without even meaning to, we jettison ourselves, not into the future, but into the past; when we still maintained a connection with the world and with each other.

In Ancient Greece, there was the Cult of Dionysus. The purpose of this cult was to abandon all inhibitions, and revert back into a natural state. This was achieved by drinking a lot of wine and dancing to music. Dionysus himself, the god of wine, was imagined as a Satyr. A Satyr is man with goat legs and goat horns, and he has a big ol’ dick too. The Satyr was the inspiration for the imagery of the Christian devil, but more on that later.

These were not rambunctious parties, where getting shit-faced and plowing some broad were the expected culmination of these events, but were ritualistic, religious experiences. They are often called the Dionysian Mysteries, as they were secretive events, where one had to go through an initiation in order to partake in the ritual. The point was to lose yourself; to release your soul from the material world, and reunite with the spirit.

As anyone with a passing disdain for Christianity will tell you, the proliferation of Christianity ruined the enlightenment that the Greeks had given to the world. Unfortunately for them, it was really the Romans who quashed the Dionysian Mysteries (then having evolved into the Bacchic Mysteries). However, the Christians certainly did not revive the ritual, and vilified Dionysus (remember how he’s Satan now?), leaving society in the realm of order and control.

Today we have our club scene and our raves. Pulsing music, dancing, intoxicants, primal yells, and sexuality are budding once again in our culture. While not as ritualistic as it once was, our desire to lose ourselves to our natural state is showing itself every weekend.

Of course, our desire to flee modernity into the past isn’t just limited to binge drinking and painful Sunday mornings. More mysteries have been lost than those of Dionysus, and those are the mysteries that every traveler seeks.

When we are at home, we know everything. We know the rules; science has explained pretty much most things worth knowing by this point, and this leads us to feel malcontent. When we travel, we are trying to experience the wonder that those in the past lived through every day. There was no understanding of rain or thunder, and gods were invented in order to explain them. Despite these explanations giving some amount of understanding, they were not cold, hard facts that once known could be filed away. The explanations gave just as much wonder as ignorance. Gods were fickle beings who were unpredictable and were prone to psychosis. The world was filled with uncertainty, mystery, and awe. In our lives today, we no longer possess these qualities.

Whenever we travel, however, we steal a fraction of what it might have been like to live in a world where wonder and awe were still in existence. Swimming with dolphins, marveling at the architecture of the Great Wall, desperately trying to survive the traffic of India, trying to communicate with the ticket guy in the subways of Paris… They are all incomprehensible to us, and that is why we seek them out. To fill our souls with wonder, to not understand how the world works. We immerse ourselves in environments, cultures, and situations that are foreign to us in order to experience something that we as a society have lost: enchantment.

Most religions of the world envision a paradise of primitivism. Gardens, usually. Christians have their Eden, the Islamic heaven is set in a garden, and Pure Land Buddhists believe that we can be reborn in a garden with Amitabha (or Amida, depending on how Japanese you are) Buddha, where achieving Nirvana will become much simpler. Eden is the prime example of humanity’s obsession with abandoning the structure of modernity and returning to a more natural state, as it was gaining the possession of the intellect that was the catalyst for our banishment from it.

Even in contemporary philosophy, we are stepping back from the long-held paradigm of objective, rational thought being the ideal, and we are entering into an era where experiential action is seen as paramount. To live authentically is to do things, not think about them. It is to abandon yourself to the moment, to embrace passionately every action that you take. Cling to your emotions over your calculating reason.

I understand the irony of Bros, ravers, and those super irritating people who are obsessed with “travel” being the paragons of my thesis. Our quest for primitivism is merely at its beginning, and our current methods of achieving wonderment are a second-rate reflection of the rituals of the past. However, we are starting to realize that we’ve lost something, and our mad grasps at regaining it are still in their infantile stages. Do we really need a connection to our natural state, or to lose ourselves in the moment, or to achieve a sense of awe at the world around us, now that science and modernity have explained away all the smoke from our eyes? I believe we do, and that is why we search for it.