The Real Heroes of Society

Some say heroes are born, some say heroes are made.  I say heroes are people who made the world better despite their upbringing, for it's one thing to make the world better, but an added ingredient to make it better when you were faced with a difficult childhood.
    Parents who were dominated as children, who were made to feel guilty about everything, who cowered in fear of their parents' judgment every time they spoke, who were constantly scolded over trivial matters, who were beaten over the slightest transgressions, who were treated unfairly and made to feel like a servant, who loved deeply and didn't seem to have it reciprocated; who were abandoned (partially), adopted (partially), abandoned again, yet somehow found the strength to face the challenge of becoming an adult and molded themselves into great persons; the parents who faced such adversity with an air of defiance once their own children were born, to care for them in all the ways they were deprived themselves, to unlearn the dangerous lessons taught by irresponsible figureheads, to break the cycles of abuse and neglect rippling through the generations, to unhinge themselves from the fury that burned through the faceless identities, the multiple clashes of personalities, the sheer will that made them shout "No!", who vowed with every might of their disinherited breath to never repeat those same traumas on someone else; they are the true heroes of society.

Truth in Relativism

Truth is the golden mean of relativism.  Relativism is the idea that observations depend on one's reference point, whether it be cultural, positional, or linguistic, which we can't always agree on because of our background.  An observation-based language that eliminates Derridas' deconstruction theory would solve the problem of ambiguity that the constraint of parameters like language place on scientific perceptions.  Such a universal language would solve the problem of relativism in any field of science.

Different scientists interpret experimental phenomena in different ways, but they can't all be correct.  The only way to reconcile multiple interpretations of the same experiment is to measure the average perception on a spectrum of conclusions.  This average would be the apparent truth of any matter, unless the paradigm subjected to the measurement is so wrong that it requires a shift in general perspective, much the same way that Einstein's theory of relativity shifted physicist's notions about Newtonian gravity in the early 20th century.

Thomas Kuhn in his famous book The Structure of Scientific Revolutions denies that a language exists for this golden mean, and he is correct.  One will need to be invented for us to come to terms on some of the major theoretical problems in science.  But even if we did, it would be a mistake to assume the golden mean is the entire truth.  We are limited by what we can sense.  Science is the futile quest to reveal what the senses we yearn to have would show us about the natural world.  

If truth is subjective, we must apply the golden mean to find universal truths.  If we can't find them using our own senses, we must find a way to borrow the hidden ones from animals.  Again, here the problem of language rears its ugly head; obviously if animals could talk, we could better understand their interpretations.  Since we can't, their perceptions don't matter.  The truth gets buried under a noncommunicable database of consciousness.  Futility remains, taunting science in ways that only religion and art would appreciate.

My Son

My son,
What songs will you like?
What books will you read?
How far will you run?
What sights will you see?
More questions come,
Spilling through the windows,
Seeping under the door,
Twisting down the hallway,
Penetrating the light she conceals,
Trapped in her tummy, tapping to get out,
Pressing upon her belly the measure upon us,
This challenge of giving life that stirs
Forth from within, ready to begin,
Fallopian pistons combusting her cervix,
Electrifying dilation, ready to ignite.

May you be kind to the ones in pain,
May you be wiser than the ones so vain,
May you be strong for the small and weak,
May you be brave when they're meek,
May you be free from the monsters in your head,
May you be correct about your insights instead,
May you get first place in your next race,
May you always play games with grace,
May you get the girl with a single smile,
May you persevere through every mile,
May opportunity shine over every deed,
May heaven reach you without any creed,
May the paths you take be in the right direction,
May they be void of detours and corruption.

My son,
Who's going to play you the songs?
Who's going to read you the books in bed?
Who's going to push you to keep running?
Who's going to show you the sights abroad?
Only time will tell, patient through
The sacrament of our creation,
Pangs of yearning fermented in the night.
Hidden in this wonder, in the steady loving beady
Eyes of your mother, watching with affection
The bubble of her belly, as Sheep May Safely Graze
Plays from the nursery where you'll sleep, 
Lies the answer to who you'll become.

Nineteen Minutes, Jodi Picoult

    Jodi Picoult has a talent for getting inside her characters' heads and showing how they really feel without all the exterior ornamentation. While I liked the fast pace, it was a bit much to be constantly shifting between characters only because Picoult didn't seem able to elaborate on some crafty thought, that instead she'd just leave you with a clever turn of phrase that made you wonder what she would have written if she'd continued her train of thought. Picoult is a brilliant woman, nobody doubts that. Pity that she chose a style for mass market publishing as opposed to pure writing. She's like a female version of Stephen King, in that she puts the character's thoughts directly into the prose, rendering the reading a chaotic, intense experience. And like King, with a little refinement and less choppiness, she could truly be one of the all-time greats. This is a great book, but not for the reasons a writer truly wishes. It's great for the character studies; all those desperate moments captured so well by the frantic scribblings, so that it makes us feel like we’ve entered someone's head the same way King, or even Shakespeare, could transport us into such troubled, distinct souls. 

New Emotions on the Chain of Evolution

The discovery of a new feeling can be one of life's great blessings.  We're all used to the common emotions, like happiness and sadness.  Other emotions are derived from them, like ecstasy and grief.  (Robert Plutchik's Wheel of Emotions very helpful in seeing where these emotions come from.)  An argument can be made that emotions are the product of evolution; that as we evolved, emotions like surprise and awe helped separate us from the rest of the animal kingdom on our lone path to developing reason.  If emotions are the product of evolution, then logically we have yet to evolve some of them.  I believe one of them is coming into consciousness in our modern time: one born from musical exercise. 

I never cared for cell phones.  Always thought they were a waste of everyone's time, and people looked stupid when they used them.  Now the tables have turned.  I've discovered with this magical little device that I can exercise at the gym while listening to my own music.  The phone is small enough that it can stay in my pocket while I lift weights, and fits nicely on the treadmill while I'm running on it.   

It has, for lack of a better description, unleashed my musical spirit.  The playlist I've created has outdone all the others in my short history.  With it I am able to soar to the sky, plow through the rubble, run as fast as a cheetah.  My spirit when exercising is so illuminated by the music that it feels like my energy increases tenfold and I am able to achieve things I never could.  Life is never better than when you're running at top speed, hearing the vibrations of some cosmic Delerium mantra, or an empowering Infected Mushroom trance, or some jazzed up Mars Volta phenomenon.  The feeling is indeed otherworldly, for humans were unable to afford such a luxury prior to these lucky generations. 

There are many religious and scientific concepts we would understand more easily if we'd had better senses to perceive them.  Indeed, some animals might already have ones we have the potential of developing (for example, detecting the Earth's magnetic field).  The most amazing emotion I believe we'll evolve into is that of universal consciousness- a sense of feeling one with all that is around us.  A universal emotion of awareness would probably be the apex of evolutionary emotion, though if the concept is extended to multiple dimensions, as the current science is propounding, we'll have a lot farther to go in reaching that apex.  The more sensitive spiritual types may have already developed such an emotion, while the rest of us are left trying to catch up. 

 

Travel Ban & Immigration Crisis

A church in Indiana has created a work showing the mark of baby Jesus, Mary, and Joseph being held in a cage after trying to enter Egypt.  The work has created a sensation in the media, for the message it conveys and the hypocrisy it represents. 

The story is well known.  Jesus' family, fleeing the violence of Herod, who threatened to destroy all newborns under the age of two if the Messiah weren't eliminated, came to Egypt seeking asylum.  That the work shows them being held for illegally entering a foreign country is a radical departure from the typical opinion of the religious right: that illegal aliens be detained and deported back where they came from.  Instead of the open borders that arguably saved the son of God, most of them would prefer to close their borders to those seeking asylum, assuming instead that they are only entering the country illegally to commit a crime. 

Amen to this church for going against the grain.  The "orange Pharaoh" would have blamed the Jewish "dems" for locking up the savior of mankind.  And yet, this work doesn't even depict the real situation going on in America today, that families are being separated, held in different cages, not the same one.  No matter how young their children are, the law is the law, and no amount of pity can persuade the so-called righteous.  For the religious right is still predominantly against immigration, even though their savior needed it for his message to reach the world.  How can any so-called Christian say they voted for a man who would have sent baby Jesus back to the land that wanted his head?  An unfair question, perhaps, but an important one.  We've always been known as a benevolent refuge for the dispossessed, a haven for those seeking a better life.  Who cares if an immigrant is legal or not?  It costs thousands of dollars and takes many years to get citizenship [I would know, because I'm currently helping my wife do this].  I would dare anyone to picture themselves living in an immigrant's shoes and not at least be tempted to sneak in illegally. 

These are some sad times for our country.  All the immigrants I have known were wonderful people, most of all my wife.  None of them wanted to blow us up.  None of them wanted to steal our money, rape our women, and murder our children.  The only terrorism on American soil in the last 15 years has been domestic.  Even then, the countries listed on the travel ban had nothing to do with the attacks on 9/11.  We've become a frightening addition to the history books that detail irrational scapegoating.  

The Paradox of Competitive Altruism

 I was listening to an interesting interview on NPR just now.  A psychologist was saying that people who rise to power often regress into being more selfish after their selflessness had allowed them to get there in the first place.  It's the paradox of competitive altruism, he said - a term I was unfamiliar with before today.  Powerless people are more likely to share things like food around the workplace.  In social networks, the one who gives the most, he quotes, is most likely to rise to a more powerful position.  Their generosity elevates them in the light of others, and they are more likely to win elections or get promoted.  But once they get there, an ominous change of heart begins to develop.  When they are in power, they tend to lose the empathy skills that allowed them to connect with people.  They are suddenly transformed into self-serving autocrats who scoff at the poor and do anything to retain their status, including cheating.  Studies have shown that the rich are far more likely to disregard the misfortunes of others.  

How ironic then that the nice guy doesn't “finish last”, as the saying goes, that he actually comes out on top in these cases.  Yet he never really finishes the race, does he?  The power corrupts him.  He gets in the lead, stays there until his person is transformed, does everything he can to keep ahead at the expense of all those left behind, only to crash into a brick wall when the wheels sputter and he finally loses control.