I started reading "The Mystery of Consciousness" by John R. Searle a couple of days ago, and so far it's been pretty interesting. I'm only on the first chapter (where he delves into dualism), but it's already poking at my brain.
The main question that he asks is, "How exactly do neurobiological processes in the brain cause consciousness?" I've always been amazed by the complexity and development of the organ, but it has never crossed my mind just how bizarre the concept of consciousness is. I mean, here is this giant sheet of tissue balled up into what we see in diagrams constantly, and that alone is responsible for a majority of our physical senses and all of our emotional thoughts.
The emotional part is what really interests me. The brain is a physical organ, and all the processes that we see are completely physical; neurons connecting to other neurons, transmitting electric signals. How does this process give us the ability of consciousness? And when you drive deeper, what gives us the ability to have such discreet, introspective, and abstract thoughts? What is it that allows us to feel? Obviously a cat or a dog can be just a conscious as a human (physically), but they are far from this aware. Or maybe it just hasn't been able to be proven yet. Apes are closest related to humans, but do they have that awareness aspect? If a human doesn't understand a language, that person realizes that, or if a human runs into a table, (s)he knows that (s)he walked into it... would another animal (say apes, since they are the closest relative) realize that it was the fault of the animal, or would it assume that something ran into it (even if it was inanimate)? And how far does that go? Can a flea be aware that it is alive, or do small organisms like them just live, because that is all they know? I guess that plays a part in the dualism concept too... Searle seemed to have a fine line between the physical side and the psychological. In that case, does it mean only humans are able to access the mental side (as well as the physical side) of it, and the mental aspect of dualism is just voided for any other animal/organism?
Ramble, ramble, ramble... more to come after I read more of this book.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
Atheists vs. Agnostics vs. Christians... and then some.
So today I was flipping through this book that I recently bought called "A Rulebook for Arguments," and came upon a page with this example:
In this essay I will argue that God exists.
I turned to Matt and said, "There is no way that anyone can convince me that God does exist... cause there really isn't any real proof that someone can argue."
He replied with, "Well there isn't any proof that he doesn't exist, either. That's why I'm agnostic."
Anyways, my initial reply was, "Yeah, that's true," but upon further thinking, I realized that that's not enough to be a good argument. There's just too much proven scientific fact and proof against the concept of the stereotypical "God," and not enough concrete proof for believing. Also, that argument opens the door for the ad ignorantiam fallacy (arguing that a claim is true just because it has not been shown to be false). With that argument, who's to say that the Greek gods in mythology aren't real? Almost all people would accept that as a myth ("Greek mythology"...), but there are many many Christians. Is there a Greek mythology term for "blasphemy?"
That's not to say that people should only be atheists. I used to be agnostic... and even Christian before that, but I was mainly pointing out that specific argument. But I have thought about why I went from agnostic to atheist. If there is a God of some sort, is there really even a point in believing in him? Enter Nietzsche. Specifically, his "God is dead" quote. It doesn't literally mean that he's physically dead, but that he can no longer provide a source of morality for those that believe in him.
"When one gives up the Christian faith, one pulls the right to Christian morality out from under one's feet. This morality is by no means self-evident... By breaking one main concept out of Christianity, the faith in God, one breaks the whole: nothing necessary remains in one's hands."
From what I've noticed, Christians only seem obligated to be ethical sometimes, not because they feel that it's the right thing to do, but because if they don't, they "won't get into Heaven," or they will "feel guilty to God." What about what you feel is morally correct? People should be moral even in the absence of a divine being. And if that last sentence is viewed as only an opinion, then my outlook on people has dropped even more.
So, is there really a point in being agnostic, rather than atheist? I know there are a lot of little arguments that can be made, but I need something big to convince me.
Speaking of Nietzsche, I was looking at random t-shirt websites today and found one pretty cool and representative of everything awful.
It says "Nietzsche is my co-pilot" and has a picture of Nietzsche as Biggles. But like a lot of t-shirts that I see now too often, it has no meaning other than its witticism, which is immediately lost, because there are 10 copies of the t-shirt in three different colors, available at ten different stores. This isn't the eternal recurrence that Nietzsche had in mind. There's no room for irony here... it's killed off by by irony itself.
In this essay I will argue that God exists.
I turned to Matt and said, "There is no way that anyone can convince me that God does exist... cause there really isn't any real proof that someone can argue."
He replied with, "Well there isn't any proof that he doesn't exist, either. That's why I'm agnostic."
Anyways, my initial reply was, "Yeah, that's true," but upon further thinking, I realized that that's not enough to be a good argument. There's just too much proven scientific fact and proof against the concept of the stereotypical "God," and not enough concrete proof for believing. Also, that argument opens the door for the ad ignorantiam fallacy (arguing that a claim is true just because it has not been shown to be false). With that argument, who's to say that the Greek gods in mythology aren't real? Almost all people would accept that as a myth ("Greek mythology"...), but there are many many Christians. Is there a Greek mythology term for "blasphemy?"
That's not to say that people should only be atheists. I used to be agnostic... and even Christian before that, but I was mainly pointing out that specific argument. But I have thought about why I went from agnostic to atheist. If there is a God of some sort, is there really even a point in believing in him? Enter Nietzsche. Specifically, his "God is dead" quote. It doesn't literally mean that he's physically dead, but that he can no longer provide a source of morality for those that believe in him.
"When one gives up the Christian faith, one pulls the right to Christian morality out from under one's feet. This morality is by no means self-evident... By breaking one main concept out of Christianity, the faith in God, one breaks the whole: nothing necessary remains in one's hands."
From what I've noticed, Christians only seem obligated to be ethical sometimes, not because they feel that it's the right thing to do, but because if they don't, they "won't get into Heaven," or they will "feel guilty to God." What about what you feel is morally correct? People should be moral even in the absence of a divine being. And if that last sentence is viewed as only an opinion, then my outlook on people has dropped even more.
So, is there really a point in being agnostic, rather than atheist? I know there are a lot of little arguments that can be made, but I need something big to convince me.
Speaking of Nietzsche, I was looking at random t-shirt websites today and found one pretty cool and representative of everything awful.
First experience in an isolation tank
[Originally posted on 10:34 pm, Saturday, Nov 24, 2007]
Matt and I went to Chicago today, mainly for an appointment at noon in the isolation tanks that I had been endlessly wanting to go to.
The first 10-15 minutes or so, my mind was racing with various thoughts, I can't even remember most of them... this was one of those times where I wish I had a tape recorder for my brain. Nothing really stuck out, but my thoughts mainly centered around my future and what I was going to do for the rest of my life... there was a lot of wondering, but I didn't really come to much of a conclusion. There was just still a lot of wondering of whether I wanted to do what I enjoyed doing (computer graphics), or living my life to the fullest (doing something that centered on traveling, meeting various people, etc.).
The time period after that my thoughts drifted more from personal ideas to a broader scale. I still had yet to experience anything new in my head, but my mind did head back to something I had thought about a few days ago... the idea of relationships, and what truly determines what a relationship consists of. Obviously there is the person to person relationship that you witness daily; lovers, friends, family, etc. But there is also the relationship that a person has with an object; such as a man loving his car... sometimes you see that, and it's to the point where the man loves the car more than a person, such as a significant other/girlfriend. Does the car hold just as much value for a relationship as the female person? What determines that? The main difference between the two is really the fact that the man can physically interact with the person, and have a back and forth conversation. But if the man has a "conversation" with something such as a car (it can be any number of things... objects, machines, etc.), technically he is talking to himself, and he can discover just as much from that. It might seem like a simple answer... an actual companion would be much more legit than an automobile, but I don't know. What makes a person love a machine more than another human being, like in said example?
Throughout all this, however, looking at the physical side of the experience, I'm pretty sure it was the most relaxed my body's been since... forever. We've all experienced so much force from gravity that we've been trained to have our bodies act a certain way, and this is the first time I've been relieved of that burden (for lack of better words) since I've been in the womb... which is really extraordinary if you think about it. It actually took about 20 minutes being in the isolation tank before I realized that my body was fully and completely relaxed... I had become so accustomed to being tense all the time that I didn't even really notice it anymore until being in an environment where gravity no longer appeared to play a factor.
It was obviously also the first time where I was completely void of all my senses. It's easy to think about, but it's not until you experience it that you really understand what it's like. Upon entering the tank, my eyes were closed for almost the first, I'd guess, half hour or so... it was just instinct... when you go to bed, it's pretty much the only time that you're in an environment daily where it's the closest to being pitch black. After I finally realized that my eyes had been closed the entire time (much like the whole relaxing my body/dealing with gravity thing... you become so conditioned to something that you don't even notice it anymore), I opened my eyes... and absolutely nothing changed (I guess I should have expected that but still...). My eyes had become completely useless. Opening and closing my eyes, I saw exactly the same thing. Now I just simply had two spheres rolling around in my skull. I also had ear plugs, which only accented the loss of my auditory senses. After a period of time, something I usually never ever notice, such as my breathing, became so significant. Swallowing became so apparently loud that after I while, I just allowed the saliva to collect in my mouth, as to not provoke the senses again. The water seemed to blend in with my skin, and it really felt like I was floating in space; although there was no burden of taking up any. Occasionally I would softly bump into the side of the tank, and again, something that I usually wouldn't notice at all in the regular environment that I'm used to, seemed like an alarm almost.
Another factor that completely changed, or should I say disappeared, was time. Just the idea of it was no longer apparent while I was in the tank; it didn't matter any more... what's the point of keeping track of time while I was in there? Really, it's nothing more than an organizational tool (quoting Matt)... it's there only if you want it to be.
There's so much more that I want to remember and write down, but I just simply can't because it was lost when I walked out of that place. But it was definitely a new and exciting experience and I plan on going back there. And I recommend anyone going to Chicago to try the experience out for themselves.
I need to check out the book/movie "Altered States" by Paddy Chayefsky/Sidney Aaron. It's about John C. Lilly's experiences in the isolation tanks on various drugs, mainly LSD, and apparently they're very good.
Matt and I went to Chicago today, mainly for an appointment at noon in the isolation tanks that I had been endlessly wanting to go to.
The first 10-15 minutes or so, my mind was racing with various thoughts, I can't even remember most of them... this was one of those times where I wish I had a tape recorder for my brain. Nothing really stuck out, but my thoughts mainly centered around my future and what I was going to do for the rest of my life... there was a lot of wondering, but I didn't really come to much of a conclusion. There was just still a lot of wondering of whether I wanted to do what I enjoyed doing (computer graphics), or living my life to the fullest (doing something that centered on traveling, meeting various people, etc.).
The time period after that my thoughts drifted more from personal ideas to a broader scale. I still had yet to experience anything new in my head, but my mind did head back to something I had thought about a few days ago... the idea of relationships, and what truly determines what a relationship consists of. Obviously there is the person to person relationship that you witness daily; lovers, friends, family, etc. But there is also the relationship that a person has with an object; such as a man loving his car... sometimes you see that, and it's to the point where the man loves the car more than a person, such as a significant other/girlfriend. Does the car hold just as much value for a relationship as the female person? What determines that? The main difference between the two is really the fact that the man can physically interact with the person, and have a back and forth conversation. But if the man has a "conversation" with something such as a car (it can be any number of things... objects, machines, etc.), technically he is talking to himself, and he can discover just as much from that. It might seem like a simple answer... an actual companion would be much more legit than an automobile, but I don't know. What makes a person love a machine more than another human being, like in said example?
Throughout all this, however, looking at the physical side of the experience, I'm pretty sure it was the most relaxed my body's been since... forever. We've all experienced so much force from gravity that we've been trained to have our bodies act a certain way, and this is the first time I've been relieved of that burden (for lack of better words) since I've been in the womb... which is really extraordinary if you think about it. It actually took about 20 minutes being in the isolation tank before I realized that my body was fully and completely relaxed... I had become so accustomed to being tense all the time that I didn't even really notice it anymore until being in an environment where gravity no longer appeared to play a factor.
It was obviously also the first time where I was completely void of all my senses. It's easy to think about, but it's not until you experience it that you really understand what it's like. Upon entering the tank, my eyes were closed for almost the first, I'd guess, half hour or so... it was just instinct... when you go to bed, it's pretty much the only time that you're in an environment daily where it's the closest to being pitch black. After I finally realized that my eyes had been closed the entire time (much like the whole relaxing my body/dealing with gravity thing... you become so conditioned to something that you don't even notice it anymore), I opened my eyes... and absolutely nothing changed (I guess I should have expected that but still...). My eyes had become completely useless. Opening and closing my eyes, I saw exactly the same thing. Now I just simply had two spheres rolling around in my skull. I also had ear plugs, which only accented the loss of my auditory senses. After a period of time, something I usually never ever notice, such as my breathing, became so significant. Swallowing became so apparently loud that after I while, I just allowed the saliva to collect in my mouth, as to not provoke the senses again. The water seemed to blend in with my skin, and it really felt like I was floating in space; although there was no burden of taking up any. Occasionally I would softly bump into the side of the tank, and again, something that I usually wouldn't notice at all in the regular environment that I'm used to, seemed like an alarm almost.
Another factor that completely changed, or should I say disappeared, was time. Just the idea of it was no longer apparent while I was in the tank; it didn't matter any more... what's the point of keeping track of time while I was in there? Really, it's nothing more than an organizational tool (quoting Matt)... it's there only if you want it to be.
There's so much more that I want to remember and write down, but I just simply can't because it was lost when I walked out of that place. But it was definitely a new and exciting experience and I plan on going back there. And I recommend anyone going to Chicago to try the experience out for themselves.
I need to check out the book/movie "Altered States" by Paddy Chayefsky/Sidney Aaron. It's about John C. Lilly's experiences in the isolation tanks on various drugs, mainly LSD, and apparently they're very good.
Threshold of cynics...?
[Originally posted on 1:52 am, Wednesday, Nov 21, 2007]
I wonder if there's a threshold for maturity... or cynicalness in other terms.
Today I was thinking back on my past and past memories and trying to figure out when I went from naive and ignorantly innocent to the sarcastic and cynical person that I am today. I mean, if I had to pick a time when some event first hit me really hard in a negative way, I'd probably choose when I moved to Indiana from Ohio, and having to adjust to the new environment. And then from there, various prominent event just kept adding to that and leading to what I am now.
Another thing I was wondering was when did I start questioning everything in a more ambiguous fashion? I mean, I know that from the moment you are born you start wondering and questioning things; many baby toys are appealing visually, but also are educational in basic knowledge essentials: numbers, colors, etc. When I was younger, all the questions I asked myself and others had answers that you could find if you picked up a dictionary or book. Now the questions are still similar if you look at the situation from a college/career view, but when you sit down and start asking yourself questions... they become much more different, not to mention more frustrating, harder to answer, etc.
And I would assume that most everyone has these events in their lives. But there's probably also the small percentage of people that never had any significant negative memories. Are those the ones that we see constantly being ridiculously bubbly or relentlessly optimistic? Or is there a certain time where they just suddenly have this burst of maturity? I'm not sure whether to consider time or events to play the key part in that change. And when I get annoyed with ridiculously happy people, if it's because I do have some sort of subconcious jealousy. Most people would probably say that it's a mix of both time and events, but I don't know. Is there a specific defining moment of what makes us who we are?
I'm not an unhappy person by any means; I consider myself quite optimistic currently, but I definitely have a very cynical side... compared to most people at least.
I was talking with my friend Daniel a while ago and we got on the topic of web design. He stated that he did some work with it, but moved on from that, as he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in front of a computer. I still think a lot about that statement and apply it to myself. I don't mind my major, and I have no problem being happy doing computer-related projects... Photoshop is practically a religion to me. But. Am I truly using my life to its full potential? I mean if something makes you happy then you should do it, right? Then it would make sense for my to have a computer-related career the rest of my life. But moving aside from the personal view, and looking at it from a human's point of view, there's so much more that I could be doing with my life. Traveling the world and experiencing all the other cultures... becoming a doctor and helping people recover from various problems... etc. I don't know.
Along with that, is there a threshold of when you see your own parents in a more rational light? When you're a child, or at least when I was a child, the parentals were thought of as always correct, perfect, and unquestionable. Almost to an excess, I saw my mom as a God figure. But as I've aged, (and I know this oviously applies to everyone but I'm stating it for the sake of explanation) I slowly notice that my parents are, in fact, very flawed people. And the more you age you may start to realize that you are actually smarter than your parents... which, when it initially hits you, becomes somewhat of a huge realization.
Coincidentally enough, after having the above thoughts today, I was reading Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas, and came upon this:
"Can I tell you something weird?" he asked. This probably isn't a valid question, because one can never say no to such an inquiry. But this is what he asked me.
"Of course," I said in response. "Always."
"Okay, well... great. That's great."
He collected his thoughts for fourteen seconds.
"Something is happening to me," he said. "I keep thinking about something that happened to me a long time ago. Years ago. Like, this thing happened to me in eighth fucking grade. This is a situation I hadn't even thought about for probably ten or fifteen years. But then I saw a documentary that reexamined the Challenger explosion, and this particular event had happened around that same time. And what's disturbing is that -- now -- I find myself thinking about this particular afternoon constantly. I have dreams about it. Every time I get drunk or stoned, I inevitably find myself sitting in a dark room, replaying the sequence of the events of my mind, over and over again. And the details I remember from this 1986 afternoon are unfathomably intense. Nothing is missing and nothing is muddle. And I'm starting to believe -- and this, I suppose, is the weird part -- that maybe this day was the most important day of my entire life, and that everything significant about my personality was created on this one particular afternoon. I'm starting to suspect that this memory is not merely about a certain day of my life; this memory is about the day, if you get my meaning." .....
Chuck Klosterman never fails to intrigue.
Not sure how much this blog made sense. I was questioning whether to post it or not considering it was more of a personal entry than a public one... I just wanted to lay my thoughts out. Ah, whatever.
========
I want to experience one of these so bad:
Isolation Tanks
For $30 an hour you get to be inside one of these tanks filled with water/epsom salt and you're completely void of all your senses. There's no sound, it's pitch black, you can't smell anything, and the water temp adjusts to your body, etc. You just float there, free with your thoughts. It'd be such an introspective experience.
I wonder if there's a threshold for maturity... or cynicalness in other terms.
Today I was thinking back on my past and past memories and trying to figure out when I went from naive and ignorantly innocent to the sarcastic and cynical person that I am today. I mean, if I had to pick a time when some event first hit me really hard in a negative way, I'd probably choose when I moved to Indiana from Ohio, and having to adjust to the new environment. And then from there, various prominent event just kept adding to that and leading to what I am now.
Another thing I was wondering was when did I start questioning everything in a more ambiguous fashion? I mean, I know that from the moment you are born you start wondering and questioning things; many baby toys are appealing visually, but also are educational in basic knowledge essentials: numbers, colors, etc. When I was younger, all the questions I asked myself and others had answers that you could find if you picked up a dictionary or book. Now the questions are still similar if you look at the situation from a college/career view, but when you sit down and start asking yourself questions... they become much more different, not to mention more frustrating, harder to answer, etc.
And I would assume that most everyone has these events in their lives. But there's probably also the small percentage of people that never had any significant negative memories. Are those the ones that we see constantly being ridiculously bubbly or relentlessly optimistic? Or is there a certain time where they just suddenly have this burst of maturity? I'm not sure whether to consider time or events to play the key part in that change. And when I get annoyed with ridiculously happy people, if it's because I do have some sort of subconcious jealousy. Most people would probably say that it's a mix of both time and events, but I don't know. Is there a specific defining moment of what makes us who we are?
I'm not an unhappy person by any means; I consider myself quite optimistic currently, but I definitely have a very cynical side... compared to most people at least.
I was talking with my friend Daniel a while ago and we got on the topic of web design. He stated that he did some work with it, but moved on from that, as he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in front of a computer. I still think a lot about that statement and apply it to myself. I don't mind my major, and I have no problem being happy doing computer-related projects... Photoshop is practically a religion to me. But. Am I truly using my life to its full potential? I mean if something makes you happy then you should do it, right? Then it would make sense for my to have a computer-related career the rest of my life. But moving aside from the personal view, and looking at it from a human's point of view, there's so much more that I could be doing with my life. Traveling the world and experiencing all the other cultures... becoming a doctor and helping people recover from various problems... etc. I don't know.
Along with that, is there a threshold of when you see your own parents in a more rational light? When you're a child, or at least when I was a child, the parentals were thought of as always correct, perfect, and unquestionable. Almost to an excess, I saw my mom as a God figure. But as I've aged, (and I know this oviously applies to everyone but I'm stating it for the sake of explanation) I slowly notice that my parents are, in fact, very flawed people. And the more you age you may start to realize that you are actually smarter than your parents... which, when it initially hits you, becomes somewhat of a huge realization.
Coincidentally enough, after having the above thoughts today, I was reading Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas, and came upon this:
"Can I tell you something weird?" he asked. This probably isn't a valid question, because one can never say no to such an inquiry. But this is what he asked me.
"Of course," I said in response. "Always."
"Okay, well... great. That's great."
He collected his thoughts for fourteen seconds.
"Something is happening to me," he said. "I keep thinking about something that happened to me a long time ago. Years ago. Like, this thing happened to me in eighth fucking grade. This is a situation I hadn't even thought about for probably ten or fifteen years. But then I saw a documentary that reexamined the Challenger explosion, and this particular event had happened around that same time. And what's disturbing is that -- now -- I find myself thinking about this particular afternoon constantly. I have dreams about it. Every time I get drunk or stoned, I inevitably find myself sitting in a dark room, replaying the sequence of the events of my mind, over and over again. And the details I remember from this 1986 afternoon are unfathomably intense. Nothing is missing and nothing is muddle. And I'm starting to believe -- and this, I suppose, is the weird part -- that maybe this day was the most important day of my entire life, and that everything significant about my personality was created on this one particular afternoon. I'm starting to suspect that this memory is not merely about a certain day of my life; this memory is about the day, if you get my meaning." .....
Chuck Klosterman never fails to intrigue.
Not sure how much this blog made sense. I was questioning whether to post it or not considering it was more of a personal entry than a public one... I just wanted to lay my thoughts out. Ah, whatever.
========
I want to experience one of these so bad:
Isolation Tanks
For $30 an hour you get to be inside one of these tanks filled with water/epsom salt and you're completely void of all your senses. There's no sound, it's pitch black, you can't smell anything, and the water temp adjusts to your body, etc. You just float there, free with your thoughts. It'd be such an introspective experience.
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