It’s 7 a.m., and I’ve been on campus all night. I just finished what I was working on, and should really go home and sleep. But sleeping invariably means ditching my 9:30 class. Worse, sleeping means walking home in the cold, and I forgot my jacket today (yesterday?). It’ll have to wait.
Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what I should be writing, since I’ve been absent so long. Do I try to catch you up? Or assume whoever would still be reading this already knows me, and doesn’t need to hear a recap of the last 6 months?
Maybe it’d be best to forego the past and just tell you where I currently am. It’s two weeks into Spring Semester here at Cal, and more than ever, I’ve got no desire to think about classes. Partly because I put off all my terrible requirements til the very end, so now I’m sleepwalking through Freshman Engineering, reading Chicano/Femenist/lesbian poetry in Ethnic Studies, and pass/fail-ing a class on Heideggar. Or Wittgenstein. I’m enrolled in both, and haven’t decided which I’ll drop yet.
More importantly, though, it’s because I feel like I’m already done with all of this. I haven’t stressed about a class in ages, and my ditch rate has steadily increased since starting research. I ditched my finals last semester to go to a conference in Singapore. I’m ditching this semester’s to present at one in Shanghai (which, incidentally, is what I’ve been working on tonight). There’s a good chance I won’t even walk at graduation, if the plan to couch-surf Tokyo afterwards pans out. Grad school apps are long gone, and acceptance calls/letters are slowly trickling in. Right or wrong, it’s really hard to bring myself to care about that last 12 units.
It’s crazy to think of how I got here — roaming the empty engineering floor like a ghost, drinking my 5th cup of coffee of the night, looking out at the Golden Gate bridge while the sun finally rises, wondering what side of the country I’ll be spending the next 5-7 years of my life on. Just four years ago I was having the same inner-dialogue about going to Berkeley. Wondering if I’d go even if I got in, not being able to fathom what living away from home and friends would feel like.
Obviously I chose to leave, and I think it easily ranks among the best decisions of my life. In hindsight that was a no-brainer: I think I’d be an entirely different person if I’d stayed, and all the bad qualities aside, I mostly like the person I became. It made me branch out, learn to talk to people, and start coming to grips with who I am and what I want out of life. And though I can’t deny a mild case of impostor syndrome as a result, I’ve been given some once-in-a-lifetime opportunities here. I have no regrets about where I am.
But unlike that first decision, I don’t think this one will ever be fully regret-free — with or without the aid of hindsight. Regardless of where I go, there’ll always be a sense in which I missed out somewhere else, and for a pretty huge part of my life at that. If I stay in California, I missed out on the experience to really push myself somewhere new. But if I go somewhere new, I know for a fact there will be times I’d rather be home. If I go anywhere (and I will), I postpone “real life” for even longer, and I’m sure that will feel demoralizing sometimes. Loneliness sets in even here on occasion; where I’m happy, close to everyone, and 21 at a time when every other 21 year old is doing the same thing. As a 27-year- old working on his thesis 3 timezones away, I’m sure I’ll occasionally feel that same loneliness; but instead of being part of the requisite college experience that everyone my age is getting, it will be at a time when friends are settling into careers, getting married, potentially even having kids. But don’t get me wrong. I am incredibly excited about this time in my life; no cold feet here. I know it’s where I’m meant to be, and absolutely wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s just something I need to think out loud about.
As a side note, one thing that made me come back here was reading a few old posts, and realizing they don’t represent me quite as well as they used to. A little over a year ago, I wrote a fairly honest (if gimmicky) assessment of myself. Looking back I definitely still see traces of that in me, but I think it’s starting to evaporate. Cynicism just can’t sustain itself when real empathy is introduced, and I finally feel like I’m learning to balance the extremes. If I do come back here, I’ll probably write a followup to that and/or these (one, two), and tell you where I currently stand.
This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while now, and honestly, there’s no clean way of dealing with it. It’s going to be rambling, open-ended, and not particularly well-written or even in standard blog format. For lack of a nice introduction, I’ll just jump right in.
Three days ago, I watched The Hurt Locker. The film centers around Sgt. William James, the leader of an EOD squad in Iraq whose sole job is to dismantle bombs. As one would expect, every day is a near-death experience for him. This drives him to become addicted to adrenaline, as the film’s opening quote by Chris Hedges alludes to. “War is a drug.” Death is not dramatized or glorified in this movie. When a bomb explodes, its victims simply vanish. When a gun is fired in the distance and a soldier falls to the ground, the soundtrack remains silent.
As I tried to enjoy the film on its own merits, I couldn’t help but remember that I was watching a true story. Not necessarily that the characters existed, or that the film is realistic in its technical portrayal of the Iraq war; but that (as current military servicemen have pointed out) the mood it conveys is spot on. War is a desolate thing, and human lif on both sides is ended without stirring monologue or string accompaniment. It vanishes.
This past couple of weeks, everyone has been following the story of Chelsea King, the Poway High School teen who went missing. To avoid sensationalizing a family’s loss, I don’t think I need to elaborate on the story. Honestly, I can’t imagine losing a daughter only to have her face, and the grizzly details surrounding her last moments, plastered on every news site or blog in the country. My heart goes to the parents who are forced to go through the grieving process on Larry King Live instead of in the privacy and dignity of their own homes. My focus here is not on her, but on the perpetrator.
The man charged with this crime, John Gardner, has quickly earned the scorn of the nation. A repeat offender who was first charged with assaulting a 13-year-old girl in 2000, Gardner is also suspect in the death of Amber Dubois, a teen who went missing earlier last year. Despite the overwhelming evidence against him, he denies the allegations and shows no remorse for his actions, just as he showed no remorse in his prior offense. He seems to us to be the embodiment of pure evil, and people are horrified.
Here are a few comments I’ve read, both on CNN and a Facebook group clamoring for the death penalty:
“I believe the death penalty is too good for him. He should be tortured just like he has done. An eye for an eye”
“I want him burned alive and the whole thing YouTubed so any other predators out there think thrice before harming another innocent. BURNED ALIVE.”
“I hope he dies slowly and rots fast.”
“A death penalty? seems more like a slap on the wrist. They should castrate him with rusty knives and add in a healthy dose of rubbing alcohol before adminstrating other forms of torture.”
“He should be publicly hung.”
“Throw him to the sodomites and then into general population! I believe that if you kill someone who didnt deserve it, ALL YOUR RIGHTS AS A HUMAN ARE FORFEIT.”
I don’t include these things to condemn the people that said it. Clearly, there are a lot of emotions involved here, especially from empathetic parents and those who have themselves been the victim of assault. But as I read the general consensus of the public, I’m struck with a very basic, almost terrifying question. Is John Gardner’s life sacred?
We Christians often profess a belief in the sanctity of human life. The phrase is most common when discussing abortion, and for good reason. Barring a discussion of Original Sin, unborn children are completely innocent. And there’s nothing difficult about saying that an innocent life is of intrinsic worth. But what of a person who is not necessarily innocent? An adult who has made a few mistakes but generally tries to live morally? A U.S. soldier serving in Iraq? A terrorist fighting in Iraq? A sexual predator? Is there a point at which life stops being sacred and worth respecting? If so where is it, and are we justified in setting it?
The currency of war is human life, and the goal is always an ideal. Independence, autonomy, democracy, justice, cultural identity, patriotism, religion, etc. Sometimes saving lives is a goal, but rarely is that the sole focus of war. Even in our most “just” wars, more abstract things were at stake. For example, the Axis forces of WWI may have threatened to take over the world, but there’s no reason to think they intended to kill innocent, unresistant civilians in the process. They were after an idea (political power), European nations were defending an idea (autonomy), and the US joined to uphold an idea (justice). None of these ideas necessarily adds or removes a single human life from the equation, yet 16.5 million lives were spent fighting for them. Each, we claim, is sacred. So again, I need to ask: what is the value of a life?
Gardner has committed unspeakable evils, but the world is not in danger of him doing them in the future. Regardless, he’ll be locked away for life. However there are other things which the public and (more importantly) the victims’ families want assurance of: justice and vengeance. In other words, the death penalty. So again, we have a problem: can we justify ending a human life for one of those ideals? How much is the life of a murderer worth? How much is vengeance worth?
These are things I’ve been wrestling with, and I really have no answers to give. But I do have a thoughts:
As a Christian, I believe that man is made in the image of God. With that in mind, every person has an intrinsic worth that is infinitely greater than material things. Naively, I’d be inclined to think that this infinite worth must outweigh anything else. That would mean the death penalty is never justified (which I am inclined to believe). But it would also mean that war, for any purpose other than saving lives which are threatened, is never justified — it requires trading the infinite worth of human life for a finite idea. Which would mean if Napoleon wanted to take over the world but didn’t threaten to kill a single civilian in the process, losing even one life in battle wouldn’t be worth it. That sort of conclusion is difficult for me to accept.
A second thought is that I’m simplifying things too much. Life is sacred and of infinite worth, but not just in the true/false notion of existence. It’s a spectrum. Living and dying aren’t all there is to life’s worth: quality of life, freedom from pain, emotional well-being, etc. all contribute. To a Christian especially, the spiritual well-being of a person is worth more than the physical. If the sanctity of life lies not only in being alive but in how you live, these ideals which touch human life (justice, freedom, democracy) can’t be dismissed just because some may die in the process.
Even if the right decision is made, that doesn’t make it any less somber. In war, every casualty on either side is a sad thing. Regardless of what we’re fighting for or how those we are fighting have wronged us. Vilifying the enemy is the easy way out; Christian love doesn’t allow it. And even if the death penalty truly serves a just purpose, we shouldn’t be craving it, or be happy when/if it happens. A “monster” is still a person, and the fact that someone can reach that level of depravity should be seen as tragic.
So yeah. That’s what’s been on my mind. Feel free to contribute.
Sorry for the delay between posts. It goes without saying: I’m far too busy, far too often. That’s not to say I haven’t technically had the time to update this. As hectic as my current schedule is, I’d be lying if I said I never had a free hour in the week to devote to writing. But on the rare occasion that I am free, I find myself too exhausted to do anything that requires thought.
Every day goes according to the same routine: wake up at 8 and head to campus for classes and labwork, leave campus around 9 or 10pm, stop by the Asian Ghetto for dinner, walk home, start to work for my real job in San Diego, or start whatever homework is due in the following morning. When that is finished, I should sleep. After all, it’s well after midnight at this point, and my shot at getting a full night’s sleep is already forfeit. But instead, I invariably spend an hour playing guitar, or watching TV, or my newest Netflix acquisition. Not because I want to, so much as I need to. I need a moment of solitude — a part of the day, purposeless as it may be, that is singularly mine. It’s a chance to play the part of a person free of responsibility: the type who would have the luxury of wasting an hour in front of a television screen, with nowhere to be in the morning. Even as the actor stifles a yawn, his character is wide awake and enjoying himself. When I do go to sleep, it will be on my terms. Even if it’s only for a handful of hours.
Routine does strange things to you. This semester has flown by in a flurry of lectures, lab meetings, exams, presentations, papers, projects, and all-nighters spent with a bright, buzzing computer screen in a windowless lab. Everything feels nonlinear and fragmented. Yesterday it was January and I was at a Starbucks in Big Bear, learning “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” on a friend’s ukulele. This morning was February and I was leaving the lab after my third consecutive night, delirious and frustrated. Now it’s March, and I’m sitting in Cafe Med with a cup of coffee hoping to cram a post in before the midnight closing time sends me back to the responsibilities I’ve left in my apartment. In a few minutes my midterms will be over, and I’ll be driving past the sign for Pea Soup Anderson’s at 3 in the morning just north of Bakersfield, looking forward to a week-long break. Then with a blink I’ll reverse directions, passing the same mile marker and wondering where the time went. By sunrise, it will be May and I’ll be on a plane to Anchorage, reviewing my presentation and cramming for finals. Land, mingle, take off, land, and with the scratch of a pen and the close of a bluebook the semester will be over. A month-long break in San Diego should decelerate things a bit. Then in June I’ll be back in the lab, where I’ll spend the bulk of my summer in research. And everything speeds up again.
This would all be easier to accept if I had a vague idea of what I was sprinting towards — preferably a clear finish line which, upon crossing, would guarantee to slow everything down to a manageable pace. But so far, no luck. I don’t know where I’ll be a year from now, and certainly have no guarantee that it will be any less stressful than where I am now. And I get the feeling I should stop searching for it.
A few weeks ago, I drove to San Francisco with a friend for a concert. Since the artist isn’t especially popular, I assumed there would be tickets available at the door. Of course, I was wrong. (Never underestimate the hipness of San Franciscans.) But since I was his ride, I couldn’t go home without him. So while my friend enjoyed the show, I drove around looking for a way to pass the time till 1:00.
After dinner at Tommy’s Joynt and dessert at Mel’s Drive-In, I wound up at Pier 39. During the day it’s by far the most touristy part of all San Francisco. After midnight on a weekday, it’s a ghost town.
Past the shops, restaurants, arcade, and carousel, is a bench at the end of the dock. It’s hardly a typical place to sit and relax. Waves lap against the creaky pier, flags flap loudly in the breeze, and the wind is chilly and unrelenting. Not to mention the resident sea lions, which feel the need remind the world of their presence every few seconds with a splash, cackle, and hoarse bark.
Straight ahead is Alcatraz. To the right is a view of the East Bay, the Berkeley Campanile just out of sight. To the left is the Golden Gate bridge, the Presidio, Hyde St. Pier, and Ghirardelli Square. Any given afternoon, crowds of visitors would be wrestling cameras out of their fanny packs and desperately fighting for a view. Now there’s only me; and I love it.
If this seems reminiscent of another post to you, you’d be right. The busier I get, and the more worried about my future I become, the more I cling to moments like this. To reverse the platitude, it’s a much-needed chance to forget the forest and see only trees. Taking insignificant things (a sea lion barking, a wave lapping, lights in the distance) and letting them, for a moment, be all that there is. Call it existential if you’d like. It’s a sort of primordial joy in simply existing, free of all context. Or to take a cue from Joanna Newsom,
We could stand for a century
Staring
With our heads cocked in the broad daylight
At this thing:
Joy,
Landlocked in bodies that don’t keep
Dumbstruck with the sweetness of being
Til we don’t be
It’s a feeling I don’t get often enough, but one I would love to replicate. That sense of feeling “dumbstruck with the sweetness of being.” It comes to me most often as a strictly emotional response — but why is it limited to that? What if I could experience it sitting in a lecture hall, or slouching home after another all-nighter? Not as a response to my surroundings, but as an affirmation of an obvious truth. In a universe which is mostly comprised of the lifeless and the deterministic, being is an astonishing thing. And it persists in all circumstances. Taking it as the sole meaning of life makes for an insane philosophy. But ignoring it completely makes for a jaded worldview. I don’t know where I’ll be a year from now; but thank God that I’ll be a year from now. For the moment, that should be enough.
When I started my New Year’s post, I meant to do two obvious things: take stock of 2009, and set goals for 2010. By the time I was done listing the interesting events of 2009, I was so bored of my own writing, I fell asleep. New Years resolutions almost always fail, because (to steal from How I Met Your Mother), they hold Future Stephen in far too high esteem. I’m guessing Future Stephen will be about as lazy and noncommittal as I am, so I wouldn’t want to throw him under the bus like that. This year I’m trying for a more realistic approach. Here is a short summary:
Pretty Realistic Goals for 2010
Exercise at least 3 times a week, every week. No, it’s certainly not a groundbreaking goal, but what’s the point in setting a goal you don’t think you can keep? I’m convinced this is worthwhile. Exercise keeps me focused and less likely to curl up in the fetal position eating Cheetos. Case in point: it was around midnight, the night before my two last (and most difficult) finals of the semester. My first (Quantum Mechanics) was at 8 a.m. I had been cramming all day, and couldn’t focus anymore. So I got up, put on shorts, and ran a mile. Mind: cleared, and I attribute my A to that.
Cut Caffeine. Not quit entirely, just cut back as much as possible. When I’m busy, I ingest huge amounts of caffeine, and feel like I can’t get through the day without it. Since I already have trouble sleeping and excess adrenaline has caused panic attacks, taking a stimulant just seems like a bad idea to me. The goal: drink at most 3 caffeinated beverages a week, and only if it’s explicitly to keep me awake. If I just want a cup of coffee for its own sake, I’ll go decaf. Long drives are, of course, exceptions.
Read the Bible regularly. I’m not necessarily talking about a strict daily regimen; just more regularly than I have been. I have a tendency to praise physical activity without actually committing to it, and a similar tendency to be “open” about my faith without attending to it on a private level. This year I hope to change both.
Make at least one very good friend in Berkeley who shares my beliefs. I’m certainly not making belief any criteria for friendship: if anything, I relate much better to the skeptical than the devoted. It comes more naturally to me. That’s why my goal is such a weak one: just one person to keep my social chameleon tendencies in check.
Meet all of my professors. Berkeley is a cool place, and most of my professors are cool people. It’s a shame that I waste it by never going to office hours, attending discussion, or even asking questions. This year I’ll try to change that.
Force myself into a public speaking situation. Speaking in front of a crowd is my biggest weakness, hands down. I can ace an exam or write a decent essay, but if you ask me to give a 5 minute presentation in front of a class I’ll clam up. This isn’t me being self-deprecating. I am absolutely the worst public speaker I know, the reason being that I never have to do it; whenever it comes up, I do everything in my power to avoid it. This year I’ll force myself to take at least one big risk, and go in front of a large group of people to speak. Hopefully that won’t be in front of a crowd of engineers at a conference in Anchorage; but if it comes to that, I won’t refuse.
Sounds reasonable, right? Glad that’s over with. Now onto business.
Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger
Stephen Colbert has a popular segment on his show called Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger. In it, he spotlights a few people who are doing “good” or “bad” things (at least, according to his ultra-conservative persona.) Since my job has me surrounded in Christian literature, I’ve been exposed to quite a few prominent Christian figures the past few days. And I’ve got some strong opinions on them. So here’s are a few Tips of the Hat and Wags of the Finger, from someone who is in no way worthy of spouting his opinions about other people. They are all related to what is one of my main issues with Christianity: how belief is presented to others, and how we interact with those who disagree.
A Tip of the Hat to: Craig Gross, founder of xxxchurch.com
I remember hearing about xxxchurch.com way back in 8th grade. They had a program, called X3Watch, which was meant to help people stop watching pornography, if they so chose. You’d install the program, let it run in the background, and it would monitor what sites you visited. Rather than blocking anything (like those terrible parental-control programs that block you from message boards and google image searches), it would simply send a list of possibly-questionable sites you visited to an e-mail address of your choosing. I thought it was an okay, if annoyingly buggy, program, and wondered why the site was called “The #1 Christian Porn Site.” I read their mission statement, took a look at the preacher with his indie hair and graphic tees, and wrote it off as just another example of a church embracing hipsterdom, selling their souls for fake street cred and shock value. I never went back.
The other day I was uploading publishing information for a book called Jesus Loves You…This I Know by Craig Gross and Josh Harper. The chapter titles were very straightforward descriptions of who Jesus loves: “Jesus Loves the Broken”, “Jesus Loves Skeptics”, etc. But one title caught my eye: “Jesus Loves Porn Stars”. People who remorsefully watch porn is one thing the church is willing to talk about. But people who star in it? How would this book handle people who choose to have sex on camera for money, when even acknowledging their existence is considered uncouth? I expected the run of the mill “everyone makes mistakes, and even if you were a porn star at one point in your life, you are forgiven” altar call message. In other words, “Jesus Loves Ex-Porn Stars”, dancing around the actual issue as we love to do with often empty phrases like “Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin.” It’s always about forgiving people for their past or uncharacteristic actions: but what about their present, unapologetic lifestyles?
Instead, the chapter was about Gross’ experiences with XXXChurch. The story was one I’d heard before, but I’d never considered the gravity of it. They began their ministry by setting up booths at annual Adult Film conventions, handing out Bibles that say “Jesus Loves Porn Stars.” (Porn conventions being places where actual porn, and porn stars, are present — in other words, a place where virtually no pastor would dare to be seen.) And they don’t do it patronizingly, or while shouting fire and brimstone messages. Gross went on to describe his own friendship with Ron Jeremy, the Porn King; how Ron volunteered to do a promotion for his ministry, how he has invited him into his home to meet his family, and how they toured together in the same bus hosting college debates on the merits of pornography.
Meanwhile, Craig Gross is unflinching in his condemnation of the porn industry. He sees it as degrading to women, deceptive to men, and painful for most of those involved in the production and consumption. And he gives that message very often. But while he stands against the industry, he loves the people in it. Online you can see videos of what his team does: one of the most astounding, to me, was their Extreme Brothel Makeover. They went to a brothel in Nevada which was extremely run down, and renovated it. Not the work rooms, of course. But the living rooms: where the girls who work as prostitutes sleep and eat. They put in new beds, repainted the walls, updated the plumbing, renovated the bathroom, carpeted the floor — everything you’d expect of the Ty Pennington and his cheesy crew, but at a brothel. Not on the condition that the women quit their jobs, or with pity and indignation. Just a genuine care for their well-being, a few books on the shelf to let them know about the ministry, and a message of love.
How much hell must they have gotten for that? For a pastor to go to a place where prostitutes live, and better their lives without first demanding that they leave? Even I was a bit thrown off at first. I wanted to agree with the critics, who argued that making their living conditions easier was equivalent to encouraging prostitution, and likewise that befriending porn stars was an endorsement of their work. Much like I want to agree with the idea that feeding the homeless encourages them to remain unemployed. Because it has a slight point, and more importantly, it justifies apathy. But in the end, it’s about the message you want to present. And to me, putting your reputation on the line to show love for people most of the world wouldn’t look in the eye is a powerful message.
A Wag of the Finger to: Craig Gross, founder of The Strip Church
Yes, this is the same Craig Gross I just tipped my hat to. Why the sudden change of heart?
A year or two ago, Gross announced that he would be starting a church on the Las Vegas Strip. Of course, it wouldn’t be your “typical church.” Like Vegas itself, it would be flashy. On the official site, it describes the vision as follows:
“Part variety, part comedy, extremely entertaining and a slice of spirituality is how Craig Gross, Founder and Pastor of The Strip Church, describes his idea for the Strip Church show. It will not be a service…it will be a show.”
The show includes Vegas performers, standup comedians, free drinks, transport to and from various casinos, and a marriage chapel on wheels. And, of course, a $10 admission price.
While I understand what the pastor is trying to do, I can’t stress enough how damaging an idea this could be. Flamboyancy in outreach is one thing, and even when XXXChurch uses a 30-foot inflatable penis (if you don’t want to see a 30-foot inflatable penis, you might not want to click that) to get attention at the conventions they attend, I think it’s hilarious. Goofy gimmicks are fine when they’re presented as such — it’s the organization showing that it isn’t afraid to relate to the culture, in a setting where no one present would be offended. But when you start calling yourself a church, within those walls you’re supposed to be offering something substantial. While gimmicks may be necessary to get noticed on the outside strip, they have no place inside the church. It reduces Christianity to a series of jokes, and gives an air of flippancy. Craig is in a unique position in the area, having gained respect for his sincerity. What do you do in that situation? Present something sincere. The world doesn’t need another portrayal of Christianity as a fun social venue, any more than it needs another stern Puritanical prison. It needs something real. While the Strip Church may turn out to offer that, it certainly isn’t branding itself well.
Tip of the Hat to: Timothy Keller, author of The Reason for God
As I’ve written about a few times, I have a lot of problems with most books claiming to be about Apologetics (defending Christianity from an intellectual point of view). It’s for the same reason I can’t stand when people use science (global warming, for instance) for political purposes: when you’ve got an agenda to push, everyone’s an expert and objectivity goes out the window. It’s difficult to take an honest look at the issues when you’ve got a vested interest in one side — especially when the issue at hand is the eternal destiny of your readers.
After a mild rant against Lee Strobel, a friend recommended I pick up Keller’s book. I recently did, and so far am very glad to have done so. Here are a few quotes from the introduction.
“There is a great gulf today between what is popularly known as liberalism and conservatism. Each side demands that you not only disagree with but disdain the other as (at best) crazy or (at worst) evil. This is particularly true when religion is the point at issue.”
“Believers should acknowledge and wrestle with doubts — not only their own but their friends’ and neighbors’. It is no longer sufficient to hold beliefs just because you inherited them. Only if you struggle long and hard with objections to your faith will you be able to provide grounds for your beliefs to skeptics, including yourself, that are plausible rather than ridiculous or offensive. And, just as important for our current situation, such a process will lead you, even after you come to a position of strong faith, to respect and understand those who doubt.”
“I commend two processes to my readers. I urge skeptics to wrestle with the unexamined ‘blind faith’ on which skepticism is based, and to see how hard it is to justify those beliefs to those who do not share them. I also urge believers to wrestle with their personal and culture’s objections to the faith. At the end of each process, even if you remain the skeptic or believer you have been, you will hold your own position with both greater clarity and greater humility. Then there will be an understanding, sympathy, and respect for the other side that did not exist before. Believers and nonbelievers will rise to the level of disagreement rather than simply denouncing one another. This happens when each side has learned to represent the other’s arguments in its strongest and most positive form. Only then is it safe and fair to disagree with it. That achieves civility in a pluralistic society, which is no small thing.”
Needless to say, I believe that mindset is necessary for meaningful discourse on any issue, let alone faith. Having not yet finished the book, I can’t say whether or not Keller succeeded in what he set out to do. But I have a great deal of respect for a pastor who can make a statement like that, and sincerely hope it is an indication of good things to come.
Wag of the Finger to: Kirk Cameron and Ray Comfort, Authors of Conquer Your Fears, Share Your Faith
Immediately after working on the aformentioned Jesus Loves You…This I Know, I popped Cameron and Comfort’s book into my CD drive. I saw a chapter titled “Speaking with Intellectuals.” Being familiar with Ray Comfort’s brand of evangelism, I knew this couldn’t end well. I hit play, and Kirk Cameron’s angelic voice began.
“Say that you are sitting on an airplane, and you finally get up courage to speak to the man sitting next to you. As he sips his coffee, you say, “Hey Brian, I have a question for you. What do you think happens after someone dies?” Brian finishes the last gulp of his coffee, thinks for a minute, and says…”nothing.” You say, “nothing?” He smiles condescendingly and says, “I am an atheist.”
Now you are the one who gulps, and you are not finishing anything but your desire to end this conversation. This man is obviously an intellectual: he’s a thinker. He probably has a university degree! What do you say now?
Here’s what you need to do: stop thinking that Brian is an intellectual. That’s just not true. There is a possibility that he has a high IQ, but he is not a deep thinker. He’s a fool, according to the Bible. He is very shallow in his thoughts. He is of the same mentality as a man who believes that no one made the airplane you are both sitting on — the seats, the wings, the lighting, the sound system, the onboard television and radio, the engines, the carpet, the intricate wiring — all of these things happened by accident. There was nothing, then came a big bang, then, in time, an airplane appeared…from nothing.
Such thoughts are bordering on insanity, or are at most thoughts from the mind of a simpleton. So why do we insist on believing that atheists are intellecual? “
What’s the trick to dealing with intellectuals? Simple: just remember how stupid they are. They’re insane! Just look at them, condescendingly sipping their black coffee, smoking their cigars, and saying smarmy things like “ergo”. They think this whole airplane came out of thin air! What will those lunatics think up next?! Now hurry up, and set the record straight for the poor shallow-minded simpleton. Begin by telling him about the Triune God who came to earth as a man over 2000 years ago, died, and resurrected from the dead. Speak slowly: I’m sure he’ll be taking notes.
The point is, it’s ridiculous to treat people like that. Caricatures are always the easy way out. Even if it were correct that atheism could be defeated by pointing out how complicated the airplane you’re sitting in is, convincing yourself that you’re talking to an idiot will get you nowhere. You’re talking to a person who has genuine reasons for unbelief, and it’s silly and rude to paint it as anything less.
——-
That’s it for today’s edition of Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger. Comment if you disagree. Or agree. Just comment…I’m getting lonely here.
There are plenty of complex stances on the Mind/Body problem. We give them names like “Reductionism”, “Epiphenomenalism”, “Cartesian Dualism”, etc. The distinctions are vague, and the literature (not the fun stuff by Douglas Hofstadter, but the real philosophy) is virtually unreadable. But what it really comes down to is one, fundamental question, which many thinkers in the field have posed: would you teleport?
Don’t let the Sci-Fi speak terrify you. It does have a point.
We think of teleportation as some mystical thing seen in Star Trek, but it’s really not so far off. It’s based on the same idea which powers telephones, fax machines, and the internet: things move slowly, but data moves very quickly. If I have a piece of paper in Berkeley which you need in Japan, there are only a few options. Either I physically mail it to you, or I fax it — or, to be a bit more modern, I scan it, convert it to a PDF, and e-mail it. One requires a 15-hour plane ride; the other takes two minutes. Why? Because the actual ink and paper, with mass and volume, takes time to transport. But you already have ink and paper — that’s not what you’re after. What you need is what’s on the paper, which the ink only conveys — the information. And information travels at the speed of light.
The idea transcends technology. It’s pouring rain in Berkeley right now, and all I want is a bowl of my mom’s signature tomato bisque. (Okay, that’s a lie. My mom doesn’t have a signature tomato bisque. But if she did, I’d definitely want a bowl of it right now.) If what I’m asking for is a bowl of soup which has been prepared by my mom using the exact basil that is currently sitting in her cabinet, I’m out of luck. But that’s not really what I want, is it? I’m not craving that particular tomato which only she has access to: my ingredients are adequate substitutes. What I’m asking for is the proper ratio and preparation — the recipe. And that information can be shared with a phone call.
Now, no one would say I’m actually eating my mom’s homemade soup, just like no one would say that the faxed paper is the original. Your paper looks a bit shinier than mine, the ink is a little more gray than black, and a forensic scientist certainly won’t find my DNA on your copy. That’s because the paper itself wasn’t sent; only a low resolution approximation of what was written on it. But what if that weren’t the case? What if instead of sending a snapshot of one face of the paper, I sent you a complete description of the entire object? The state of every electron and every quark would be meticulously recorded, sent as data, and reconstructed on your end. Here the raw materials aren’t only similar; they’re identical. In fact, according to Quantum Mechanics it doesn’t even make sense to refer to “this” electron as opposed to “that” one. If I swapped each particle in that paper with an entirely new one, not only would there be no discernible difference; theoretically speaking, I did nothing. “This” electron is “that” one, just in a different place.
Suppose I “send” the paper to you in this way — and, to make things simpler, assume my original copy is destroyed in the transaction. What you have in your hands now looks exactly like my paper. It has my fingerprints on it. You can still feel the heat from where I gripped it. It smells like the signature tomato bisque I was drinking when I sent it. The bottom left corner was crumpled when I put it in, and you can smooth it back out. In every respect, that is my paper you are holding; the one, unique copy, with its entire history in tact. That’s teleportation.
At first it seems ludicrous to say that what you are holding is the same thing that I fed into my machine. After all, the matter didn’t go anywhere: my paper was destroyed, and you only got a copy of it. But unlike any copy machine currently in existence, this created a perfect copy. We can object that it’s made up of different particles, but as was mentioned above, there’s no such thing as “different particles.” Just different states for a particle to be in. The pattern is everything, and that pattern was perfectly preserved.
So here comes the philosophical question: what would happen if a person stepped into this machine? His entire physical makeup would be stored as data, transmitted, and rebuilt somewhere new. Not just his outward appearance — everything, including his brain. Including the collection of neurons which were firing when he stepped into the machine, signifying the thought “I wonder what will happen to me when I step into this machine.” Every memory would be preserved. The man on the other side would recall that exact thought, breathe a sigh of relief, and conclude “Turns out I was fine.” But was he?
Hofstadter is a big proponent of the "People as Patterns" idea.
If we are entirely physical, the answer seems to be “yes”. A human being is a collection of particles arranged in a certain way, and the person would have moved from Point A to Point B completely unscathed. After all, when you talk to someone one on the phone and say “It’s good to hear your voice,” you don’t care that the air molecules carrying the sound aren’t the same. The voice is found in the pattern, not the medium, and in the same way a person must be found in the pattern, not the (identical) raw materials. Whatever there was to this person, it was transmitted. He had nothing to fear by stepping into that machine: his identity went with him.
But this begs the question: what if the machine didn’t destroy the original person? After all, destruction was hardly necessary to the mechanism. It was added in for convenience. So suppose we decided to turn off that feature. Suddenly, there are two people, identical except for their location and present thoughts. One is thinking, “Turns out I was fine,” and the other is thinking “Why didn’t I go anywhere?” Which is real? Or maybe it doesn’t make sense to ask a materialist which person is the “real” one, so let’s make it more personal. Suppose this happened to you; the “you” that clearly exists, the one which thinks thoughts and feels emotions, which is currently reading this. Where would you wind up? Either way, there’s a problem. If “you” stayed behind, that means “you” would have died had the machine been operational, and it was wrong to think “you” would have been preserved. But if you didn’t stay behind, who did? And why didn’t you?
Even if we are not purely physical beings (which, as a Christian, I strongly believe), it’s an interesting question. Maybe even moreso. After all, the argument can go both ways. If I am not solely physical, it stands to reason that a purely physical copy of me would not be enough — it wouldn’t contain the essence of “me”. But on the other hand, why would this current one contain that? Why am I, a spiritual being, intrinsically bound to the collection of particles which were destroyed at Point A, but not to the identical ones at Point B? How fragile am I, that swapping a few particles (in this case all of them) would destroy me? It’s an odd twist. If we are purely physical, what there “is” to us can be represented as data, which is an immaterial substance. If we are not physical, that is impossible: and since no one can explain why we are what we are, we’re physically “stuck.” And then the question becomes, what am I stuck to and why am I stuck to it? It’s commonly known that our cells are destroyed and regenerated: after a lifetime, you and I will be composed of entirely different atoms than we were when we started. So why are “we” still there?
A diagram of the twin paradox, by someone who is not me.
One amazing thing about the universe is its ability to keep these things hidden. Take special relativity. If I were in a spaceship traveling at a speed proportional to the speed of light, Einstein’s theory predicts some crazy effects. From your perspective I am travelling very quickly, and you would experience time normally while I, oddly enough, lived in slow motion. But from my perspective, the rocket ship is in place and you and the earth are moving quickly in the opposite direction: I will experience time normally, and you will be moving in slow motion. This seems to be a huge paradox. Both of us can ‘t be right. But when you work the math out, the results are astounding. Even though we are both experiencing time differently, we have no way of communicating with each other except via information, which travels at the speed of light. And, as it works out, in the exact time it takes me to contact you (or vice versa) the discrepancy will be perfectly resolved. We will never be confronted with a paradox.
Similarly, we suspect that faster-than-light travel would cause us to move backwards through time. Plenty of paradoxes have been conjured up: for instance, what if I went back in time and killed the creator of time machines? Or kept myself from ever being born? In Back to the Future you cutely become transparent and fade out of your family photos — but how on earth could it be resolved in real life? Fortunately, we don’t have to know. Physics says that as we approach the speed of light, we become more and more massive, thus requiring more and more force to speed us up. In order to reach it, we would require an infinite amount of force, and be infinitely massive. In other words, it is impossible.
Back to the teleportation problem: while Quantum Mechanics implies that two particles in the same state are indistinguishable, there is a similar caveat: the act of measuring a particle immediately affects which state it is in. Thanks to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. In other words, creating a perfect copy of something is impossible. The moment you’ve looked at it, you’ve altered it. With that in mind, you can’t possibly capture all that there is to know about something, can’t convert it to data, and certainly can’t recreate it. Once again, the universe hides its paradoxes from view.
As I study things like this, I can’t help but develop a spiritual take on it. Not on teleportation in particular — like most interesting philosophical questions, it has little real world application. But this recurring idea of paradoxes which arise from our current understanding of the universe, but come with features which safeguard us from ever needing to resolve them. Of a universe which insists on keeping its mystery. It’s like God saying, “Look at this. You’ll never exhaust it all, but by all means keep looking.” A sobering reminder that for all mankind has discovered, the mysteries only go deeper.
That doesn’t keep us from searching: new discoveries are constantly being made, and more often than not they improve the quality of life. I think learning more about the universe is a worthwhile venture. But if we try to turn science into a search for some ultimate truth, we’re destined to fail. Centuries ago we didn’t know why some objects bounced and others hit against an obstacle with a dull thud. We now know why they do that, but we also know some particles can, on occasion, tunnel through an obstacle altogether. We didn’t used to know that light was comprised of photons: now we know, but also know that these photons set a bizarre “speed limit” on the universe, at which point time and space break down. We didn’t used to know what materials our bodies were made of: now we know, but we are struck with the truth that the materials are simply not enough. We solve one mystery, only to discover a more bizarre one.
With that in mind, I don’t put a lot of importance on this sort of thought experiment. I’m certainly not troubled by issues like the Mind/Body problem: the only people who are, I’d imagine, are those who think they can answer it with scientific rigor. I’ve happily succumbed to the fact that I will never know the answers in my lifetime, nor should I try to. But for what it’s worth, I would never teleport.
The Sunset Tree is an autobiographical album by The Mountain Goats, detailing singer/songwriter John Darnielle’s life with an abusive stepfather. The whole album carries with it strange mixture of anger and fondness. In the midst of songs about personal tragedy and the growing love/hate relationship between John and his stepfather, is one which contains no narrative at all: the penultimate song, “Love, Love, Love.”
King Saul fell on his sword
When it all went wrong
And Joseph’s brother sold him down the river
For a song
And Sonny Liston rubbed some tiger balm in his glove
Some things you do for money
And some you do for love, love, love.
Raskolnikov felt sick
But he couldn’t say why
When he saw his face reflected
In his victim’s twinkling eye
Some things you do for money
And some you’ll do for fun
But the things you do for love
Are gonna come back to you one by one
Love, love is gonna lead you by the hand
Into a white and soundless place
Now we see things
As in a mirror dimly
Then we shall see each other
Face to face
And way out in Seattle
Young Kurt Cobain
Snuck out to the greenhouse
Put a bullet in his brain
Snakes in the grass beneath our feet
Rain in the clouds above
Some moments last forever
And some flare out with love, love, love
Beyond the somewhat clichéd reference to Kurt Cobain, the most unsettling thing about this song to me is also the most obvious: none of these things seem to be examples of love. Quite the opposite, actually. Saul fell on his sword out of cowardice, Joseph was sold into slavery out of jealousy, Sonny Liston cheated out of greed, Crime and Punishment‘s Raskolnikov feels sick out of guilt, and Kurt Cobain shot himself out of depression.
What he seems to be getting at is that all of these events can be seen as the actions of misused love. Including the one that goes unspoken — his stepfather’s continual cycle of abuse and remorse. It’s easy to hypothesize about some of them. Saul loved honor, Jacob’s sons loved their father’s attention, Sonny Liston loved power and fame, Raskolnikov loved what he perceived as a plan to better humanity, and Kurt Cobain loved his independence. But what of his stepfather? It’s hard to say what is meant exactly, but I’m almost led to think John would say it was a genuine love for him. Some excess of emotion, perverted by passion, which inflicted more damage than good on its object. In his own words, “We talk about love as this benign, comfortable force: it is wild.”
I’m not sure I agree with that assessment, if it’s really what the song is getting at. It seems a little too pessimistic for my tastes. But regardless, the power of misplaced love is, to me, an interesting idea.
In Magnolia (a great film by P.T. Anderson), there is one line that has always stuck with me. It’s uttered by Donnie Smith; a gay, washed-up gameshow contestant, played by William H. Macy. He was just caught stealing from an ex-employer — trying to get enough money to pay for braces, which he is convinced he needs in order to attract the local bartender. After falling from a ladder and breaking all of his teeth, he laments to the police officer
“I know I did a stupid thing. So stupid! Getting braces. I thought… I thought he would love me. Getting… braces! And for what? For something I don’t even… I don’t know where to put things, you know? I really do have love to give! I just don’t know where to put it!”
As a reasonably straight man with reasonably straight teeth, I can’t say I relate to the character on many levels. But, as hokey as it may sound, there’s a part of me which understands his frustration.
People always ask me if I get lonely living away from home. I usually say “no”; because I don’t, at least in the traditional sense. Loneliness, as I see it, is a need for attention, or strong desire for company, or a craving to be loved. And I feel nothing of the sort. I’ve never enjoyed being in the limelight, value both the time to myself and the company I keep, and have no question that I am extremely loved. Affirmation is always nice, but I rarely need it. When I get off the phone with my mom, she doesn’t usually say “I love you, Stephen.” She says “Have a good night.” And that unspoken love is, to me, more than enough.
Some people need more than that, and for those who do, living 500 miles away from nearly all close friends would certainly be lonely. But I generally don’t feel that way. What I feel, instead, is much harder to define. A bizarre urge to give a dollar to a homeless man in exchange for a fist bump, or to listen to a longwinded story on the phone, or to say “I love you” to a friend who would, doubtlessly, find it odd out of the blue. I feel it when I walk home through the campus at night, and nothing is lit but a handful of scattered windows, 10 stories up. I fuel it with pictures from home, of events which may not have even included me. It manifests itself in hundreds of unsent text messages (most of which say little more than “How are you doing?”) and a flurry of pointless Facebook comments, and it’s absolutely not a lack of love. If anything it’s an awkward excess, with nowhere to put it.
Campus At Night
At home I am deeply bound to people. Often that is exhausting. People demand time, and particularly during this break, a lot of my time has been devoted to my relationships. I grow accustomed to that. Every long conversation, or hour of sleep sacrificed to a movie or cup of coffee, eventually feels like time well spent. Leaving home, I go through a drastic change. 72 hours ago I was eating out for the third time on a full stomach with friends; tonight I’m eating my first meal of the day, three blocks from the lab in which I’ll likely stay till sunrise. And while I love my life and crave virtually nothing up here, there is an odd sense of misuse in all of this. It’s time apportioned almost solely for myself and my future. Busyness with little personal intent. Much is asked of me, but certainly not love.
I can’t quite verbalize it. It’s not a feeling of sadness– if I give off that impression, you dont know me well enough. It always takes a day or two to settle. But meanwhile I’m in a state of awkward transition, as a hectic new semester approaches and the past month flares out with love, love, love.
“Three hours ago, the clock struck midnight. The room erupted in cheers and confetti as we welcomed a New Year. As I sit here now, I reflect on what the year has taught me.”
That — or something equally flowery and stupid — is what I wanted to write last night, when I got home from a New Year’s Eve party. Everyone else would have driven home and passed out, but not me. I would be sitting in my room at 3 in the morning, gently wading in the pool of youth and memory, brooding over change and the passage of time. It’s the stuff of self-absorbed blogging legend!
Instead I stumbled home, spent fifteen minutes throwing up the pound of fudge and chicken wings I inhaled at the party, and went to bed.
Now it’s the much less significant Post-New-Year’s-Eve Eve, disillusionment is in the air, and mediocrity holds sway! Still, I feel like a little reflection is in order. After all, it was an eventful year, and there’s definitely value to looking back. So I’ll try to probe my memory beyond that regrettable fourth plate of chicken wings, and give this “taking stock of the year” thing a shot. Rather than trying to list everything that has happened, I’m going to try to pinpoint a few events which may have been significant: some mark new beginnings for me, some are representative of a broader change in lifestyle, and some were just cool, isolated events. I’ll try and make it roughly chronological.
January 8-10: The Well Winter Retreat
If you had told me on January 7th that this would be a significant experience for me, I would have laughed at you. I had been to the college group at my church (The Well) a handful of times to please a friend, and really didn’t care for it. As reluctant as I may be to admit it, I didn’t just feel a little out of place: I felt embarrassed to be there. Worship songs felt corny, sermons felt contrived, others praying out loud made me painfully awkward, and the differences between myself and every other student seemed irreconcilable. And things would certainly stay that way. While I professed Christianity on an intellectual level, any outward manifestation of it, and any community built on it, felt like a joke to me. It was a crutch for people who didn’t want to face the real world, and it was completely beneath me. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t being “intellectually honest” or “real”; I was being an arrogant douche. I’m embarrassed of the way I scathingly labelled others while keeping up the pretense of friendliness, and regret the way I talked about people — many of whom I am now friends with. I’m very sorry for that, whoever it might concern.
Back to the story: my friend (Steven) convinced me to go on the retreat, but I was less than enthusiastic. I would be spending a three-day weekend in Big Bear with a bunch of strangers. Not to say I didn’t know anyone: I grew up at the church, and was at least acquainted with a few people. But they didn’t know me; they vaguely knew who I had been in high school. Even if I put on a friendly smile, I felt no connection with them. Which is possibly even worse than not knowing someone at all.
I took the early bus up on Friday, but opted out of snowboarding. Instead, I followed Steven and a group of people to IHOP. Then walked around the town of Big Bear. Then went back to the cabins and played a few rounds of Catchphrase. Then joined a group of 10 or 20 people playing Mafia. Before I knew it, I was learning names and joining in random conversations. Not only was I not clinging to my closer friends: I was practically avoiding them, so caught up in meeting new people and having a genuinely good time. I couldn’t explain it, but there was just a sort of rightness to it. Analyze however you want: call it the innate desire to be a “part of something”, or the refreshing feeling of being around new people, or a pathetic need for social acceptance. All I know is whatever it was, I craved it badly. By the end of the weekend, I knew nearly everyone by name.
You know the rest. I made at least 20 new Facebook friends (score!), left for Berkeley days later, and spent an embarrassing time online that semester just hoping I wouldn’t be forgotten. When I came back, people genuinely seemed to remember me, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. From there, it’s history. I now am an active part of The Well, and consider many of the members close friends. Whether or not you understand/share my enthusiasm, there’s no denying this has made a huge impact in how I spend my time. I realize that those of you who are not a part of the church group were caught off guard by this. Devoting time to one group of people means taking time away from another, and I completely understand if that is frustrating. All I can say is I am very happy with all of the new friendships I’ve made, and really hope I haven’t left anyone behind in the process.
March: Started Running
Spurred by the belief that I had heart problems (see below), I decided to take up running — three mornings a week, 2.5 miles a run. At first I was pathetically slow, and needed to take a break every couple blocks. As I persisted, I started being able to make the run without stopping, usually in about 15 minutes. When I came home for the summer and found that running in Escondido just wasn’t as fun, I jumped at the chance to start playing soccer with friends from the college group. I’ve never been a particularly athletic person, and have spent a heroic part of my life sitting down, eating junk food, and staring at a computer screen. I still do those things very often, but more and more, I’m finding that getting out and exercising feels great.
May 22: Diagnosed With a Panic Disorder
Whether you realize it or not, this was huge for me. I’ve talked about it far too many times, so I’ll be brief. Spring semester was full of very weird things; one minute I’d feel like I couldn’t breathe, the next I’d feel like I was having a stroke, and the next a heart attack. Weird, personal, and almost impossible to describe unless you’ve suffered from panic attacks yourself. You know that feeling you get when you fall down in a dream, and wake up with a sensation that can only be described as “falling down without moving”? It’s that sort of experience. Physically unnoticeable, but inwardly jolting. Nothing real is going on — just like you’re not really falling — but the sense of dread, or of the world spiraling out of control, is very real. That would happen off and on and it felt scary and debilitating. After the diagnosis, it more or less vanished. Not literally; I take a very mild SSRI daily, and still get mild panic attacks sometimes. But the mystery is gone, which makes the very occasional symptom (racing heartbeat, vague discomfort) completely manageable. A little annoying, but nothing more. Considering by May I assumed I would fail my classes and either die of a heart attack or become a hermit, that is a very important change. I got a 4.0, my heart is still beating, and am less hermitian than ever — though I still enjoy moments of self-reflection, complex though it may be. (There were about 3 really bad Math jokes hidden in that. Let’s see if you can find them.)
May 22: Started this Blog
You may think the above “new lease on life” event might have had something to do with this, but you’d be wrong. The true catalyst was much less exciting. After an evening of Facebook stalking, I found that two friends (Miles and Paige) had blogs. I recalled that I had been meaning to start one for a while, figured I’d give it a shot, and wrote this.
Overall, I’m pretty happy with the result. Reading through my first post, it feels like I’ve stayed more or less true to my initial goal, and I’m glad to know that at least a few “you”s chose to read after all. I’ve posted a slightly neurotic 54 times, and doubt I’ll be stopping any time soon. But even if I were to stop now, it really wouldn’t matter. Writing out my thoughts has been a good way to organize them, and overall I feel like a much more focused and consistent person than I was a year ago. Even if no one read it but me, it would have been worthwhile.
May 23: Turned 20
I like being 20 much better than 19. It has a much more mature ring to it. I think I also played softball that day.
June 11-14: Went to New Jersey
In 2009 my grandparents celebrated their 50th anniversary. We flew to New Jersey to surprise them; yet another example of a weekend-long trip which ended up being very nice, despite my expectations. I got to spend some quality time with cousins — people I don’t get to see often, since they live on the wrong side of the country. More importantly, though, I got to fulfill my Food Network-inspired dream of eating cheesesteaks at both Pat’s and Gino’s. Within 20 minutes of each other, no less. You just can’t put a price on that.
July 2: Accepted to the Honors Program at Berkeley
That was a shocker — the first in a steady stream of undeserved opportunities the year brought my way. In the middle of finals week, I got an e-mail inviting all eligible students to apply for the “highly esteemed” EECS (Electrical Engineering and Computer Science, my major) Honors Program. It stressed that students who were accepted must have shown a high level of interest, both curricular and extracurricular, in the field. Involvement in student groups, enrollment in honors-level courses, and research opportunities would all be taken into consideration. I had done…none of that. Still, I figured I’d apply; so, on the eve of my last final, I threw together an “academic plan”, an essay explaining how I had proven myself, and another telling how my honors area of interest (Quantum Mechanics) was relevant to my major. The academic plan was a poor sketch at best, the gist of the first essay was “I haven’t proven myself yet, but I’d like to”, and my reasoning for choosing QM was about as vague as my blog introduction.
But somehow I got in. What it means for me: heavier course load, minimum GPA of 3.7, and a slightly cooler degree. And, of course, the requirement that I do undergraduate research. Which leads me to…
July 17: Got Invited to do Robotics Research
I still remember how shocked I was when I got that e-mail. It was about 11:00 on a Thursday evening, and I had just gotten back from the beach (exactly the same way I found the honors acceptance letter). I knew I needed to find a professor to do research under to fulfill the honors requirement, and wasn’t sure how I would make that happen. Turns out I didn’t do anything: the professor saw that I had done well in my AI class, and decided to invite me to join his research group. I was thrilled: he had presented his work with automated machine learning in one of my classes before, and I was blown away. Throw in the convenient fact that one of my better friends in Berkeley also turned out to be doing work for him, and I was thrilled. He asked if I’d like to be on his surgical robotics team, and knowing that was the team my friend was working in, I gladly accepted.
Since I came on board I’ve worked insane hours, spent countless nights in the lab rerunning experiments and debugging terrible code, and put a good deal of my own ideas into practice. My schedule revolved around research, and schoolwork took a firm backseat. It felt reckless to detract so much time from my studies, and I really wondered if I could handle it all.
Yesterday, I found out our research paper was accepted to ICRA — our professor’s top choice of venues. This means one of us (my stage fright is begging that it’s not me) will be presenting our work at the conference in Anchorage in May, and our paper will be published and distributed there. Then I checked my grades, and found that rather than getting the C I expected, I somehow got an A in Quantum Mechanics, and a 4.0 for the semester. While my luck will run out eventually, for now it looks like reckless is working just fine.
August 2 – Rapped at Taco Bell
Not even remotely significant. But boy, without that second “p”, wouldn’t that be a story to tell? Here’s the video.
August 22: Spent My First Night Alone in My Apartment
From birth through senior year of high school, I’ve shared a room with my twin brother. Freshman year of college, I shared a room with one guy, in a suite with two more. First semester of Sophomore year, I roomed with friend-since-kindergarten Dylan. Second semester, friend-since-3rd-grade Matt moved up with us. Junior year, I’m living alone.
I was upset to learn that I would be alone, and to some extent, I’d still love to have a roommate. But I’ve also learned to enjoy having my own place, and the freedom which comes with it. It’s peaceful, and lends itself well to my current, busy schedule. As a kid I had a distinct fear of ever living alone (a distant cousin of my fear of the dark). Now, I can easily see myself living the bachelor life for quite some time. I can cook, do the dishes, do the laundry. Even clean! In theory, anyway.
August 27: Decided to Stop Drinking
This decision in particular wasn’t too important. While I had the occasional drink, it wasn’t very common — deciding to wait till I was 21 was all but drastic.
What is important to me, and the reason I include this on the list, is that it was one of the first times in quite a while that I was convicted to stop something. In the past 5 or 6 years, I had changed quite a bit; but almost always, the change meant abandoning or at least rethinking a long-held conviction. As a Junior Higher I wanted to date without kissing — by the time I was in college, as long as I wasn’t having sex I felt like a saint. As a Junior Higher, the idea of my parents drinking a beer was horrifying — in college, there was a beer bong in my roommate’s closet. As a Junior Higher, I probably would have stopped being your friend if I knew you smoked cigarettes — in High School, I felt pretty hip sneaking the occasional cigar. As a Junior Higher, I would watch a movie if it was PG-13 and had no sexual content. The night before I left for my first year at Berkeley, I was at the midnight premier of Superbad.
Not all of those convictions were necessary, and losing them wasn’t always wrong; but there was a clear trend. Every decision meant abandoning some previous standard, attributing it to “growing up”. This time, I was avoiding something readily available, which no one was criticizing me for, solely because it didn’t feel right. The bottle of Stone IPA is still in my fridge from August 27, 2009, and I plan on opening it on May 23, 2010.
November 25: Got Ten Grand
Continuing the trend of “great, undeserved things happening to Stephen”, I was awarded a grant for $10,000 for “Excellence in Computer Science”, funded by a private donor. Never applied, no idea who nominated me, not asking questions. I’ll just take the year of tuition and run! But like a lot of surprises this year, I can’t help but see it as a sign that my life is headed in the right direction.
A part of me wants to have the same conversation I always have. It’s the one where you say “It just doesn’t have the spark it used to, does it?” Then I say “Yeah, I know what you mean. When I was a kid I would get so excited about Christmas, weeks in advance. Now it’s Christmas Eve, and I still don’t feel that excitement. What happened to us?” But I’ve had it too many times, and to be honest, it’s getting a little old. We know exactly what happened to us: we grew up.
The holidays have always been about filling a void. As a kid, I lacked nothing. So, the void was small; it was filled by a toy, or a guitar pedal, or a day off of school and a belly full of chocolate. But as a slightly older kid living away from home, I have slightly more complex feelings: loneliness, homesickness, stress, monotony, exhaustion. Small voids are fleeting: they come and go, and are satisfied with a spark. Large voids linger, and are filled with a slow, pleasant burn.
I used to value stuff. Now I have stuff, and value home. And unlike stuff, home has absolutely nothing to do with the morning of December 25th. So I sit here on Christmas Eve, feeling no excitement, but plenty of warmth. It’s quiet and peaceful and blurry and dim, and has something to do with the clink of a coffee mug being set on a glass table, the periodic flap of an opening doggy door, and the faint sound of my dad snoring. It has more to do with the comfortable silliness of watching a movie I’ve seen a thousand times than the excitement of what comes tomorrow, and more to do with wrapping the biography of Paul Dirac I just bought for my dad than opening whatever he got me. Things have certainly changed; but what was gained is certainly better than whatever was lost.
Still, peace and quiet lend themselves to certain emotions, and tonight is no exception. I’m in a melancholy mood, and feel like listening to melancholy music. If you’re anything like me, maybe you’ll want to too. Here are two songs. Rather than dealing with the hassle of Mediafire or Rapidshare, I figured I’d just embed YouTube videos which play the audio in the background. Enjoy.
Sufjan Stevens – That Was The Worst Christmas Ever!
I’m not always the hugest Sufjan fan. Sometimes I really like him, but other times — particularly when he’s got a choir and repetitive instruments behind him — it gets old really quickly. This doesn’t, to me. It’s just Sufjan with a banjo and quiet female harmony; in short, everything there is to like about him.
Going outside
Shoveling snow in the driveway, driveway
Taking our shoes
Riding a sled down the hillside, hillside
Can you say what you want?
Can you say what you want to be?
Can you be what you want?
Can you be what you want?
Our father yells
Throwing gifts in the wood stove, wood stove
My sister runs away
Taking her books to the schoolyard, schoolyard
In time the snow will rise
In time the snow will rise
In time the Lord will rise
In time the Lord will rise
Silent night
Holy night
Silent night
Nothing feels right
Pedro the Lion – God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
I hadn’t listened to this song in ages, till tonight. It’s a lesser-known one, off of one of his annual 7-inch Christmas vinyls which only a fanboy like me would own. Although I am neither sipping Christmas whiskey nor wondering if I still believe, the last line somehow resonates with me quite a bit tonight.
God rest ye merry gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember Christ our saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan’s power
When we were gone astray
Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
After Thanksgiving our folks
Unpacked the manger scene
With Mary, Joseph, Shepherds,
Three kings on bended knee
But left the manger empty
‘Til we slept on Christmas Eve
Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
And now my wife and children dream
Of gifts beneath the tree
While I place in the manger
Baby Jesus figurine
Sipping Christmas whiskey
Wondering if I still believe
Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
—
Now, like every year, I feel a sore throat coming on. I’m guessing that’s my cue to go to bed. Merry Christmas, everyone.
Stephen: Oh, I was just about to bring up the whole “They’re taking Christ out of Christmas” conversation we Christians love to have this time of year. Seriously, I’ve heard it at least ten times since I’ve come home, and it’s only been twenty-four hours.
Stephen: It’s really not a big deal.
Stephen: But it’s so like us, isn’t it? To take some harmless gesture, like someone saying “Happy Holidays” at the grocery store, and use it to feed our persecution complex? People are getting worked up over nothing. We celebrate Christmas, sing Christmas carols, put up a Christmas tree, watch “A Christmas Story”, open Christmas presents…the word is not going anywhere. The only problem people have is that “Happy Holidays” acknowledges that other holidays are also occurring this season: Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, New Years, etc. I hear friends say “When people say ‘Happy Holidays’ to me, I say ‘yes, Merry CHRISTMAS!’ I’m not ashamed!” Isn’t that a little rude, to get in someone’s face for no reason? So what if the person at the grocery store is making a blanket statement about good cheer, instead of assuming you celebrate Christmas? We call it “politically correct”, but why is that a bad thing? What’s wrong with being mindful and courteous of others?
Stephen: Yeah, I guess…
Stephen: You don’t sound too enthusiastic.
Stephen: I don’t know, it just seems like you’re picking others apart too much. So your mom made some clichéd Facebook status about not saying “Happy Holidays”. She has only good intentions. Why do you need to be so critical? Aren’t you guilty of the same thing you’re criticizing them about? Getting worked up over nothing?
Stephen: I was just making a point…
Stephen: No, you’re just looking for something to get upset about. That seems to be all you do these days, and I for one am getting a little sick of it. Just because you have a blog, you think you have license to rant about any little thing you don’t like? It doesn’t feel right. Did you have anything else in mind?
Stephen: Well, I was also thinking about patriotism. In particular, I’ve seen this battle going on between two groups on Facebook. One is “Soldiers Aren’t Heroes”, which is a group of people trying to protest the hero worship of soldiers in Iraq. They say that while many soldiers may act heroically, merely putting on a uniform isn’t enough to warrant the term “hero”, especially when it means choosing to serve in a war which half the nation thinks is about oil.
Stephen: That couldn’t have gone over well…
Stephen: Which leads me to the second group: “A Petition to Ban the Soldiers Aren’t Heroes Group from Facebook.” Many, many more people are members of this group, or ones like it. And if you read the things people write on it, it’s really disgusting. “Those liberal faggots can burn in hell!” “Anyone who denies that every single soldier is a hero deserves the death penalty.” “If I saw the creator of that group on the street, I would shoot him in the face! America doesn’t need people like that!” The irony is insane. People claiming to be all about freedom are talking about shutting down a group because it makes negative claims about soldiers…and then threatening to shoot them?! Even if I think the group is in poor taste, they raise a valid point at least: we throw the word “hero” around so much, it loses all meaning. Like Anne Frank. We read her diary and call her a hero, but why? Because she was the victim of a tragedy? What heroic act did she do, aside from keeping a diary?
Stephen: Again, it’s just a nice sentiment. Same thing with the soldiers. You can argue all you want about the ethics of warfare, but at the end of the day, good families are losing loved ones. If you met a grieving mother, would you tell her you’re not positive her son was a hero? Of course not! You’d want to console her, show your support, tell her that her son wasn’t lost in vain, that he died heroically. It’s the loving thing to do. Maybe he was just in it for the power and worship, but maybe he was one of the millions who genuinely want to protect their country. Who are you to judge the heart of a person?
Stephen: I’m not necessarily agreeing with the first group. I’m just pointing out how quickly people seem to demonize anyone who even tries to start a discussion.
Stephen: You’re taking the impassioned rage of a person who is genuinely worried about a loved one serving overseas, and trying to poke holes through it. It’s like correcting someone’s grammar in the middle of a eulogy. It’s just cynicism. You think it’s so cool and edgy to make fun of people, or take a few extreme statements to build up an ideology just so you can tear it down. And worst of all, you think there’s something novel about it. No way, the Christian Right has some problems? What a groundbreaking stance to take! You’re so real!
Stephen: Okay, that’s taking it too far. I have some genuine problems with the church, and I think they’re worth expressing. I’ll give you that the “Happy Holidays” rant was a little weak, but the church deserves to be criticized every once in a while. I still love it. I’m still a part of it. I’d just like to see some changes.
Stephen: Maybe so, but you’re not approaching it correctly. Maybe it feels consistent to you, but outwardly you just look two-faced. You go to church, smile, sing worship songs, listen to the pastor’s sermons and take notes, then go out and trash it. Pick apart flaws in the lyrics of the songs. Get all high and mighty because the pastor made a few political comments from the pulpit you didn’t think were appropriate. Listen to Bill Hicks or George Carlin rant about how stupid Christians are, and laugh your head off like it doesn’t apply equally to yourself. It’s ridiculous. For all that talk of integrity, does a single friend up at Berkeley know you’re a Christian? One even brought up faith and the Bible the other day, and you still had nothing to say. That was a great conversation begging to happen, and you just shrugged it off. I would have shared so much more.
Stephen: I know, I have a problem with that. I believe in the Christian faith, but I’m still afraid of the connotations associated with it. People have a lot of legitimate issues with Christianity, and even though I’ve grown quite a bit, I’m still not sure I can answer them. Like the inerrancy of Scripture. I believe in it, and feel convicted of it, but how could I explain that to friend who sees me as an otherwise extremely rational, skeptical person? And if they criticize Christianity for going against science, the best I can say is “Oh, I don’t believe in a strictly literal translation of Genesis. I’m fine with the age of the earth, and even evolution, being exactly as science seems to point towards.” Have I defended anything, or just admitted defeat?
Stephen: It feels like a lost cause to me. There are so many verses which still can’t be reconciled, and so many theological issues with your belief. Evolution requires death, which would mean there was death before the fall. Would God really choose a brutal method like survival of the fittest? How does that mesh with the “Last shall be first and first shall be last” dictum? And what about Adam and Eve? Do you say the earth is 4.5 billion years old, and then through the slow process of evolution, only two humans, Adam and Eve, came into existence? Why would it end there? And how does that put the human race in any special position on earth?
Stephen: Well, I think the concept of God “breathing life” into Adam is important. I don’t know. Even if I accept the possibility of evolution, I don’t think that makes us just over-glorified animals. I like the idea of God breathing life into Adam, as a transition from animal to spiritual; as a way of setting us apart. If evolution is true, it certainly isn’t how anything important — the soul — came into being. That’s why it doesn’t bother me.
Stephen: Still, you haven’t really fleshed out your beliefs. You’d rather say “I have trouble reconciling this with the Biblical account, but I’m open to the possibility” than “I have trouble reconciling the Biblical account with this evidence, but I believe it anyway”. Where does your default faith lie? What does that say about you, as a believer?
Stephen: Look, I don’t know. I’m trying to work through these things like anyone else. Why are you being critical now? I never claimed to be perfect.
Stephen: But you talk like you are. That’s the problem I have with you. I can’t stand a hypocrite. Why would you tear down other people’s beliefs with arguments and snide comments, if you have nothing substantial to replace it with? Just for the sake of inflicting the same doubt that you feel onto everyone around you? Because you’re really not offering anything real. You seem to know what to say in any argument, until someone actually asks what you genuinely believe. Then you hide away behind phrases like “personal conviction” and hope they don’t question further. It’s like you’re afraid to take your arguments to their logical conclusions, because you’re worried you’ll lose something — either your faith, or your delusion of rationality — in the process. Why would you want to put anyone else in that position?
Stephen: I think you’re being a little melodramatic. I may have a few things I’m still unsure of, but overall, my belief is pretty strong. I remember talking to my dad about predestination a few years ago — back in my Calvinist days — and being so frustrated when he’d say “It’s just a mystery.” It seemed like a cop-out at the time. Now I find myself saying the same thing. I don’t know how it all works out, but I can’t put life on hold while I sort through my endless list of questions. It’s reasonable to say “I don’t know” once in a while.
Stephen: Look, the main point I was trying to make wasn’t about faith in particular; just your general outlook. For being so outwardly nice, you have the capacity to be pretty scathing. You’re so quick to form judgements about others, and so slow to edify in the most simple, loving ways. Who cares if sometimes people get swept up in emotion, and say things which aren’t entirely logical? You listened to Notes From the Underground the other night, you know what Dostoevsky was saying: how we try to turn life into a search for some crystal palace of rationality, when sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves is to act on emotion, even if (and precisely because) it goes against reason. It keeps us human.
Stephen: I knew you’d try to tie that in somehow. You can’t get halfway through a book before trying to look sophisticated by quoting it.
Stephen: No, you can’t. I really mean this. People are so much more than rational. They love: and sometimes that leads them to say impassioned things to defend the people they love from what feels like slander. And they feel. Strongly. Maybe when a stranger says “Happy Holidays” and a person responds with a pointed “Merry Christmas”, it’s not about rubbing it in anyone’s face; it’s just about unbridled, infectious joy. If you believe it, you want to share it! When you’re constantly playing devil’s advocate, straining yourself to consider every viewpoint at all times, you lose a lot of joy in the process.
Stephen: True, but what other choice do I have? I can’t help but listen to what people are saying, and when I do, I can’t help but be critical. What, do you expect me to just turn this off at will? To dumb myself down when it’s convenient?
Stephen: No, not dumb yourself down. Just…I don’t know. Let some things go. Live and let live. Take a break once in a while, and actually practice what you preach, or at least commit to what you’re preaching, instead of immediately anticipating some contrary opinion and voicing it without giving a solution, as if you’re immune to criticism as long as you were the first one to mention it. You’ll never win. Overthinking things just turns you into this…this…
Stephen: Schizophrenic. I know. But you’re not immune to criticism either. Your live-and-let-live philosophy just turns you into a spineless people-pleaser. You run away from an argument for the sake of being agreeable, and compromise your convictions in the process. Most of your friends seem to find you easy to talk to, and it’s probably because you always seem to agree with whatever they’re saying. Even when they’re saying things which are diametrically opposed. How is that working out for you?
It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon and, like usual, I’m working.
Class has been out for a few days now, and my finals aren’t until Friday the 18th. Normally, that would mean a week of doing virtually nothing. Sure, I might study the night before a final, but in general I’ve never been the studying type. It isn’t out of laziness; I honestly have never really known how to study for something. I learn in class as I go, and I’m usually pretty confident in the material. When it’s time for an exam, it’s just a matter of refreshing my memory. That might mean an hour skimming through the book at Cafe Med the night before the test, but it certainly doesn’t take up a week.
Normally, that would be the case. Till I started doing undergraduate research. Now the idea of “free time” doesn’t even make sense: if I have time which I’m not dedicating to class or work, that’s time for research. It’s not the sort of thing I can “finish” for the week. It’s an ongoing project which won’t ever really be finished; and now that I’ve got a research laptop in my living room, it intends to fill every crack in my schedule. Which means if I have a full week free from class, it’s expected that I’ll be spending a full week doing labwork. And if I’m going home for Christmas break, my research laptop and a few books my professor would like me to read, go with me. I’m not really complaining: it’s fulfilling stuff. But it can be daunting.
Finals are also a bit more daunting this semester. Well, one in particular: Quantum Mechanics. I’ve always loved Physics, and I actually think I’m better at it than any other subject, including my major. That’s why, when given the option to pick an honors area of study outside of Computer Science, I jumped at the chance to pursue Particle Physics. But this semester’s professor is a bit frustrating. Both midterms have been very specific to one or two small things he mentioned in lecture (i.e. “In lecture I drew a graph. What did it look like?”), and rewarded people who made copious cheat sheets as opposed to people (like myself) who couldn’t always attend lecture, but completely understood the material. So I have a feeling I didn’t do very well on either midterm: I say “I have a feeling” because I don’t actually have a clue. I was absent both days our midterms were returned to us and have stubbornly refused to go to the TA’s office hours ever since, so I actually have no idea where I stand in the class. To be honest, I don’t even want to see the grades. I’d rather assume the worst, and prepare for the final as if my life depended on it. My honors GPA limit certainly does.
So I’ve spent the last few days alone in my apartment, only venturing out for the occasional meal. Cabin fever and gloomy weather has thrown my sleep schedule off considerably: work till 6am, sleep till 1pm. If you’re on a budget for food, I’d actually recommend it. Unlike waking up in the morning, I have no need for lunch. I can survive on one meal around 9pm. Other than a possible donut or Cup Noodles around 3am, I’m good.
Unfortunately, my schedule also leaves me with no time to write anything substantial. Instead, here are a few photos.
Exhibit A: Rainy Weather
My balcony. That chair must be soaked by now.
View from my front door. Well...about 10 feet to the left of my front door.
House across from me. Who on earth would sit on that balcony?
Exhibit B: Cabin Fever
Desk in my room. The picture isn't intentionally dark: the other two light bulbs in the room both burnt out, and I haven't bothered replacing them.
Living room, from the hallway. "Living room" is an appropraite name, since I live on that chair.
Research station. Note the robotic wrist on the right: I picked that up from a hospital in SF a few days ago. It's probably worth more than you are.
Kitchen, which hasn't really been used in over a week.
Bookshelf and freshly erased whiteboard. I can't stress enough how much better working from home is when you own a whiteboard.
The living room bed. For when I know I'll only be getting a few hours of sleep, and don't want to commit to the real thing.
Exhibit C: The Lab
Exhibit D: Food
Pollo Gorgonzola
That’s my life. In a week, I’ll be home for Christmas break. It will be wonderful — even if I’ve already agreed to come back to Berkeley a week early and work in the lab. That will just make the other 3 weeks more special…right?
Meanwhile, I’ll settle for listening to A Charlie Brown Christmas for the fifth time this weekend. Till next time.
—–
For those of you wanting something more philosophical, I was browsing through my old Facebook notes, and found this. It’s a debate with my friend Magnus (a confirmed atheist) and me (a confirmed Christian) on the existence of a mouse in the UCSD commuter’s lounge which probably belonged to my brother, Randy. And by “philosophical” I mean “not philosophical in any way, but filled with puns which make Stephen and only Stephen laugh.” Also, it might count as heresy. But if I can’t post bad puns and heresy on my own blog, where else can I?
I have a theory, Randy. Let me explain it to you: Suppose you were attending a school called UCSD and you happened to be in a lounge, perhaps one intended for commuters, and while in that lounge you were using a computer, perhaps a laptop, and you happened to be using a mouse attached to this laptop. Supposing all this, suppose also that you lost that mouse. Is it possible that you lost some sort of hypothetical mouse in this hypothetical lounge and that I may have recovered that mouse? Maybe I should restate this: are you just looking for something that you’ve lost?
Stephen:
The odds of a hypothetical Randy, a hypothetical laptop, and a hypothetical computer all existing in the same hypothetical lounge are so obscenely small, the fact that you’d even ask him is pitifully stupid.
Magnus:
I have faith that the mouse exists and for some of us that’s enough. Not everyone needs everything to be scientifically proven to them and you’re really just taking most of the science on faith anyway.
Stephen:
Once you do that though, you could believe anything. How do you know instead of a black mouse there isn’t some Imaginary Perception Utility that looks in your brain and decides where to move the cursor? Or a Flatbread Screen Manipulator, sitting in a wastebasket in the Commuter’s Lounge, shooting invisible mold at the computer making the cursor move? You can subscribe to Sourdaoism or Rye-entology if you want, but leave science out of it.
Magnus:
The mouse has a manual and I’ve read that manual and I have faith that it is the best way to manipulate the laptop. You’re creating these ridiculous grain-faiths and claiming they are just as legitimate as my belief in the mouse, but the mouse has a long tradition and a manual that provides guidance to us in the same way that we guide the curser. And it is just like science, you have no idea if the attractive force of gravity is based on sorghum or oats, you just believe what the miller tells you.
Stephen
If I had a pumpernickel for every time one of you ryeligious honey-nut jobs used that argument, my flour would be enriched enough to retire. I could just as well have my own Wholey Wheat Scriptures teaching me how to live an enriched life, something you unleavened crackers would know nothing about. And every Yeaster I might celebrate the Raising of the Bread and ascension to Leaven. We’d have a very floury tradition, just as much as your Muroidean “truth”.
The point is, it’s a violation of Flaxseed’s Butterknife to spread unnecessary condiments on the most logical answer. Why would the mouse be black? Why does it have to be hypothetical? Why does there need to be a mouse at all? It’s simply not Logitech.
I believe in the Unmoved Cursor. It is a fundamental characteristic of our Operating System, that it tends toward the display of more complex, interesting windows as time goes on. The cursor, by Natural Double Selection, tends to open as many windows as it can.
Now is that a complete explanation? Not quite. We need to examine the code for the cursor, which existed before the cursor itself, to understand how and why it would appear at the center of the screen to begin with. From there, we can only postulate that during the period known as the Big BIOS, the cursor became an hourglass, and rotated rapidly, causing all other pixels to light up. After that, it’s very easy to see how the entire Operating System would become populated, driven by the movement of the cursor.
I admit the imperfection of my argument. You don’t. You think you can avoid the problem by falling back on some “Mouse” which exists outside the Operating System, as if any intelligent discourse can occur about it. Even if this “Mouse” existed, you’ve just further complicated things: in order to explain the appearance of a tiny bitmap out of nothing, you now have to explain the existence of a much more complex Mouse, with the ability to manipulate the whole screen!
Magnus:
And where do you propose this operating system came from? Some infinitesimal clump of dough that was left to rise and created everything? You don’t think its a little more likely that the Mouse was used to open all this software?
How can you look at the desktop with all its beauty and not realize that something intelligent must have chosen thatbackground , and that something was a mouse, not some 2-bit BIOS system based on pseudo-random numbers. You can keep trying to justify self-manipulating cursors, but when you end your screen saver you’ll see that something must have loaded this OS. Cursors don’t just move themselves and I think when you examine your registers, you know what moved it.
You admit that your own argument doesn’t compile, but when I propose the existence of the Mouse, which explains everything, you just claim I’m complicating things by introducing unnecessary variables. An ever-manipulating, guiding Mouse is the best explanation for the existence of everything on the screen.
Stephen
An ever-manipulating, guiding Mouse is just a crutch for those of you who are too lazy to learn real Computer Science. It might be an explanation, but it’s a dead-end: once you say everything was caused by this Mouse (I’ll capitalize it out of respect for you), there’s nothing else to go on. Decades ago they couldn’t explain anything about the processor — people believed there was a keyboard that gave commands, a hard drive that stores data, a monitor that displays the graphics, and even a human user that puts other utilities to use.
Those ideas have since been rejected, and we don’t need to play IO-Accessory-of-the-Gaps anymore. We’re really not that different, you and I. I just believe in one fewer utility than you do. Once you understand why I reject the Keyboard, Hard Drive, Monitor, and User, you’ll understand why I reject your Mouse.
I believe that the Operating System hasn’t always existed — but its environment variables have. There are about 20 environment variables which are fine-tuned to produce all the beautiful complexity we see on the screen. I don’t know why they are what they are, but with them we can explain everything without the need of some “Mouse.”
I know it helps you sleep at night to think that something external to the OS is guiding everything, but it simply isn’t true. Besides, if a Mouse were guiding things, it would be a pretty bad mouse. Why does Vista exist? Why are there viruses in the world? If your “Mouse” is responsible for those things, I don’t want any part of it.
Magnus
The Mouse isn’t incompatible with your Computer Science, we both accept the same reality. I’m just claiming that the rules you discovered were laid out by the Mouse with the best intentions in mind. There may very well be 20 environment variables, but where did they come from? They can’t just “fine-tune” themselves and that’s where a benevolent Mouse comes in.
The Keyboard, Hard Drive, Monitor and User that you’re talking about are just different euphemisms for the same peripheral that guides the Operating System. They were rejected by other people like you that didn’t have the faith to accept that we can’t understand everything about our OS. There will always be features and hotkeys that we won’t know about and the only thing we can do is accept on faith that the Mouse will guide us through His desktop.
The Mouse has so many more transistors than you can imagine, so you can’t hope to understand why He created viruses and Vista. If you read the Manual you would understand that the Mouse is an all-loving Mouse that has the best intentions for the OS, so you have to accept that He will do what is best and not question the minor viruses or a few bad Operating Systems. The Mouse also gave you Linux, C++ and Starcraft, how can you blame it for some small problems along the way?
Stephen
Magnus, you’re continuing to make the same faulty assumption; that the complexity of the computer screen and environment variables has always been there.
I believe in the principle of bootstrapping — it is a natural phenomenon, we’ve seen it over and over again. Complex codes and environments can arise from an originally simple environment, over time, as the code “programs” itself.
Sure, in hindsight you can call the Keyboard, Hard Drive, Monitor, etc. just euphemisms, but that’s not what people actually believed. Just like you, they found something about the computer they couldn’t explain, and instead of trusting the Computer Scientists’ theories, they invented these insane peripherals to help them go into Sleep Mode at night.
The more transistors this “Mouse” has, the more complicated it is, and the more you have to explain. Where did the Mouse come from? Do you really think inventing something which has “so many more transistors than you can imagine” is the simplest solution?
Finally, when you look at Vista, and I mean really look at it, can you honestly say something intelligent coded it? Doesn’t something deep inside you think “I could have coded this better?” If the Mouse is really that great, it won’t mind your doubting it.
