Tuesday, May 17, 2011

I have a shitty theme song.

I listen to music as I run.  It turns my head right side in.  It percolates meaning through the bland rhythm of my Nike's.

I listen to King's of Leon and the Raconteurs and in my head I am covered in mud sliding and dancing between other sliders and dancers on the grassy knolls of Grant Park during Lollapalooza.  Or I listen to Binary Star, K'naan, and Mos Def and I'm throwing beats down with Jay-Z at the MTV after after after party while Beyonce stares at my ass.  Or I take up arms with Rage Against the Machine and One Day as a Lion and plant elbows and fists on The Man as he tries to bring this brother down.  Or I construct the ultimate drama with the tragedies of Zoe Keating filled with love, tears, crisis, and happy endings smothered by unhappy endings.  

So stuck in my head, I don't realize how long I run.  I look up and find I'm home.  The music stops and the earphones come off.   My true theme song, the one that stacks the grand scales of my intoxicating life, should soon blare down from the heavens, engulfing everyone in the magnificent show that is me.

And then I realize, no one but me is listening.  I open the door, walk upstairs, take a shower, drink some water, eat some dinner, and watch some TV.  The music never starts.  At least until my next run...

Sunday, May 8, 2011

My imperceptible bond to a jolly old fat man

I love David Hume for multiple reasons: he was a genius, he was perfectly round (not that I promote obesity and its enormously deleterious effects on our health care system, but it kind of worked for a short, 18th century, ultra-sociable philosopher), he loved backgammon and beer, and he quit philosophy because he was "too old and too rich."  The thing I love most about him, however, is his understanding of cause and effect.  Essentially his thought was cause and effect did not exist (anyone that is a Hume scholar will shit their pants and throw their computer across the room at my bastardization of one of the greatest Scottish minds - a mind only one step behind that of Mark Harris.  To them I say 'shut the hell up, it's my blog.').  Cause and effect is a temporal ordering of a timeless set of events.  It is us manufacturing order and meaning.  We create the "necessary connection."

Consider a billiard ball hitting another.  The second bounces of a in predictable, linear manner.  My daughter has never seen a game of pool.  To her, the white ball hitting the black ball and the black bouncing off is an isolated event.  The single case yields no connection.  It is simply an event.  It is over time, seeing numerous balls hitting other balls (yes I chuckled a little) that one develops a connection.  In other words, we create the connection and then define it.  Potential energy becomes kinetic energy following the repulsion of electromagnetic forces inherent in the balls (I laughed again).  

What are these other than words to define the unknown?  What is energy?  Force?  Power?  What is honor?  Freedom?  Justice?  What is love?  These are varying definitions of the space between cause and effect.  They are our way of placing order on the world, a world that without our order driven consciousness would simply exist.  Not change, not progress, just simply exist.  

We live in that space between cause and effect.  And it is that space that we as a medical field need to look to truly treat our patients.  Smoking causes cancer causes death.  My patient doesn't derive meaning from smoking, cancer, death.  S/he derives it in between.  As a physician I create a cause (surgical excision) to alter what I suspect would otherwise be the effect (cancer elimination instead of growth).  I define that space between smoking, cancer, death through science.  But my patient may define it through art, religion, social bonds, etc.  The point is, it's the same space no matter how we define it.  We can't forget that the meaning is arbitrary and subjective whether by scientific experiment or spiritual intuition.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Living in minutia, but dreaming in the abstract

I was thinking about what it takes to be a soldier.  To kill.  A universal morality is topic for another day (another lifetime?) but, for sake of argument, we can say that in Western society, an anti-killing morality has persisted to the point of genetic modification: killing another human being has a negative visceral feel to it.  I would like to think that I can defy the moral load on my genetics and kill in certain situations that clearly call for it.  If someone threatened my family, I KNOW that I could ravage them without thinking.  That knowledge is so lucid that in a Nietzschean eternity, I would see it as one of the few definitive points in my life.  A singular hinge of truth.

I would know all this objectively.  But would I truly feel it?  Would I be able to dismiss the fact that I killed?  I live in the minutia of my life: breakfast, work, play, dinner, sleep.  This is me.  I am these actions.  But my mind is an abstraction.  It lives in concepts and phrases.  It is global and not particular.  What happens when the minutia is in conflict with the abstraction?

It is easier with solid objects: my daughter and my wife.  A threat to them is a threat to a tangible thing.  But concepts of freedom, honor, justice are not.  They are murky abstractions of what we think we value on a day to day basis.  Shooting someone in the face is palpable; weighing the loss or gain of freedom is not.  

Let me make something clear: I am in no way judging the actions of our soldiers over the last few days.  Let me rephrase that: I do judge them but in a positive and grateful way.  I believe they did a remarkable service for those who suffered and need closure.  What I am talking about is how it may affect them; what it means to be a soldier.  Maybe being a soldier is not about the act of killing.  Maybe it is about being able to grasp the intangible in a way that the untrained cannot.  To essentially live in the dream of freedom, honor, glory, justice.  This is in no way a criticism.  In fact, it is a representation of my jealousy.  We need meaning.  These abstractions are the heart of meaning.  Living in them in them and by them seems to me to be a dream come true.  


Sunday, May 1, 2011

Why should I give a shit about eternity?, Part 3: Why I give a shit about eternity

I was thinking about suicide bombers the other day because that's what I do: I think about the moral psychology of fundamental terrorists while on the shitter.  There is the expectation of 42 virgins in heaven (of course, at 3 virgins a day, that exact scenario would only work for 14 days; then what're you gonna do for eternity minus 14 days?), but the real value is an abstracted personal concept: honor, glory, whatever.  These intangibles are immortal.  The suicide bomber lives on eternally through these abstract ideals.  (Unfortunately it breaks down when one realizes that the immortal abstractions require mortal beings to carry them; the sun will eventually burn out, ya know...)

I think glory, honor, celebrity, freedom, pride, etc. is a bunch of bullshit.  It is the quasi-religious currency used for mass manipulation.  Your concept of personal glory dies with you.  The fundamental terrorist's ameliorated personal identity stuffed silly with honor incinerates itself when the bomb explodes.     

But I can't pretend that eternity doesn't matter to me.  Consciously or unconsciously, my baby girl represents a future beyond my future.  She carries my intangible currency: my semi-immortal genetic makeup.  Subjectively, eternity matters; objectively, it means nothing.  Eternity may mean dick, but the concept means everything.  The fact that eternity is somehow an innate part of my emotional existence, drives my actions now.  My irrational belief in a perpetual future shapes my present.  That's why I give a shit about eternity: because as a human being, I contradict myself and make no fucking sense.