Empirical Existentialism

Disclaimer: The use of the word existentialism is not meant to draw parallels between my ideas and those of the many eminent / supremely mindfucked thinkers to whose philosophy, the moniker has previously been applied. If anything, the idea behind empirical existentialism is to develop a wholly personalized and purely experience-driven approach to philosophy and to life itself.

This is an attempt on my part to arrive at a systematic yet personalized approach to the development of an ever evolving set of heuristic approximations to aid in decision making, or in less exact terms, a way of life. The basic premise of this approach is to treat my experience of existence, i.e., my life, as emergent behavior arising from the interaction between two complex adaptive systems, namely my consciousness and the universe. Having decided on the overall approach, the next step was to evolve basic frameworks using with to regard my consciousness as well as the universe as I experience it.

I view the processes of my consciousness as taking two basic forms, perception and cognition. At first glance, this list appeared to be missing physical actions. However, upon further reflection, I came to view physical actions as a tool one may employ in the pursuit of perceptive and/or cognitive experiences. Next it appeared that emotion is another element which belongs in the above characterization of my consciousness. However, I have come think of emotion as higher order cognitive behavior, i.e. part of the response of my consciousness to interactions between itself and the universe.

The next step is to develop a basic framework using which to regard the universe as I experience it. The way I’ve come to think of it is as the context in which my consciousness operates. The nature of my consciousness affords me varying degrees of control over some aspects of this context. At least in my case, it is a given that human society is a vital part of my context. However, I have also noticed wide inter-individual variability, not to mention temporal variability, in the form and degree of the individual’s need for social interactions. Therefore, I feel it would be a good starting point to determine the sufficiency conditions that must be met in order for my need for social interactions to be fulfilled.

I thought it best to take an experimental approach and determine by trial and error the minimum, sufficient context to satisfactorily house my consciousness. However, these experiments deviate from the scientific ideal in three ways: I, the experimenter, have only partial control over experimental conditions; I am not afforded an independent point of observation on account of being the principal subject of my experiments; the interventions, conditions and outcomes are not quantifiable in the form of well defined parameters. Therefore, the approach I have devised can best be described as pseudo-reductionist. Further, it is important to note that this is by default an infinite, iterative process and will constantly yield parts of a solution that is far from time-invariant. In spite of these significant limitations, the utility of the process lies in enabling me to identify non-essential and more importantly, unfavorable interactions and thereby, enhance the efficiency of the process of living.

Based on systematic, iterative changes and observations made over the last two years or so, I can say with a fair degree of confidence that I have achieved rather satisfying and apparently sustainable steady state that has demonstrated little susceptibility to external perturbations.

P.S. Importantly, this is accomplished without the use of what I would call “cognitive over-damping” – suppression and concealment of unresolved thoughts/emotions – having engaged in it rather recklessly and to my considerable detriment in the past, I feel confident in my ability to identify it.

Dead Man Talking

Disclaimer: If you are incapable of laughing at jokes about death, feel free to read on but DO NOT bother me with stupid questions.

Why is there an almost pathological insistence in so many cultures on the value of deathbed confessions? Even the law treats dying declarations with much deference, the whole system wanting to believe in the notion of the unquestionable veracity of the ‘dying declaration’. Why? Is it really that far-fetched to believe that a man/woman would lie with their last breath? As a member of the species, let me just say, our record speaks for itself when the question comes up as to how low we can stoop. Besides, if you are a believer in the idea that all dying men are in search of redemption and therefore, compelled by their conscience to speak nothing but the truth, clearly, you have not run into ME. (Also, you probably do not know what a sense of humor is, do you?) I would gladly summon my last breaths to toss out a couple of plausible-sounding fibs. (All this, in my own time… To any nutfuck reading this, let me make it clear: this is not some kind of cry for help asking you to help me along. You may choose to disregard this advice at your own peril.) Imagine some soul(s) earnestly investing hard work into some venture based upon my final utterances. Just the hilarity of it – priceless! Being a nice sort of devious bastard, I feel it would only be fair to give humanity fair warning of the sort of grand pranks my mind is capable of churning out. If you still fall for it, it would be that much funnier.

So, in the interest of the gentlemanly spirit of the grand game of “Gotcha!”, here’s my fair warning to you. I shall detail here and now, some of the ideas floating around in my head. Importantly there are more than the sort of things I may choose to do; I encourage anyone reading this to utilize/modify them.

1. Le fake confession: If you know you’re about to breathe your last, confess to someone you know well, who trusts you (the combination of those traits may be quite rare) that you’ve long burdened yourself with a terrible secret and no longer wish to be so burdened. What follows could be anything from a simple “I know who killed Kennedy… it was…” to an absolutely explosive “I am your father, Luke.” You are limited only by your imagination (and your choice of confessor).

2. The last words: Let them be something absolutely spellbindingly absurd. Charles Foster Kane’s “rosebud” was pretty good. Search your lexicon and come up with a good one like say, “the towering cannoli”, “lemurs” or “magnificent acreage”.

3. The suicide note(s): Can you imagine the wonderful confusion you’d cause by leaving behind a suicide note or better yet several and then dying of natural causes? Were you planning on committing suicide? Were you unhappy? Was it their fault? People would be stumped. In fact, I’m a fan of the multiple suicide note idea, a couple of serious sounding ones mixed in with a few absolutely outrageous ones. Make the serious ones real good so that people can’t easily dismiss the rest as a product of senility and delirium. Remember, the rest are a place to have some serious fun. Here are some of the things you could do.

a. The absurd reason: Say something like “I must end my life… I must do it for the bear cubs and rusty bridges.”

b. The accusation: Accuse some people you know, some you don’t (the Pope?) and others who don’t even exist of being responsible for your decision to end it all. Better yet, say “The following 5 are responsible…” and list 8 names.

c. Gibberish, in verse: This will have them running in circles for a good bit. Write some utter nonsense, but make sure it rhymes. You’re golden!

d. The crazy wishes: Make outlandish requests of some of the people you know – like “Jeremy, I want you to shave the word GLOVE into your hair.” An added twist would be if Jeremy were totally bald.

e. The conspiracy theory: “Disregard all you’ve been told and uncover the true nature of my demise.”, pretty much.

f. The warning: “Beware of the blind pastry chef and his army of scissors!”

4. The will: This is easily one of the best ways to screw with people. Right off the bat, one can see a number of ways in which to do this:

- Leave to people things that aren’t yours.

- Leave to people things that don’t exist.

- Leave something to a total, random stranger, say picked from the phonebook.

- Leave things to people you know, but throw in some crazy conditions. For example, ‘X can have my comic book collection if X dresses up in a Godzilla costume to a busy market in their hometown and walks around for 47 minutes or longer screaming “Hayaku! The wolfman cometh!” before stripping down to their skivvies and running home.’

- Have people invited to the reading of the will with the promise of inheritance and have the executor of the will read a letter to them berating them harshly before handing them a bag containing some candy and loose change.

Here shall this post end, rather abruptly.

Spontaneity as a deliberate choice

It's been five weeks, since I last sat at this keyboard (well, with the intention of letting loose, that is). Feels like an eternity has gone by, feels like it was only a moment ago... my perception of time seems to become more and more fluid with every passing day. Lately, I've been trying to dig up old struggles, so that I may find new strength - both mental and physical.

It all started abruptly enough and without fanfare, when I was roused from sleep by a spasm in my left calf - that was in December. It may have been an epiphany; but, I'm reluctant to call it that. Maybe, because the realization I came to was something I always knew; it'd been an elephant inside my head all along. It was a moment / minute / eternity (I'm not sure which) of white-hot pain, of lucid thought, of transcendental perception - there is far more choice in life that I'd like to admit to myself. Sometimes, to see a choice(s), one must look outside the illusory structure one has established for one's existence - the so-called comfort zone. The reason I was trying to shy away from this truth? Inertia, lethargy.

In that moment, I chose to do something, everything in my power really, about it. The only way to come to terms with the chaos without is to embrace the chaos within. How is this any different from my past quests? It's not and yet, it is. Let me explain. Words and conscious thoughts notwithstanding, I've always subconsciously tried to overcome the chaos of reality; I've always recognized this and tried time and again with varying degrees of success to overcome the habit - it was never enough though. There were still too many bindings, too much junk I clung to. So, why do I feel any differently about this time? Because, I think I've hit upon a wonderful piece of common sense. I'm walking one step at a time towards the unknown this time rather than trying to run headlong into it. I decided to take a more systematic approach towards achieving chaos, if you will. On the face of it, this is a paradoxical statement. But, I think, only on the face of it.

In the past, I've always tried to jump into the water and then worry about swimming. (I recognize fully well the irony of one unable to swim employing this metaphor.) And, the result was always the same, I made rapid headway initially before hitting a massive brick wall, as it were, and drowning in a whirlpool of panic. Next thing I knew, I'd be clinging to the rope harder than ever before, having only made it a mere step or two further from before.

It's the same damn thing that happened every time I tried to overcome my vertigo. My solution to that was simple enough... I'd walk towards the edge of a cliff right up to the point where my heart began to tickle my tonsils (which I no longer have by the way); then, sit down and breathe, deliberately. Soon, I'd be too bored to feel any panic and I could get up and walk another step or two closer to the edge. Eventually I was sitting at the edge, my feet dangling over a 2000 foot drop and what a view it was!

As I lay in bed that night screaming inward in pain, it hit me that I should simple apply the same principle to life at large. Walk, calmly and deliberately, away from the rope. Stop and take a few deep breaths whenever necessary. After all, to rush the process of embracing uncertainty would defeat the whole purpose wouldn't it?

Another question I'd struggle to reconcile before was that of plans and schedules. Making plans and working on a schedule are necessities dictated by the nature of what I do (research) and what I do, is indulge my passion(s). How could I continue to do this and still embrace uncertainty? The answer was simple enough. It is everywhere in nature. Even a truly random pattern is a pattern still. And such a pattern often contains within it regions of regularity - look anywhere you want: lines in the beach sand, ventricular fibrillation... And thus, to be truly free of rigidity, I must be willing to be fluid... if maintaining that fluidity over a prolonged region of space-time-consciousness (I find it very useful to think of these as the dimensions of a continuum within which to describe my existence to myself) requires the use of structure within smaller regions of it, then that's just the way to flow. In other words, true disorder does not fear order; rather, it is simply a more complex order. Again, this is a concept I've encountered several times in a variety of different contexts; but, to see it within my own existence, that was a sweet moment of realization indeed. What I speak of is not pride; rather, it's that feeling you get when you look up to see the evening sun paint the sky.

That's about it for now. So, why did I ramble on and on about something I know can not be captured by words? The process of trying helps me crystallize my notion of fluidity - another step in a lifelong process. The way I see it, if I keep this up, at the very least I won't ever be bored. How much more could I ask for? :D

I for one and one for all!

Seems like it ways only yesterday – Rupert Murdoch stole the U.S. presidential election (it’s apparently something like King Ottokar’s sceptre in that any jackass who holds has to be allowed to rule) from Al Gore (he does owe Murdoch for clearing up his schedule; imagine trying to juggle a film making career with a presidency) and gifted it to this goofy, C-average candidate from Texas, whom nobody thought could win. Eight years have gone by in a flash… leaving us with snapshots – the economy vaporized along with much of Afghanistan, Iraq and New Orleans. A small price to pay, I’m sure all would agree, for all the brilliant quotes good ole’ ‘Dubya’ has left us with.

There are many naysayers who refuse to laugh at Dubya’s cosmic joke of a presidency. To them I say, in the words of the master himself, in history, we will all be dead anyway. So, laugh and be merry. I do, I dare say, justly jest.

And for fuck’s sake stop ‘misunderestimating’ the guy! You made him feel inadequate and got two wars in return. Instead try to put food on your family and ask yourself, "Is our children reading?"

Judge him not, for he is a man who wishes coexist peacefully with the fishes. Thanks to Al Gore's invention, global warming (Or was it the 'internets' that he invented? Guy's kept so fucking busy, it's hard to keep track.), he may soon have his chance - particularly if he moves to Vanuatu. (I had a brilliantly gratuitous Godfather reference involving Luca Brasi that would have fit here, but I felt bad about putting Brasi in the same sentence with Bush - that would be an insult to Brasi's intelligence. Fuck! I just did what I was trying not to do, didn't I? Digression over.)

If indeed global warming is going to drown us all, we will at least come to appreciate that water-boarding isn't really torture. I shouldn't be too hard on poor ole' Dubya though. After all, he is, by his own admission, a West Texas girl, just like Senator Bill Frist’s wife.

Besides, before you scare yourself shitless over the economy, ask yourself if you want to be hunted down like Saddam Hussein? Just remember, Dubya stepped into the ring against Hussein because of his history but more importantly because of his willingness to terrorize himself. So, if you terrorize yourself over trifles like the loss of your job, your house, your life's savings or any combination thereof, you may land yourself on the wrong side of the war on terror. And, as Dubya himself has reminded us more than once, 'war is a dangerous place'. And we don't need to be subliminable about it either.

So what if you're poor now? Poor people aren't necessarily killers. Just because you happen to be not rich doesn't mean you're willing to kill. So what if you’ve lost all your savings? Stop being so self-centered and think of all the poor OB-GYNs across the country who can no longer practice their love with women.

What's to cry about anyway? Are you not entertained? (I ask that in a voice dripping with sarcasm, à la Maximus Decimus Meridius.) Doesn't Dubya remind you of Russell Crowe? Such magnificient entertainers they both are, exponents of the same fine art - which art that is, I will leave to your imagination. (That's because I can come up with fuckall that Russel Crowe is good at.) What other president in history has do so much to keep his people entertained during times of crisis (that he precipitated himself) as Dubya has - with his boundless oratorical skills? The other interesting thing about Dubya is that I watched a movie about him last year. Isn't that interesting?

In the end, all I'm saying is I'll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside that Oval Office. We may yet discover some day what a visionary statesman he was. At least, mathematics says there is a non-zero probability of such an thing happening. (Mathematics, how cruel thy hand!) So, in the meanwhile I would just like to thank Dubya on behalf of all of us for all the Bushisms.

And never forget that reading is the basics for all learning. So, keep reading my blog, whether I write on it or not.

P.S. For those of you just returning from Mars I've colored all the Bushisms quoted/paraphrased above in dark blue. For more of the real deal, take a look at this article.

The not-so-timeless romance of despair

I watched a movie this afternoon titled Chinese Coffee, the story of one damaged man seeking help and counsel from his equally damaged friend. It got me thinking, made me open a dusty old box hidden away in one of the many dark corners of my mind and what follows is the result of the analysis that followed.

Despair is timeless, as is the romance of despair. Or are they? Within the context of an individual's existence, despair can indeed be truly lasting. It feeds on itself and on anything and everything, in some ways like that tiny mountain stream that feeds on other streams as it grows into the mighty, unstoppable river, its flow seemingly inexorable, all-consuming. And much like the stream, the despair of one individual has the capacity to consume other around him. Unless and until this unstoppable force meets an immovable object - the will of an individual - despair will drag a man down to depths of oblivion with chilling certainty.

But unlike despair itself, the romance of it is far from everlasting. Over time, the desperate man comes to a fork in the road, though seldom his mind sees it; and, he makes a choice - he either resolves to fight his despair with every fiber of his being or he allows it to consume him until all that is left is venom, that unique flavor of venom which one can only find within a man who has admitted defeat.

In truth, peace is success (the converse is far from true) - and to attain it one must overcome the inertia within, both intellectual and physical. Often the mind balks at the scale of this challenge and one sees despair as something romantic. Thus is born the image of the romantic pauper, living in the dark, grimy shadow of human society and yet somehow beyond it, above it - somehow, noble. This illusion, shallow as it is, is powerful... it drives one to wallow in a living purgatory until the inertia builds up to a level where one can only choose between a cathartic battle to overcome and a spirit-crushing admission of defeat. And only when a man sees the darkness of despair does he realize that the romance it once seemed to hold, it never did - it was nothing more than a reflection of the jaundice in his eyes, an expression of his lack of will.

So, I ask myself, where do I stand? Did I make the right choice when I came to that fateful fork in the road? Or, have I yet to reach it? Do I still wallow in despair? Do you?

Ramblings: A Letter from a brain wrapped in mists

Been a while hasn't it? It's been an interesting few months. The nameless inertia that seemed to dull my days has been shed, or, at least, so it would appear. I've been reading lately and thinking... reading and thinking... thinking and reading. My thoughts are still very much a blur, so much so that I've been having trouble sleeping on account of my mind refusing to pause. So, here I am, letting my wheels spin free in that hope that something with a degree of form may come of it ultimately.

"To attack vices in the abstract, without touching persons may be safe fighting, indeed, but it is fighting with shadows. My greatest comfort and encouragement to proceed has been to see that those who have no shame, and no fear of anything else, have appeared touched by my satires." - Junius

If at all you know me, even a little, you will take offense over my words . For it is out of respect that I try to speak with honesty.

"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth." - Henry David Thoreau

The question is becoming clearer with each passing day of turmoil.

"Nature loves symmetry." - Louis de Broglie

The photon is at once both wave and particle as is matter. Does it therefore follow that man - as he relates to that within and that without - is dual-natured as well? Or does realization of the self demand reconciliation between the two?

"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves." - Henry David Thoreau

Am I lost? If so, when? Is it when I wander, often aimlessly, within the corridors of my own mind? Or is it when I walk, seemingly with purpose, the streets out in the wilderness of human society?

"A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone." - Henry David Thoreau

The aim is to distill the process of living until I arrive at the truth of my nature. The first step is to paint, in my mind, a clear vision of the ideal. (Needless to say, this process will be lifelong and iterative.)

"Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist. He who would gather immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself and you shall have the sufferage of the world." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I must possess the conviction to heed mine own voice and the stillness of mind to speak clearly to myself.

“Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty. The obedient must be slaves.” - Henry David Thoreau

Indeed, I must be prepared for any test of my courage and resolve.

"It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude after own own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

But, above all, I must seek balance.

"To be great is to be misunderstood." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Importantly, the converse if often untrue. Many who are misunderstood and presume themselves great, do so falsely.

A truly good book teaches me better than to read it. I must soon lay it down, and commence living on its hint. What I began by reading, I must finish by acting." - Henry David Thoreau

I am off then, to do, to live.

Virtue of a bygone era

I read these post titled 'India doesn't need Olympic pride' and 'Do you think Kashmir is an integral part of India' on India Uncut. The writer articulates the very thoughts that rant and rave about every day and for giving me a voice, I thank him. National pride, if I may be so bold, is a virtue of a bygone era. Tribal and provincial allegiances were once subordinated to national unity and nation states were born. It's time we take the next step and recognize ourselves as individuals whose collective identity derives from the species we all belong to. The nations our forbears forged have evolved from being unifying forces bringing together clans and tribes to being divisive labels keeping neighbors at each others' throats. Take India and Pakistan, for instance - why are we still busy antagonizing each other? It's about time we started identifying ourselves as human beings and it's about time we started acting accordingly. The importance of pride derived from a national identity and the resultant umbrage taken without reason are beyond petty in the face of the very real problems like starvation and strife we face. Is it too much to ask that we forget window dressing and turn our attention to the real issues at hand?

To my inner cynic and yours: Like I've said before, what could be more human than hope?

PS. I'm not deluded enough to think that all the world's problems or even any one of them can be completely resolved. After all what stands in the way is human nature. But I do think that an things can be made better for an individual or a group of individuals. Where's the fun in life if we don't fight for small victories in the name of a lost cause?

PPS. I owe thanks to Partha for pointing me to the posts on India Uncut.

Of clown masks and suicide

I watched two documentaries - Encounters at the End of the World (Werner Herzog's meditation on Antarctica and the eclectic group of people who gravitate towards it's desolate magnificence) and Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson - and I read some more Batman comics. And then I did this thing that I have a habit of doing from time to time - I thought. What follows is a brief account of some of what came out of the depths of my considerably dark mind. Do enjoy.

Hunter S. Thompson lived an eventful life to say the least. But who was he? To me he was Cicero reborn as an angry jester - the 60's version of Akira Kurosawa's Kyoami from Ran. As Gonzo, he had the courage of conviction to give voice to the angst that most of us feel but try to ignore and a way with words that forced the meek and the strong alike to stop and take notice. He shocked the timid among us and rattled the cages of the powerful. But such power exacts a heavy price - Gonzo was a clown face that Hunter Thompson could never take off. Just as Bruce Wayne was reduced to little more than a mask that Batman wears during the day, Hunter Thompson, the man, was little more than a vessel for Gonzo. And like Batman, Gonzo is a being with an unquenchable fire of anger burning within his heart - to sustain such a fire means fueling it with one's very life force. And there's only so much wood in the pile. (This is where Bruce Wayne has the advantage of being fictional.) Such men burn bright, a shining beacon, but they burn through life quicker than most - in the end, one must either retire the firebrand alter-ego or face annihilation. Unable to give up being Gonzo perhaps, but without the energy reserves to sustain him much longer, Hunter Thompson took his own life, leaving a note that read, "No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt."

When it happened, Thompson's suicide came as no surprise to those who knew him for he had always foretold his end by his own hand, viewing it as a way of dealing with death on his own terms. And that leads me to my next question. Why would any man look upon suicide with such romance? Well, let me begin with a brief segway. Interviewing a reclusive/taciturn penguin researcher in "Encounters ...", Herzog asks, "Do penguins ever go insane? Do they ever commit suicide?" The footage that follows is of a lone penguin breaking away from his colony and walking towards the interior of the continent, towards certain death. There is undeniable power in the image of the lone penguin awkwardly waddling into the vast, desolate expanse of the Antarctic. But why? Well, why do we celebrate tragedy in song, in verse and in prose? The magnetism and romance of sorrow are undeniable. Perhaps it is an expression of the sub-conscious mind reveling in the 'human condition'. Nonetheless, it is this attitude taken to an extreme that leads some of us to see romance in suicide. While I myself no longer hold such a view, I can understand it to a degree.

A lot of us are lazy - physically, intellectually, morally... in more ways than there are words to describe. Observeing the challenges that life throws at some of us, through a veil of laziness, one is often left in doubt of one's ability to cope with adversity. Suicide begins to look more and more like a convenient emergency exit. Add to the mix ideas like reincarnation and the finite nature of our existence is no longer a significant issue. And in an attempt to rationalize a lack of moral fortitude, one begins to paint a rosy picture of suicide as an honorable way out. This could easily happen to a man who's lived long enough, burning his candle at both ends. Rather than sacrifice his ego to give up the hard life, such a man may well decide to check out early from this mortal coil.

This is not to say that all the people who commit suicide are entirelyto blame for their predicament. There are the less fortunate among us who see nothing more than boundless misery in life and are left drained of hope, thanks to the apathy of their fellow men. When such men chose to take their own lives, everyone of us selfish people deserve equal blame. Civilization, by definition, can not function without an element of altruism. Having ranted at length on this topic in several of my previous posts, I will say no more on the topic... for the moment.

P.S. Describing the Antarctic as desolate magnificience is an undoubtedly lame play on Buzz Aldrin's description of the lunar surface and was therefore, irresistable to me.