I got an iPad as a gift recently, and something I’ve always wanted to do was to take pictures of random people in public and to write what I think about them. Is this creepy? I think not. After all, we look at people, we judge people, all the time. For some of us, these judgments are instant - they are the application of learned stereotypes, generalizations of character based on previous observation. For others, the process may be more conscious. That is the case for me. I find no reason to be shy about it, to say that judgments of others are in any way morally wrong. If I told you am I very accurate in discovering the attributes of individuals, wouldn’t you say that I possess some psychic ability? If I were absolutely perfect about my judgments, would you not say that I am God Himself? Alas, the difference between generalizations, border-lining on racism and creepiness, and my own judgments, is accuracy.
There are some days I really do want to have a normal job, to come home and watch TV, hang out with friends, and to live comfortably. I wouldn’t think about the world, about philosophy, or anything that I currently consider to be important. There are days when all I want is a nice cup of coffee, for someone to share one with me, and for me to truly believe that this is all that matters. After all, why does it matter that I know the necessary and sufficient conditions for “knowledge”? Why does it matter that I read these books, write these papers, and to concern myself with things most people consider impractical.
There are some days I sincerely, genuinely, desire to be mediocre.
I went to downtown San Francisco for the 2012 New Years celebration this year with my girlfriend. Aside from the huge crowd, it was an enjoyable evening, and the fireworks were pretty amazing to watch. Immediately after the show, everyone wanted to get home. Now, if you haven’t seen the crowd that forms there on New Years, imagine people standing shoulder-to-shoulder and covering the entirety of southbound Market Street. Moreover, the sheer size and will of the crowd made it impossible to head back north on Market - everyone was being pushed southward.
My girlfriend and I managed to get inside the MUNI station on Embarcadero. It was crowded there, too, so MUNI employees were letting handfuls of people down to the train platforms. While we were waiting, a clearly drunk individual joked with two of his friends, “I’m falling forward!” When he did, in fact, fall forward, he ended up pushing my girlfriend into the person in front of her. She winced and looked to me. Me, knowing that I should say something to this belligerent individual currently shoving my girlfriend, shouted, “Hey, relax! You’re hurting her!”
And apparently on New Years, these are fighting words. The drunkard took an aggressive posture - he puffed his chest, furrowed his brow, and with the company of his friends, shouted racial slurs and vulgar challenges to a fight. It caused a huge scene, and moreover, prompted me to think about ways to quickly take down three guys.
But what was most bothersome wasn’t the invitation to fight. Fights are explicable - people get drunk. What bothered me the most were the racial slurs. I was called a chink, told to go back to China, and they pulled at the sides of their eyes. It reminded me that though I live in one of the most progressive cities in the world, a city known to fight for equality, there will still be people who do not abide by, people who do not even acknowledge, such a lifestyle.
I tried my best to avoid a fight, and though part of me wanted to beat some sense into the trio, I practiced better judgment. When telling them to relax clearly was not working, I ignored them, tightly held my girlfriend’s hand, and bit my tongue through the onslaught of racial epithets. They had gotten tired of me, so one of them leaned on someone else - the trap was set. The kid looked Middle-Eastern, and didn’t speak a lick of English. He was smaller than me, and according to the drunkard, the kid pushed him back. What ensued was another volley of challenges and racial slurs. He was questioned on the location of his towel for his head, and most shockingly, he was called a terrorist. All he could do was stare them in the eyes; he wore the slightest of grins, which seemed to only enrage them. Interestingly, this new confrontation seemed more likely to be a fight, and at points I interjected myself between as a third party of sorts.
A lot happened after this, so I will cut this story short. I wanted to write about what I hated the most about this. The entire time, through the harassment of both myself and the Middle-Eastern kid, no one around us had done anything to help. No one called for the police, no one shouted at the individuals for their ignorance, no one shouted for equality or the destruction of racism. People wanted to get home - justice means nothing on such occasions. I imagined that some of them were Occupy protesters, teachers, lawyers, and overall practitioners of love and humanity. They were all silenced, that entire station, by the voice of three ignorant drunkards.
Perhaps this is no surprise. We live in a city that makes big gestures at equality. We shout for equality during parades, rallies, and protests, not in MUNI stations. But that is what is despicable about these people, you people; it is that they do not know how to practice the small steps towards equality. Hypocrisy is the word I am searching for here. Or, perhaps, is it cowardice? Apathy? Take your pick.
Unity makes it possible for the many to become one. This is why we build cities and fill them with homogeneity. We create anthems, dedicate songs to our values and ideals, and proudly call them “ours.” The inherent advantage is the ability to accomplish like-minded goals.
But unity, this notion of melding one’s self into the mass, usurps any individual sovereignty. Once injected into the mass, the individual loses any sense of autonomy - she has surrendered it to the group. Thus, though it is easy to accomplish like-minded goals, it becomes impossible to accomplish one’s own goals. That is the price you must pay for your movements - you must give up your self.
I am interested in the sound of your mind. That is philosophy, really. It is being able to understand what it is that you believe and for what reason. Thus, what is real or what is truthful about the universe is irrelevant. Let us put aside understanding the objective and instead understand the subjective. In doing so, we truly begin to listen and to understand one another. Therefore, whether God exists or not is irrelevant - it is the reason in which you believe in Him that interests me. Science helps explain the universe, but I am fascinated by the way you explain it all, as if it were so simple; for I am not interested in the truth of the matter - the stars may be closer than they appear, or atoms may actually be the vibrations of strings. Instead, I inquire into why you believe, or do not believe, such things. Or perhaps you live life simply - you work from 9am to 5pm and when you get home you enjoy watching television and eating potato chips. What the academics call “deep” and “insightful” are all pedantic ramblings of unsuccessful individuals to you. But even you, especially you, you commoners, interest me and I wonder what you think and why. To me, that is true philosophy.
In my dreams I accept that life inevitably ends. In some of them I am being shot in the head or being thrown off a cliff. The sensation is all-too-real. I can feel my head knocking back as the force of the bullet enters my skull. I can feel the cold of the ground as my body slams into it, and for a brief moment, the warmth of my own blood as it oozes out of me. It’s painless, actually, because it happens so fast. But in the split second before I cease to exist there is a sense of peace. I welcome death. He has come sooner than expected, but nonetheless he has come. I’ve always known he would. I am not surprised, and so I simply accept what is the end of my life.
I do not fear death, for I have died a hundred times.
Is it possible that true existence is the fusion of two individuals? Philosophy has hitherto shaped the discussion with the particular individual as its subject. But perhaps existentialism is best served through dependence, not independence. It is so Western, so American, to think that the meaning of life is self-contained in the individual. It is no wonder, then, why half of marriages end in divorce here; and yet we cherish the institution of marriage because it is, somehow, still an institution. Let us reject independence and try dependence. Is that not true love? The destruction of two individuals to create a single entity - to say that “we are one” is true love. True love is to say that “I literally cannot exist without you.” Is this philosophy, this brand of existentialism, bolder? It must be, for it follows that I do not exist until I find love, that is, my true identity.
I am always fascinated by people who have limitless will power. They can set their minds to something and accomplish it, no matter how long it takes. Nothing else matters until the goal is achieved. Most people seem to have only spurts of will power - the flow of discipline and focus cannot remain constant for long. There are consequences to the truly devoted, of course. Putting on your own blinders will certainly give focus towards a single goal, but it will also exclude everything else. Still, I am envious of those who possess the ability to devote themselves to a single cause. One cannot stop juggernauts.
It is so easy to think that we are exempt from the natural order. We have developed technologies in order to save ourselves from an early death. Many of these technologies are successful: vaccines, the MRI machine, the iron lung, and so forth. The argument here is not that we command nature - we most certainly do; it is that we have only tamed a wild beast. Our mastery over nature makes us arrogant, which then produces the belief that we are exempt from nature’s laws. It is access to technology, to the things that help us survive, that is the original source of this disposition.
For example, we, members of the first world, consider “survival” the process of making enough money to buy food and pay the rent and bills. We live in a world where “nature” is something we go visit on the weekends by hiking through it. We talk about it as if it is distant from us, as if it doesn’t exist inside our own homes, in our yards, or in our commutes to and from work. Is this not arrogance? We think of cancer as being caused by something: cell phones, microwaves, computer screens. Living causes cancer. It is natural, and we only expedite its onset; but we think of it as being external to us, as if we were immune to cancer if we had only talked less on our cell phones, and sat a little further from the television.
We are upset when ants come into our homes, or when we see a dead animal on the road. When we see the process of slaughtering animals, we lose our appetites. The civilized human being is an antithesis to nature. We are unnatural.
In The Matrix, Agent Smith is talking to Neo and explains,
“I’d like to share a revelation that I’ve had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species and I realized that you’re not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment but you humans do not. You move to an area and you multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You’re a plague and we are the cure.”
Isn’t he right?
My dreams are much more vivid than my waking reality. In my dreams I am more cognizant and more aware of the world. Things make sense to me. Flying requires only a bit of concentration, and the chance to see an old friend is but a thought away. I can have conversations with historical figures or go to places I’ve never seen before. It is when I awake that the world makes less sense to me. When dreams become more vivid than this alleged reality, then it is when I am awake that I am truly asleep.
