Monday, May 28, 2007
Bugger me...
So, since when was "philosophizing" synonymous with "speculating?" Obviously, there are traits the two actions share, but it seems quite a bit unfair (notice the rhyme) to lump those two together. Still, I can't help but think that these two actions, philosophizing and speculating, are pretty much what makes up the foundation of my being. Or, at least my current obsession.
Truth is, I haven't noticed how I've narrated my life until quite recently. Well, it's more like, I've watched television shows that are narrated by a protagonist, which would obviously mean that the protagonist should be the highlight of the show, yet there is a sense of omniscience the viewer is given, something that is not necessarily common with a first-person account in writing. Perhaps it's due to the different media, but I find myself doing the same--narrating events that are beyond my presence. But maybe I'm not narrating them myself--obviously I read events or hear about them from secondary sources like periodicals, but I find myself distancing myself from my body in order to narrate them. But to whom? Do I narrate this just because some day, it might make a great read and a sustainable source of income for whatever drug habit I've developed? Do I narrate this, hoping to structure it in such a way that I follow the narrative features of a novel or story (televised or not) in hopes that I too can become a hero or heroine? Perhaps I dictate this to myself, a distanced, detached self, who is in need of reawakening?
Anyway, I've realized that I have a wonderful gift of disappearing into the realms of self-narration and watching television shows. To be honest, it's not necessarily like I do it on my own. In fact, a friend of mine has introduced me to Scrubs and Dead Like Me, two of the more talkative shows in terms of narration, but I don't know if I myself narrate like that. Perhaps I do and I'm just not aware. Perhaps I find it attractive and force myself to follow such a style. In either case, I've found myself becoming more prone to rambling, incomplete thoughts, and loose semiotic associations--whereas, before, I would polish... oh, what the hell am I saying? I've always had a sense of aloofness when discussing ideas. It's as if I believed that merely invoking the name of a concept or a thinker would somehow evoke some sort of magical powers that will make my argumentation much more powerful by the presence of the holiest of holies--dead intellectuals. It's amazing how I do this speculating and still manage to stay in school. But I've really come to a point where I've lost my ability to concentrate on anything practical or immediately important. All of my attention has turned upwards, towards the ideals of Plato, if only in the case of me attacking them. I admit, I turn to metaphysics much too often for my own good, which probably makes me a hypocrite. However, there's something extremely alluring about Platonic mysticism that has drawn me to seek it and explore it. It's truly different--explaining a phenomenon and actually experiencing it. Perhaps I'm going through some sort of spiritual enlightenment. I can only hope.
It seems interesting to me that Bertrand Russell gives us two major camps in Classical Greek philosophy that I can pretty much attribute to the entirety of philosophical discourse: on the one hand, you have the Dionysians with bacchanalia and all sorts of emotional ecstasy. On the other hand, you have the polytheists, using cool logic and reason to explain phenomena. I admit that my interpretation could be extremely off, especially since it has been far too long since I've last touched Russell's The History of Western Philosophy. I have, myself (although not claiming this categorization to be original at all), deduced two camps--metaphysicians and materialists. However, it becomes even more difficult, as the methods used by the metaphysicians include both reason and mysticism. However, reason seems to be most closely tied to materialism, as the criterion of physical reality seems to be the most immediate (I can already hear the postmodernists claiming my "privileging" physical reality over other necessary realities). As I have explained in one of my previous posts, it seems to me that I categorize modes of thought in two ways--reason and mysticism (mysticism being the set of thought such that it is the complement set to reason in the universal set of thought; or, less pretentiously, anything that is not reason). But now that I look at it, why do I make such distinctions in the first place?
Recently, I've been very drawn to Judaism. My friends will probably blame it on my Semitophilia (I can't help it; I happen to think that Jewish men are extremely attractive), but there is a certain rigor to Judaism. All of the commentaries, all of Jewish thought, is argued with extremely comprehensive evidence and tidy logic. Of course, this doesn't help the fact that the basis of all of this reason is a set of texts that was "revealed" (i.e. not reasoned out, but inspired mystically), but maybe there is something to Judaism that reveals a fundamental truth within reality. Then again, we can say the same thing about any religion, especially given the tendency for Eastern mystics to show their compatability with some interpretations of modern physics. Maybe it's this value of truth that I must finally abandon before I become fully committed to my nihilism. Whatever it is, I have to resolve it or ignore it so I can get back to work. Now that, my friends, is an extremely sad revelation.
Truth is, I haven't noticed how I've narrated my life until quite recently. Well, it's more like, I've watched television shows that are narrated by a protagonist, which would obviously mean that the protagonist should be the highlight of the show, yet there is a sense of omniscience the viewer is given, something that is not necessarily common with a first-person account in writing. Perhaps it's due to the different media, but I find myself doing the same--narrating events that are beyond my presence. But maybe I'm not narrating them myself--obviously I read events or hear about them from secondary sources like periodicals, but I find myself distancing myself from my body in order to narrate them. But to whom? Do I narrate this just because some day, it might make a great read and a sustainable source of income for whatever drug habit I've developed? Do I narrate this, hoping to structure it in such a way that I follow the narrative features of a novel or story (televised or not) in hopes that I too can become a hero or heroine? Perhaps I dictate this to myself, a distanced, detached self, who is in need of reawakening?
Anyway, I've realized that I have a wonderful gift of disappearing into the realms of self-narration and watching television shows. To be honest, it's not necessarily like I do it on my own. In fact, a friend of mine has introduced me to Scrubs and Dead Like Me, two of the more talkative shows in terms of narration, but I don't know if I myself narrate like that. Perhaps I do and I'm just not aware. Perhaps I find it attractive and force myself to follow such a style. In either case, I've found myself becoming more prone to rambling, incomplete thoughts, and loose semiotic associations--whereas, before, I would polish... oh, what the hell am I saying? I've always had a sense of aloofness when discussing ideas. It's as if I believed that merely invoking the name of a concept or a thinker would somehow evoke some sort of magical powers that will make my argumentation much more powerful by the presence of the holiest of holies--dead intellectuals. It's amazing how I do this speculating and still manage to stay in school. But I've really come to a point where I've lost my ability to concentrate on anything practical or immediately important. All of my attention has turned upwards, towards the ideals of Plato, if only in the case of me attacking them. I admit, I turn to metaphysics much too often for my own good, which probably makes me a hypocrite. However, there's something extremely alluring about Platonic mysticism that has drawn me to seek it and explore it. It's truly different--explaining a phenomenon and actually experiencing it. Perhaps I'm going through some sort of spiritual enlightenment. I can only hope.
It seems interesting to me that Bertrand Russell gives us two major camps in Classical Greek philosophy that I can pretty much attribute to the entirety of philosophical discourse: on the one hand, you have the Dionysians with bacchanalia and all sorts of emotional ecstasy. On the other hand, you have the polytheists, using cool logic and reason to explain phenomena. I admit that my interpretation could be extremely off, especially since it has been far too long since I've last touched Russell's The History of Western Philosophy. I have, myself (although not claiming this categorization to be original at all), deduced two camps--metaphysicians and materialists. However, it becomes even more difficult, as the methods used by the metaphysicians include both reason and mysticism. However, reason seems to be most closely tied to materialism, as the criterion of physical reality seems to be the most immediate (I can already hear the postmodernists claiming my "privileging" physical reality over other necessary realities). As I have explained in one of my previous posts, it seems to me that I categorize modes of thought in two ways--reason and mysticism (mysticism being the set of thought such that it is the complement set to reason in the universal set of thought; or, less pretentiously, anything that is not reason). But now that I look at it, why do I make such distinctions in the first place?
Recently, I've been very drawn to Judaism. My friends will probably blame it on my Semitophilia (I can't help it; I happen to think that Jewish men are extremely attractive), but there is a certain rigor to Judaism. All of the commentaries, all of Jewish thought, is argued with extremely comprehensive evidence and tidy logic. Of course, this doesn't help the fact that the basis of all of this reason is a set of texts that was "revealed" (i.e. not reasoned out, but inspired mystically), but maybe there is something to Judaism that reveals a fundamental truth within reality. Then again, we can say the same thing about any religion, especially given the tendency for Eastern mystics to show their compatability with some interpretations of modern physics. Maybe it's this value of truth that I must finally abandon before I become fully committed to my nihilism. Whatever it is, I have to resolve it or ignore it so I can get back to work. Now that, my friends, is an extremely sad revelation.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Case for Faith? Case for Anything at All?
I have been bothered by this issue for quite some time: the need for a metanarrative that explains the human experience by contextualizing it (usually) in a metaphysical scheme. Thus enter religion, the Enlightenment, capitalism, socialism, etc.--all attempting to make sense of the confusing labyrinth that we as individuals and as groups/communities wander through, going mad at every turn and losing direction with every step forward.
I have turned to a sense of radical skepticism, pure Cartesian doubt, that has put me in quite a precarious situation. I am without truth or direction, but I find myself needing it. I look for signs. I seek visions--religious, philosophical, reductionistic, or holistic epiphanies, but I find myself lacking in any confirmation of any absolute value. Yet, unlike someone who is true to one's beliefs, I am unable to abandon the very values that I deconstruct, only to find myself withering because of my inability to stick to the meta-conviction of ridding myself of convictions, only to trap myself in quite a rut.
By reading the realist perspective on epistemic relativism (Sokal and Bricmont's book, Fashionable Nonsense), I was convinced by the fact that we can make arguments of "objective reality," even without establishing absolute proof of its existence. Sokal and Bricmont agree that radical skepticism and solipsism cannot be refuted, but it is impractical to continue with such silliness when you can play in the system called "nature." A friend of mine who has graduated from Northwestern University's epistemology program has also given me this same argumentation: it is impossible to establish absolute knowledge, but when we suspend that belief and create a rigorous self-consistent system, its beauty will be such that we forget the pettiness of nihilism and absorb ourselves into the beauty of phenomenological experience. Similarly, science attempts to establish the natural world as the criterion for examining various claims, although it is very careful to make sure that its boundaries are not crossed (although many have, Cf. abortion and "personhood"). However, does this itself not sound like a form of mysticism? Science establishes faith in an outside world that is supposedly independent of subjective experience, but categorizes everything else under this undefined region called "subjective experience." Similarly, mysticism and other forms of metaphysics dismiss the physical world as a source of delusion and, in many cases, evil (for example, Gnosticism, the Dharmic religions, and esoteric Christianity hold strongly to this anti-materialism). It seems to me that truth does not necessarily exist, as the realists try to define it, and it is based on choice. Of course, this is the viewpoint that I have always established as the beginning of all my ontological and epistemological discourse, but I have never felt such a strong conviction of such a thing. By this road, any form that can be fitted into the experience--any interpretation or explanation--is valid as long as it fits the system. I have had a similar experience with reading about formal systems and the interpretations of algorithms made by Douglas Hofstadter in Godel, Escher, Bach, but I have not established its implications to this extent--what if the system itself is an interpretation? That would mean that there is no beginning or end, something can be created out of nothing, yet that something is nothing and that nothing is something. Of course, to Analytics and other forms of rigorous philosophy, this entire rant is pure bullshit. There is nothing "meaningful" in my sentences or my analysis. But regardless of the somethingness or nothingness in this post, there is something that compells the sharing of this story--my humanity. Although my friends may disagree with my assessment, I believe that Jodie Foster's performance in the adaptation of Carl Sagan's Contact truly holds some undefined essence of humanity--belief, awe, and humanity. Of course, sharing it, continues to be nothing but a wish, but that experience, that awe and inspiration... perhaps that is what is a spiritual experience. If I were somewhat sober in the sense of being a reductionist, I would argue that the claim I am making attempts to establish aesthetics over truth, but maybe there is something in the aesthetic that I can play with. Perhaps it is through the aesthetic, I can rediscover faith and spirituality. However, I do not know where I stand, for I cannot maintain the existence of anything at all--physical, metaphysical, ante-physical. Perhaps all I can say is I'm looking for something. It doesn't matter if it exists or if it doesn't. It's just a search. It's just being human.
I have turned to a sense of radical skepticism, pure Cartesian doubt, that has put me in quite a precarious situation. I am without truth or direction, but I find myself needing it. I look for signs. I seek visions--religious, philosophical, reductionistic, or holistic epiphanies, but I find myself lacking in any confirmation of any absolute value. Yet, unlike someone who is true to one's beliefs, I am unable to abandon the very values that I deconstruct, only to find myself withering because of my inability to stick to the meta-conviction of ridding myself of convictions, only to trap myself in quite a rut.
By reading the realist perspective on epistemic relativism (Sokal and Bricmont's book, Fashionable Nonsense), I was convinced by the fact that we can make arguments of "objective reality," even without establishing absolute proof of its existence. Sokal and Bricmont agree that radical skepticism and solipsism cannot be refuted, but it is impractical to continue with such silliness when you can play in the system called "nature." A friend of mine who has graduated from Northwestern University's epistemology program has also given me this same argumentation: it is impossible to establish absolute knowledge, but when we suspend that belief and create a rigorous self-consistent system, its beauty will be such that we forget the pettiness of nihilism and absorb ourselves into the beauty of phenomenological experience. Similarly, science attempts to establish the natural world as the criterion for examining various claims, although it is very careful to make sure that its boundaries are not crossed (although many have, Cf. abortion and "personhood"). However, does this itself not sound like a form of mysticism? Science establishes faith in an outside world that is supposedly independent of subjective experience, but categorizes everything else under this undefined region called "subjective experience." Similarly, mysticism and other forms of metaphysics dismiss the physical world as a source of delusion and, in many cases, evil (for example, Gnosticism, the Dharmic religions, and esoteric Christianity hold strongly to this anti-materialism). It seems to me that truth does not necessarily exist, as the realists try to define it, and it is based on choice. Of course, this is the viewpoint that I have always established as the beginning of all my ontological and epistemological discourse, but I have never felt such a strong conviction of such a thing. By this road, any form that can be fitted into the experience--any interpretation or explanation--is valid as long as it fits the system. I have had a similar experience with reading about formal systems and the interpretations of algorithms made by Douglas Hofstadter in Godel, Escher, Bach, but I have not established its implications to this extent--what if the system itself is an interpretation? That would mean that there is no beginning or end, something can be created out of nothing, yet that something is nothing and that nothing is something. Of course, to Analytics and other forms of rigorous philosophy, this entire rant is pure bullshit. There is nothing "meaningful" in my sentences or my analysis. But regardless of the somethingness or nothingness in this post, there is something that compells the sharing of this story--my humanity. Although my friends may disagree with my assessment, I believe that Jodie Foster's performance in the adaptation of Carl Sagan's Contact truly holds some undefined essence of humanity--belief, awe, and humanity. Of course, sharing it, continues to be nothing but a wish, but that experience, that awe and inspiration... perhaps that is what is a spiritual experience. If I were somewhat sober in the sense of being a reductionist, I would argue that the claim I am making attempts to establish aesthetics over truth, but maybe there is something in the aesthetic that I can play with. Perhaps it is through the aesthetic, I can rediscover faith and spirituality. However, I do not know where I stand, for I cannot maintain the existence of anything at all--physical, metaphysical, ante-physical. Perhaps all I can say is I'm looking for something. It doesn't matter if it exists or if it doesn't. It's just a search. It's just being human.
Have you ever transcended space and time?
"Yes. No. Uh, time, not space. No, I don't know what you're talking about....."--Jason Schwartzman, I Heart Huckabees.
Cruelty, manipulation, and meaninglessness. Caterine Vauban presents these three concepts as the constants of the universe in her seminal work If Not Now... True to her school of existential nihilism, Vauban's "method" (Vauban's method of existential therapy as opposed to the Jaffes' method) teaches us to deconstruct our minds to the blackness, accept the reality as it is--a manifestation of pure evil and human toil. Armed with such a powerful weapon, one is therefore able to dismantle the fundamental glue of experience, shredding apart the so-called "blanket of reality" that represents all the matter and energy in the universe. Essentially, there's dust and particles over there, us over here, and good and bad luck in between. That's chaos. That's our being.
Aside from such light metaphysical quandry introduced to us in I Heart Huckabees, there's probably a greater lesson in such a blunt jab at modern existentialism. Truly, there is nothing to demonstrate a higher purpose or any higher meaning. Bernard and Vivian Jaffe argue that there is an interconnectedness that binds all things together, thus creating a meaning in the experience of existence. Caterine Vauban, on the other hand, teaches that such existential quandries are the result of human drama and once the human being realizes that there is nothing beyond the manure, the return to drama begins. Either way, there is no room for anything divine or anything supernatural; assuming that there is a connection, a design in it all, it's nothing too special to begin with. So why do we continue our futile search? Why do we continue to play the role of Sisyphus?
To be very honest, I'm a radical skeptic, in fact even a solipsist, at heart. There's no way that I can be sure that there is any phenomenological discourse taking place. However, playing the role of the agnostic theist, I have to speculate on why I continue to seek some sort of higher purpose behind all of our meandering. I'd say that it's an extremely human thing to do. Now, I can already hear the cries of "hypocrisy!" and "contradiction!" when linked with my previous arguments against perennialists and neoclassicists. Some might argue that I'm proposing some sort of metaphysics within the human experience... which, to be honest, is kind of true. Human experience is not a purely biological experience, considering that our experience does not base themselves on a biologically-conscious level. Well, perhaps it is. After all, we must ask ourselves if our thoughts are some sort of activity that occurs in an abstract dimension that is beyond the reach of physical measurement, or if they are merely a coherent pattern of neural firing and self-conscious information embedded within some sort of probability field that defines the field of the universe (although the latest of the proposed mechanisms is probably something that is even more fundamental than biology itself). But what the fuck am I talking about?
In the end, there's no need to say anything other than "WE'RE FUCKED!! HOLY SHIT WE'RE FUCKED!!!!" As depressing as it sounds (not to mention terrifying), there's a certain comedy in it. I mean, it's really hilarious if you think about it. I don't know why I'm laughing. Perhaps it's because the other option would be crying. But if it's so depressing and so hopeless that you can't cry about it, doesn't that mean we have no other choice but to laugh?
Cruelty, manipulation, and meaninglessness. Caterine Vauban presents these three concepts as the constants of the universe in her seminal work If Not Now... True to her school of existential nihilism, Vauban's "method" (Vauban's method of existential therapy as opposed to the Jaffes' method) teaches us to deconstruct our minds to the blackness, accept the reality as it is--a manifestation of pure evil and human toil. Armed with such a powerful weapon, one is therefore able to dismantle the fundamental glue of experience, shredding apart the so-called "blanket of reality" that represents all the matter and energy in the universe. Essentially, there's dust and particles over there, us over here, and good and bad luck in between. That's chaos. That's our being.
Aside from such light metaphysical quandry introduced to us in I Heart Huckabees, there's probably a greater lesson in such a blunt jab at modern existentialism. Truly, there is nothing to demonstrate a higher purpose or any higher meaning. Bernard and Vivian Jaffe argue that there is an interconnectedness that binds all things together, thus creating a meaning in the experience of existence. Caterine Vauban, on the other hand, teaches that such existential quandries are the result of human drama and once the human being realizes that there is nothing beyond the manure, the return to drama begins. Either way, there is no room for anything divine or anything supernatural; assuming that there is a connection, a design in it all, it's nothing too special to begin with. So why do we continue our futile search? Why do we continue to play the role of Sisyphus?
To be very honest, I'm a radical skeptic, in fact even a solipsist, at heart. There's no way that I can be sure that there is any phenomenological discourse taking place. However, playing the role of the agnostic theist, I have to speculate on why I continue to seek some sort of higher purpose behind all of our meandering. I'd say that it's an extremely human thing to do. Now, I can already hear the cries of "hypocrisy!" and "contradiction!" when linked with my previous arguments against perennialists and neoclassicists. Some might argue that I'm proposing some sort of metaphysics within the human experience... which, to be honest, is kind of true. Human experience is not a purely biological experience, considering that our experience does not base themselves on a biologically-conscious level. Well, perhaps it is. After all, we must ask ourselves if our thoughts are some sort of activity that occurs in an abstract dimension that is beyond the reach of physical measurement, or if they are merely a coherent pattern of neural firing and self-conscious information embedded within some sort of probability field that defines the field of the universe (although the latest of the proposed mechanisms is probably something that is even more fundamental than biology itself). But what the fuck am I talking about?
In the end, there's no need to say anything other than "WE'RE FUCKED!! HOLY SHIT WE'RE FUCKED!!!!" As depressing as it sounds (not to mention terrifying), there's a certain comedy in it. I mean, it's really hilarious if you think about it. I don't know why I'm laughing. Perhaps it's because the other option would be crying. But if it's so depressing and so hopeless that you can't cry about it, doesn't that mean we have no other choice but to laugh?
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Presentations
I am the world's most godawful presenter. My last three weeks at group meetings have been nothing short of extremely awkward.
Two weeks ago, a lab colleague was presenting a paper on a genomics finding that indicates something called "reducible complexity" as opposed to irreducible complexity that the creationists tout as proof for an intelligent designer. As an ardent anti-IDist, I could not contain myself and started making snide comments. Clearly feeling a bit awkward by my jeering, my colleague said, "so, anyway, this key-and-lock theory," to which I replied "or 'Talking Serpent Theory'," which was not the smartest idea, considering the fact that 60% of my lab is Catholic.
Last week, I presented a review paper on genetic accomodation versus genetic acclimation, and barely thirty seconds into my paper, my boss interrupts me, and starts picking me apart. For thirty minutes, I try to respond to his barrage of questions and save face while he just shreds me into little pieces. I'm extremely lucky that I'm taking a journal seminar with Steve Kron, because otherwise I would've just fallen apart and cried right there.
This week, I decided to put myself at a strategic advantage by selecting a primary paper on molecular chaperones and their effects on mutation (underlying theory: genomically damaged proteins in some prokaryotes are still functional, which indicates that there is some sort of extra-genomic control of protein function--molecular chaperones are proteins that stablize protein folding in post-translational processes, although the direct mechanism is unknown). This time, the presentation of the paper itself went quite smoothly... until I decided to be all Steve Kron and tear the paper apart. I couldn't help myself! Their alternative hypothesis to chaperones directly affecting misshapen proteins was downright stupid: the chaperones probably affect other proteins that interact with functional stability. Uh... in other words, the protein that they claim is their molecular chaperone wasn't, in fact, a molecular chaperone. And this is without considering their measurement criterion of stability: growth. I mean, yes, growth is a phenotype, but there is so much more to growth than Zuo1!! Of course, I went on and on and I got weird looks. Let's face it. I suck at science presentations.
Here's something that pisses me off though. I claim that I hate molecular biology. I really do. I'm very open about my hatred for molecular biology. Unfortunately, it seems to be the only subject area I can actually read papers in! Steve Kron has definitely turned me into a molecular biologist, and what's bad about this is the fact that I'm a horrible molecular biologist! I don't know. I really don't know what to say about myself. So many inconsistencies. So many revelations of my own stupidity. I'm not saying this out of low self-esteem. I'm just being extremely matter-of-fact. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. And, you know I am going to say this, but, neither do you. Of course, I'm not saying this because I know you. I say it because it's a somewhat poetic way to end a rant. But I believe its purpose has been lost. IAO XAOS!
Two weeks ago, a lab colleague was presenting a paper on a genomics finding that indicates something called "reducible complexity" as opposed to irreducible complexity that the creationists tout as proof for an intelligent designer. As an ardent anti-IDist, I could not contain myself and started making snide comments. Clearly feeling a bit awkward by my jeering, my colleague said, "so, anyway, this key-and-lock theory," to which I replied "or 'Talking Serpent Theory'," which was not the smartest idea, considering the fact that 60% of my lab is Catholic.
Last week, I presented a review paper on genetic accomodation versus genetic acclimation, and barely thirty seconds into my paper, my boss interrupts me, and starts picking me apart. For thirty minutes, I try to respond to his barrage of questions and save face while he just shreds me into little pieces. I'm extremely lucky that I'm taking a journal seminar with Steve Kron, because otherwise I would've just fallen apart and cried right there.
This week, I decided to put myself at a strategic advantage by selecting a primary paper on molecular chaperones and their effects on mutation (underlying theory: genomically damaged proteins in some prokaryotes are still functional, which indicates that there is some sort of extra-genomic control of protein function--molecular chaperones are proteins that stablize protein folding in post-translational processes, although the direct mechanism is unknown). This time, the presentation of the paper itself went quite smoothly... until I decided to be all Steve Kron and tear the paper apart. I couldn't help myself! Their alternative hypothesis to chaperones directly affecting misshapen proteins was downright stupid: the chaperones probably affect other proteins that interact with functional stability. Uh... in other words, the protein that they claim is their molecular chaperone wasn't, in fact, a molecular chaperone. And this is without considering their measurement criterion of stability: growth. I mean, yes, growth is a phenotype, but there is so much more to growth than Zuo1!! Of course, I went on and on and I got weird looks. Let's face it. I suck at science presentations.
Here's something that pisses me off though. I claim that I hate molecular biology. I really do. I'm very open about my hatred for molecular biology. Unfortunately, it seems to be the only subject area I can actually read papers in! Steve Kron has definitely turned me into a molecular biologist, and what's bad about this is the fact that I'm a horrible molecular biologist! I don't know. I really don't know what to say about myself. So many inconsistencies. So many revelations of my own stupidity. I'm not saying this out of low self-esteem. I'm just being extremely matter-of-fact. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. And, you know I am going to say this, but, neither do you. Of course, I'm not saying this because I know you. I say it because it's a somewhat poetic way to end a rant. But I believe its purpose has been lost. IAO XAOS!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Addendum II
Perhaps I was too rash in including all the disciplines of social studies in my rant. I have to admit, those in anthropology and sociology have a better grasp of the scientific method than most physicists, chemists, and biologists do (probably because they have always had to defend their area of study against people like me.) Nevertheless, the integration, as can be seen in sociobiology, seems to indicate that these areas are more willing to discard metaphysical values. Manny, on the other hand, is not.
Addendum
Apparently this Mansfield guy is pretty big in political science. I feel that I have stumped him in regards to the existential foundation of his entire inquiry and I feel very saddened that a silly little undergrad, who is failing his Core classes, can totally thwart this big powerful bogeyman. On this, I have much to be silent about.
Mansfield Lecture: Of θυμος and Other Social Ideas
Social "Science"... such a term is one of the most offensive of ideas, and usually I am one for offensive ideas, but... puh-lease!
Sitting here in SSR 122, listening to one Harvey C. Mansfield hold a lecture on the idea of θυμος, a Greek (obviously) term denoting "spiritedness," or a human desire to be reckoned. Mansfield's lecture on political science and identity politics claims that the basis of power is recognition. Obviously, considering that he's a Straussian, he tends to ignore any postmodern counterdefinitions of power (though I do not necessarily say that their definition is any better). He mourns the fact that "science" (one can only assume he speaks of natural sciences) attempts to remove the human element of things.
Drawing on classical Greek texts (as can be expected from any perennialist), Mansfield attempts to assert this θυμος as the basis of all political exchange (and, of course, he would object the term "exchange"). He puts on this "human face" and "soul" as the drive of any political action... and yet he attacks science?
I love it when social studies attempt to assert themselves as "science." It's so cute at times, but when I meet perennialists, there's some part of me that starts to gag. It seems to me that the social "sciences" draws too much on the blindness of the humanities, that which we call "spirit." The terms "good," "evil," "humanity," and "self" pollute any honest discourse that attempts to look at an objective reality (let us play the role of agnostic realist--solipsism at heart, but realism just for practical purposes). Whatever arguments the social "sciences" bring out, they depend on what Nietzsche attacks in his Beyond Good and Evil--the Metaphysical World. This second world, based on the folly of Plato and other classicists (not to mention also the Vedic scriptures), is the exact speculative idealism that science challenges. Science does not necessarily discount the existence of a "metaphysical world", but it tests the ideas of those who subscribe this idealism to (1) self-consistency, and (2) objective reality. I know many can argue that this objective reality in itself is something that can be attacked, but does that not make the metaphysical world even more so susceptible to challenge?
I will not go into Mansfield's power formula of science (science= man over nonman), but his continued attack on science is really starting to piss me off. He claims that there are two different types of biologies, for instance--modern biology and the "biology of Aristotle and Plato." I do not believe that the former requires any explanation, but the latter... whooo boy. He claims that the "biology of Aristotle and Plato" is a biology that addresses both the physical body and the spiritual. Obviously, he has never heard of the Scientific Method that separates science from natural philosophy. Philosophy. Such a subject is one I tend to enjoy, even as a scientist because of its acceptance of its own limits (and, of course, the overwelcoming acceptance of the limits of others). However, modern philosophy (modern Analytic philosophy, at least), does not claim any absolutes either. According to Mansfield: "modern biology saves lives, ancient biology helps us understand them better." Ancient biology? You mean zoology? This claim of "meaning" is the problem with the classicists, especially Straussians--the metaphysical values of the Enlightenment are called into question of validity due to their subjectivity and the mere fact that it is based on an interpretation of stochastic data.
Perhaps I am too critical. My approach is somewhat clumsy as it is one that deals with the physical world as opposed to the delightful flowery language of the social/metaphysical world. I have asked Dr. Mansfield whether or not θυμος is a metaphysical property, and he believes it to be physical as it is observable. Of course, there is a wonderful little maxim I love to spout "correlation does not imply causation," but his explanation degenerated into a very confusing and muddling monologue of classical authors and random scientific terms. Perhaps there is more to Alan Sokal and Jean Bricmont's Fashionable Nonsense--although it should be more focused on attacking classicism than postmodernism. Perhaps there is no true academic discipline that is truly honest, save mathematics. At least with mathematics, we have a self-contained system. But the existence of natural numbers and their tendency to break from defined laws...? We are truly lost in our position and we are doomed to be lost in unknowability. Maya maya maya maya...
Sitting here in SSR 122, listening to one Harvey C. Mansfield hold a lecture on the idea of θυμος, a Greek (obviously) term denoting "spiritedness," or a human desire to be reckoned. Mansfield's lecture on political science and identity politics claims that the basis of power is recognition. Obviously, considering that he's a Straussian, he tends to ignore any postmodern counterdefinitions of power (though I do not necessarily say that their definition is any better). He mourns the fact that "science" (one can only assume he speaks of natural sciences) attempts to remove the human element of things.
Drawing on classical Greek texts (as can be expected from any perennialist), Mansfield attempts to assert this θυμος as the basis of all political exchange (and, of course, he would object the term "exchange"). He puts on this "human face" and "soul" as the drive of any political action... and yet he attacks science?
I love it when social studies attempt to assert themselves as "science." It's so cute at times, but when I meet perennialists, there's some part of me that starts to gag. It seems to me that the social "sciences" draws too much on the blindness of the humanities, that which we call "spirit." The terms "good," "evil," "humanity," and "self" pollute any honest discourse that attempts to look at an objective reality (let us play the role of agnostic realist--solipsism at heart, but realism just for practical purposes). Whatever arguments the social "sciences" bring out, they depend on what Nietzsche attacks in his Beyond Good and Evil--the Metaphysical World. This second world, based on the folly of Plato and other classicists (not to mention also the Vedic scriptures), is the exact speculative idealism that science challenges. Science does not necessarily discount the existence of a "metaphysical world", but it tests the ideas of those who subscribe this idealism to (1) self-consistency, and (2) objective reality. I know many can argue that this objective reality in itself is something that can be attacked, but does that not make the metaphysical world even more so susceptible to challenge?
I will not go into Mansfield's power formula of science (science= man over nonman), but his continued attack on science is really starting to piss me off. He claims that there are two different types of biologies, for instance--modern biology and the "biology of Aristotle and Plato." I do not believe that the former requires any explanation, but the latter... whooo boy. He claims that the "biology of Aristotle and Plato" is a biology that addresses both the physical body and the spiritual. Obviously, he has never heard of the Scientific Method that separates science from natural philosophy. Philosophy. Such a subject is one I tend to enjoy, even as a scientist because of its acceptance of its own limits (and, of course, the overwelcoming acceptance of the limits of others). However, modern philosophy (modern Analytic philosophy, at least), does not claim any absolutes either. According to Mansfield: "modern biology saves lives, ancient biology helps us understand them better." Ancient biology? You mean zoology? This claim of "meaning" is the problem with the classicists, especially Straussians--the metaphysical values of the Enlightenment are called into question of validity due to their subjectivity and the mere fact that it is based on an interpretation of stochastic data.
Perhaps I am too critical. My approach is somewhat clumsy as it is one that deals with the physical world as opposed to the delightful flowery language of the social/metaphysical world. I have asked Dr. Mansfield whether or not θυμος is a metaphysical property, and he believes it to be physical as it is observable. Of course, there is a wonderful little maxim I love to spout "correlation does not imply causation," but his explanation degenerated into a very confusing and muddling monologue of classical authors and random scientific terms. Perhaps there is more to Alan Sokal and Jean Bricmont's Fashionable Nonsense--although it should be more focused on attacking classicism than postmodernism. Perhaps there is no true academic discipline that is truly honest, save mathematics. At least with mathematics, we have a self-contained system. But the existence of natural numbers and their tendency to break from defined laws...? We are truly lost in our position and we are doomed to be lost in unknowability. Maya maya maya maya...
Monday, May 14, 2007
A Missed Connection: Your Name
I forgot it, your name
But I remember who you were
You were the one who smiled at me
When no one else could see me
I saw you crossing Michigan Ave
When I nearly fell off the bridge
You were the one who held on to me
When I almost fell into the tracks
You were always there for me
When I was close to ending it all
But now I never see you again.
I miss it, your glowing smile
Your strong grip
Your warm strength
Those arms that held onto me
Never letting me stray
Quieting me, consoling me
When I was left for dead
But now again, I am lying on the streets
Wondering when you'll show up again
See me, Help me, Save me
Several months passed by and not a single sign I wished you'd appear
Strong jaw, kind face, and that smile
But now that I remember your name I realize that I will never see you again
Because your name is Hope
Something I have lost in waiting.
But I remember who you were
You were the one who smiled at me
When no one else could see me
I saw you crossing Michigan Ave
When I nearly fell off the bridge
You were the one who held on to me
When I almost fell into the tracks
You were always there for me
When I was close to ending it all
But now I never see you again.
I miss it, your glowing smile
Your strong grip
Your warm strength
Those arms that held onto me
Never letting me stray
Quieting me, consoling me
When I was left for dead
But now again, I am lying on the streets
Wondering when you'll show up again
See me, Help me, Save me
Several months passed by and not a single sign I wished you'd appear
Strong jaw, kind face, and that smile
But now that I remember your name I realize that I will never see you again
Because your name is Hope
Something I have lost in waiting.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
So, I'm a total fuckup. Today, I presented a paper at group meeting about genetic accomodation and bidirectionality of information, and Rustem, my boss and P(ain)I(n the ass) totally ripped me apart for twenty minutes straight. However, I do deserve it for thinking that I can present something or do something in the sciences. God, what am I thinking? I have no sense of direction whatsoever. I hold onto this labjob because I believe that it's the ticket to success, but how will I be able to continue down this road when I feel exhausted with it already? Yes, there are arguments that rebuke my childishness--after all, I'm only a first year in the College, but attending the University of Chicago makes me realize that I'm not at all smart, and, even worse, neither is anybody who claims to be.
Truth is, Steve Kron, my bio seminar teacher (who is awesome yet extremely blood-thirsty), has shown me the utter incompetence of the authors of the many papers being published, and Staci with an "i", my loving TA, revealed to me the disgusting politics and sheer stupidity that pollutes scientific discourse. Maybe I'm approaching this from a totally off angle, but shouldn't honesty and rigor be the basis of science, not bullshit? I was asking this question to one of my classmates last night (or early this morning, if we want to be very technical), and instead of continuing what could've been an interesting conversation, he began to berate me on insignificant things, while steering the conversation off topic (case in point--Me: "Well, this is what I was referring to, Bayes' Formula, so-" Him: "I don't want to look at it." Me: "Oh... kay... I just wanted to show my argument in mathematical form since I'm obviously not explaining it well." Him: "I don't want to be looking at it and fill my brain with it when I'm trying to fill my brain with biochem." Me: "But you asked me to explain--" Him "Which you couldn't, so you don't know what you're talking about.") I don't mind "eccentricity," but if he defines being a total ass as being "eccentric," then I think I would feel much better if I put him down with thorazine and chained him against a wall, only when he wakes up, I'll be administering electroshock that paralyzes... I trust you get the point. Of course, there is one other classmate who is in my mathematics course that I get annoyed with (but for a different smugness that I perceive as hostile and extremely sassy--this is my personal way of describing him, so if you think of him differently, so be it, but he's really a bitch--a fucking cunt, if you fesbian leminists would forgive me for such language), yet without going too much futher into my contempt with specific people, I just want to say that I'm surrounded by jerkwads in all directions. Perhaps they'll read this and snicker at my "vulgar" speech, but to you who are so squeamish, to you who are pedantic, to you who are smarter than me yet act as if you're much more immature than me (and I can get pretty immature), FUCK YOU. I have no trouble in admitting that I don't have all the answers. I don't resent the fact that you're smarter than me (well, I do, but I can at least acknowledge that without being a total ass about it). But, FUCK YOU. If you're reading this and having yourself a good laugh, go on, laugh ahead. I don't believe in karma. I don't believe in retribution. And to tell you the truth, you may be much better than me and achieve much greater things than I will ever do with my existence. But know, for what it's worth, that I was honest and had the decency to acknowledge my limits without being a pompous ass. Who knows? Maybe the next person you piss off will not be as restrained or as weak as I am. I can live with that hope that there is such a thing as balance in the universe, despite my solipsism, and if not now...
This rant has been brought to you by The Life of the Mind at The Univ. of Chicago.
Truth is, Steve Kron, my bio seminar teacher (who is awesome yet extremely blood-thirsty), has shown me the utter incompetence of the authors of the many papers being published, and Staci with an "i", my loving TA, revealed to me the disgusting politics and sheer stupidity that pollutes scientific discourse. Maybe I'm approaching this from a totally off angle, but shouldn't honesty and rigor be the basis of science, not bullshit? I was asking this question to one of my classmates last night (or early this morning, if we want to be very technical), and instead of continuing what could've been an interesting conversation, he began to berate me on insignificant things, while steering the conversation off topic (case in point--Me: "Well, this is what I was referring to, Bayes' Formula, so-" Him: "I don't want to look at it." Me: "Oh... kay... I just wanted to show my argument in mathematical form since I'm obviously not explaining it well." Him: "I don't want to be looking at it and fill my brain with it when I'm trying to fill my brain with biochem." Me: "But you asked me to explain--" Him "Which you couldn't, so you don't know what you're talking about.") I don't mind "eccentricity," but if he defines being a total ass as being "eccentric," then I think I would feel much better if I put him down with thorazine and chained him against a wall, only when he wakes up, I'll be administering electroshock that paralyzes... I trust you get the point. Of course, there is one other classmate who is in my mathematics course that I get annoyed with (but for a different smugness that I perceive as hostile and extremely sassy--this is my personal way of describing him, so if you think of him differently, so be it, but he's really a bitch--a fucking cunt, if you fesbian leminists would forgive me for such language), yet without going too much futher into my contempt with specific people, I just want to say that I'm surrounded by jerkwads in all directions. Perhaps they'll read this and snicker at my "vulgar" speech, but to you who are so squeamish, to you who are pedantic, to you who are smarter than me yet act as if you're much more immature than me (and I can get pretty immature), FUCK YOU. I have no trouble in admitting that I don't have all the answers. I don't resent the fact that you're smarter than me (well, I do, but I can at least acknowledge that without being a total ass about it). But, FUCK YOU. If you're reading this and having yourself a good laugh, go on, laugh ahead. I don't believe in karma. I don't believe in retribution. And to tell you the truth, you may be much better than me and achieve much greater things than I will ever do with my existence. But know, for what it's worth, that I was honest and had the decency to acknowledge my limits without being a pompous ass. Who knows? Maybe the next person you piss off will not be as restrained or as weak as I am. I can live with that hope that there is such a thing as balance in the universe, despite my solipsism, and if not now...
This rant has been brought to you by The Life of the Mind at The Univ. of Chicago.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Death, Death, Death All Around
"God is dead." Friedrich Nietzsche.
"Humanity is dead." Status quo.
"Reality is dead." Grobacher et al.
"Truth is dead." Extension from above.
"Fun is dead." The University of Chicago.
"Humanity is dead." Status quo.
"Reality is dead." Grobacher et al.
"Truth is dead." Extension from above.
"Fun is dead." The University of Chicago.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
A Personal Rant of Which There Holds No Significance Other than Catharsis of an Imperfect Human Being
There is a wonderful thing called "synchronocity" that I used to cherish. I once believed that the various coincidences and the seemingly profound realizations I've received from random experiences are proof that there is some sort of order to all of this, some sort of meaning, some sort of purpose. That was, of course, before I met a wonderful man named Arthur Schopenhaur and an even more delightful gentleman who calls himself Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche.
The so-called "meaning" that I've pretended to reject has not truly been ejected from my system, as I still hold on to the hope that somehow there will be a grand arch to all of this. True, there are those who argue that the grand arch is all in perspective and therefore establishing any forms of absolutes is futile (including the preceding absolute), but I must say that I have not been honest in my search. Apparently I've been looking for some sort of narrative structure within my own life that has bits and pieces of a slave mentality and liberation stories--I am a downtrodden Cinderella who can only dream of Prince Charming until I have a most beautiful experience with the fairy godmother. Well, I've met lots of fairies. I don't have a godmother. And the magicky stuff that I once thought was all super-cool and meaningful is an exercise in hopelessness as I am still, despite all of my many spells and charms, dreadfully single and alone. Once again, we can refer to the possibility of supernatural influences (although I choose not to believe in such sorts... most of the time) that seem to love my misery more than I do. Of this I have much silence. I will say, however, that one of those old powerful hoodoo spells have shown me an extremely grim prediction, indicating that I will be having troubles with whatever lovelife I somehow stumble into (assuming one exists at all).
There will be those who argue "what the hell do you need a love life for?" To them I answer: to battle the cold emptiness. From what I hear, relationships tend to be enough of a distraction from chronic ennui, but perhaps I am too quick in my judgment. Most likely it is due to how I have idealized relationships so much that if I do not experience what I've contextualized, I'll go crazier than I already am. Well, consider the situation in which I am disappointed by love--I will know that enough, the pain, and perhaps that will keep me from straying into this subject matter. However, this essentially contradicts my escapism, so I'm left with no argument.
Fine then. Destroy me. Cut me open. Hack me into little pieces and see what is going on determinisitically in my body. I tell you this--I don't know. I don't know if I ever will know. All I know is that I need to catch up on sleep and hopefully... just hopefully, I won't have to wake up in the morning.
The so-called "meaning" that I've pretended to reject has not truly been ejected from my system, as I still hold on to the hope that somehow there will be a grand arch to all of this. True, there are those who argue that the grand arch is all in perspective and therefore establishing any forms of absolutes is futile (including the preceding absolute), but I must say that I have not been honest in my search. Apparently I've been looking for some sort of narrative structure within my own life that has bits and pieces of a slave mentality and liberation stories--I am a downtrodden Cinderella who can only dream of Prince Charming until I have a most beautiful experience with the fairy godmother. Well, I've met lots of fairies. I don't have a godmother. And the magicky stuff that I once thought was all super-cool and meaningful is an exercise in hopelessness as I am still, despite all of my many spells and charms, dreadfully single and alone. Once again, we can refer to the possibility of supernatural influences (although I choose not to believe in such sorts... most of the time) that seem to love my misery more than I do. Of this I have much silence. I will say, however, that one of those old powerful hoodoo spells have shown me an extremely grim prediction, indicating that I will be having troubles with whatever lovelife I somehow stumble into (assuming one exists at all).
There will be those who argue "what the hell do you need a love life for?" To them I answer: to battle the cold emptiness. From what I hear, relationships tend to be enough of a distraction from chronic ennui, but perhaps I am too quick in my judgment. Most likely it is due to how I have idealized relationships so much that if I do not experience what I've contextualized, I'll go crazier than I already am. Well, consider the situation in which I am disappointed by love--I will know that enough, the pain, and perhaps that will keep me from straying into this subject matter. However, this essentially contradicts my escapism, so I'm left with no argument.
Fine then. Destroy me. Cut me open. Hack me into little pieces and see what is going on determinisitically in my body. I tell you this--I don't know. I don't know if I ever will know. All I know is that I need to catch up on sleep and hopefully... just hopefully, I won't have to wake up in the morning.
Nonsense as Salvation
The human race will begin solving its problems on the day it ceases taking itself so seriously.
To that end, POEE proposes teh countergame of NONSENSE AS SALVATION. Salvation from an ugly and barbarous existence that is the result of taking order so seriously and so seriously fearing contrary orders and disorder, that GAMES are taken as more importan than LIFE; rather than taking LIFE AS THE ART OF PLAYING GAMES.
To this end, we propose that man develop his innate love for disorder, and play with the Goddess Eris. And know that it is a joyful play, and that thereby CAN BE REVOKED THE CURSE OF GREYFACE.
If you can master nonsense as well as you have already learned to master sense, then each will expose the other for what it is: absurdity. From that moment of illumination, a man becomes free regardless of his surroundings. He becomes free to play order games and change them at will. He becomes free to play neither or both. And as the master of his own games, he plays without fear, and therfore without frustration, and therefore with good will in his soul and love in his being.
And when men becomes free then mankind wil be free.
May you be free of The Curse of Greyface.
May the Goddess put twinkles in your eyes.
May you have the knowledge of a sage,
and the wisdom of a child.
Hail Eris.
To that end, POEE proposes teh countergame of NONSENSE AS SALVATION. Salvation from an ugly and barbarous existence that is the result of taking order so seriously and so seriously fearing contrary orders and disorder, that GAMES are taken as more importan than LIFE; rather than taking LIFE AS THE ART OF PLAYING GAMES.
To this end, we propose that man develop his innate love for disorder, and play with the Goddess Eris. And know that it is a joyful play, and that thereby CAN BE REVOKED THE CURSE OF GREYFACE.
If you can master nonsense as well as you have already learned to master sense, then each will expose the other for what it is: absurdity. From that moment of illumination, a man becomes free regardless of his surroundings. He becomes free to play order games and change them at will. He becomes free to play neither or both. And as the master of his own games, he plays without fear, and therfore without frustration, and therefore with good will in his soul and love in his being.
And when men becomes free then mankind wil be free.
May you be free of The Curse of Greyface.
May the Goddess put twinkles in your eyes.
May you have the knowledge of a sage,
and the wisdom of a child.
Hail Eris.
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