Other Opinions #58 – The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas

What sane person could live in this world and not be crazy?

In honour of the late Ursula K. Le Guin.

The story itself is still under copyright, but I highly encourage you to go buy it, borrow it,  read it. It is short, and brilliant, and will leave you thinking.




On Dirt and Mess

No grand clever theory today, just a brief soliloquy on a couple of concepts which it sometimes annoys me when people confuse.

I’m writing this fully aware of the fact that language is fluid, and the majority of disagreement I’m likely to receive is on the specific meanings of specific words I’ve chosen. It’s not about the language, it’s about the concepts. Well, it’s sort of about the language. Language guides how we think; if we had a more precise language we wouldn’t muddy our concepts so much. But I digress.

Clean/Dirty – This is a distinction of, literally, the absence/presence of dirt. “Dirt” in this context can also stand in for other unhygienic particulates: dust, rust, hair, mould, that weird gunk which tends to accumulate on shower floors, etc.

Clean/Messy – This is a distinction of order. A room is messy when it has clothes strewn on the floor; it is clean when the clothes are neatly folder and/or hung. Annoyingly, I do not know a word other than “clean” to represent “not messy”. Do note that a room can be simultaneously messy and clean (not-dirty). Likewise it can be simultaneously dirty and clean (not-messy). This is why we should all learn Esperanto.

Organized/Disorganized – This is not a distinction of order; it is a distinction of knowledge. If a room has clothes strewn about, but they are strewn according to a specific layout and you know the precise location of every article, it is messy but organized. Likewise, a stack of neatly folded clothes can be entirely unordered (and thus disorganized) but still quite clean (not-messy) and also maybe clean (not-dirty).

Communication is hard. Don’t make it harder.  Use the concept you mean to use.

2017 on Grand Unified Crazy

Since I’ve been blogging pretty consistently again for about a year now, a “year in review” post seems like the thing to do. 2017 has been by far the most active year for my blog in terms of traffic: over 1100 page views on over 700 visitors. This is substantially more than even 2014 when I was posting full-steam-ahead on my core philosophical roadmap.

Unsurprisingly, the largest single chunk of that readership comes from Facebook links (hi friends) but that still accounts for less than a third of total page views. Search engines are next (~150 views) and then we’re down into the weeds.

Perhaps also unsurprisingly, far and away my most popular post this year was that one on Donald Trump. It got more than three times the views as anything else I wrote, and it certainly has had the longest shelf life; it’s regularly getting 5-10 random hits a month nearly a year after I posted it.

From a geographical perspective most of my readers are from Canada (surprise) but still barely half. The U.S. counts for another third or so, and the remainder come from a smattering of places. Germany, U.K., and India all show up semi-regularly; at the bottom of the pack are places like Romania (3 views), Columbia (2 views), and South Africa (1 view) among others.

In terms of what I’ve actually written about this year, it was rather scattershot. The first third or so of the year was anchored by my series on atheism but included a bunch of random stuff too (notably that Trump post). The second third (starting with Pessimism and Emotional Hedging and running through Charging the Self-Trust Battery) was an collection of essays which I am rather proud of. In hindsight they collect around two distinct themes: feminism, and our search for fulfillment.

The final two months of posts (1, 2, 3, 4, 5) have been an exploration of anxiety and love, somewhat more poorly structured and poorly written than my earlier essays, but also a little more personal.

As for my favourite post from the year? Our Need for Need. Something about it still rings true.

I have no specific plans for 2018 right now, so we’ll see what starts showing up in my brain in January. Onwards.

Right Love

When I think of love, I think of a deep, romantic, starry-eyed limerence combined with a strong underlying bond of commitment. This shouldn’t be too surprising, given that I grew up on a steady diet of Christian family values and golden-age Hollywood movie-musicals. While I’ve consciously rejected some parts of that childhood, it has nonetheless had a lasting and obvious effect on my subconscious and what I want out of life.

Of course, this is hardly the only kind of love that exists in the world. I have written before about this and generally keep coming back to Patrick Rothfuss’s two blog posts on the topic. Go read them if you haven’t already, they are important context to what follows.

At a very simple, practical level, the many different kinds of love that we talk about are merely a linguistic problem. The fact that they all share one word is annoying, and makes communication more difficult sometimes, but doesn’t fundamentally alter reality. The asterisk on this is of course that the way we define emotional words at all is weird and complicated. Still, this does not seem an insurmountable problem.

Since this problem seems initially surmountable, let’s try to surmount it. Specifically, let’s try to pin down what the right kind of love is upon which to build a marriage or other relationship. It may be tempting to object that there is no “right” kind of love, all love is unique, every relationship is different, etc. but love is such a broad term that this is clearly false. I love chocolate, but it would be a categorical mistake to marry someone about whom I feel the way I feel about chocolate. Or consider the Greek word philia which is sometimes translated as “brotherly love” or similar, but is again not something a romantic relationship should be built on.

We’ve just seen a couple of easy examples of what “marriage love” (for lack of a better term) shouldn’t be, but pinning down what it actually should be is rather more complicated:

  • The traditionalist, “family values” line is that it should be storge, which is another Greek word usually translated as love but with more of a lean towards family and commitment. Among other things, storge is what parents normally feel for their children.
  • The Hollywood line is that it should be limerence, which is not Greek at all but was coined by a psychologist in the 1970s and is roughly equivalent to so-called “romantic love” or emotional infatuation.
  • The modern, sexually liberated generation of today might imply that pragmatically the most important form of love is eros (Greek again, with “erotic” an obvious descendant in modern English), with the others relevant but generally secondary. Certainly, there have been studies supporting this point.
  • Rothfuss, in his second post above, argues for a conception of love he calls eleutheria and which he defines approximately as “love without expectation”.
  • The final meaning of love I’ve heard talked about in this context is something I don’t have a good word handy for, and I’m not even sure I can describe it properly. It is an intentional, intellectual form of love, almost more a compatibility of spirit and mindset than an emotion? Maybe this is what philia means? Or philia combined with storge? I’m not sure. For the purposes of this post I’ll just keep calling it philia, and apologies to any Greek speakers who disagree.

So which one is it? In an ideal relationship, obviously, we would want all of these to be present. If you feel storge, limerence, eros, eleutheria, and philia for one person all at once, then that’s pretty definitely somebody you should be talking to. But what if you only feel some of those? Limerence and/or eros are clearly enough for a lot of people to act on, but don’t tend to produce a lasting relationship by themselves. Storge and philia, as far as I can tell, are potentially necessary for a healthy long-term relationship, but are also emotions that we feel for others (siblings, children, etc) and are therefore clearly not sufficient. Eleutheria sounds pretty but I still find it a little hard to grasp; I don’t have a good referent for when I’m feeling it.

Discarding eleutheria because I don’t properly understand it, and taking storge and philia as necessary but not sufficient, then either limerence or eros (or both) must be a necessary component. Of the two, limerence seems more plausible; eros is obviously very common, but it seems possible to be “in love” to the point of marriage without having an erotic component. Initial conclusion: storge, philia, and limerence.

This is all very theoretically well and good, but has a more practical problem: limerence seems rare. At the least, it certainly seems far rarer than the number of actual existing relationships (57.7% of the adult population as of the last census). Does this mean that limerence isn’t actually necessary? Or is it more that people are so afraid of being alone they will enter into a relationship without all the necessary conditions? I don’t know.

On the Appropriate Labelling of Emotions

Emotions suffer from what I like to think of as “the colour problem”. It probably has a proper name in philosophy circles (related to, but distinct from Wittgenstein’s “private language”) but I think of it as the colour problem because the easiest example is to do with colours. A fancier name would probably be the experience-description problem or something.

Anyway, the easy example goes roughly as follows: presumably we both agree on what is meant by the colour blue. I can point to a blue sky and you will agree that the sky is, in fact, blue. You can point to a green plant and I will agree that it is not blue. We use this word the same way, to refer to the same property of the same things in the real world. But that says nothing about how we actually experience the property of blueness. Perhaps for me, the visible colour spectrum is reversed; I see violet as red and red as violet. I see blue as orange, and orange as blue. To the outside observer (and in fact to me myself) there is no way to tell. How I perceive a particular wavelength of light doesn’t change the categorization of real objects, or the words that we use.

When I see a blue sky, I might experience what you consider the sensation of orangeness But to me, that’s what blue is. All the things that generate that sensation have always just been called blue, and all the things that generate a sensation of blueness have just been called orange. I know no differently, and short of some miraculous yet-to-be-invented mind-reading technology, there is no way for anybody to detect this issue, because practically it’s not an issue. The only thing it could possibly have implications for is aesthetics, and that’s incredibly subjective anyway.

But enough with colours. They’re the easy example. The thing I want to actually talk about today is emotions, because they suffer the same problem but with much more serious implications. Like colours, emotions are internal experiences which we can describe only indirectly. We learn to associate smiling and other physical cues with happiness, and so as children the feelings that produce those physical reactions in us we start to call happiness. But of course, we can also lie about our emotions: we call it acting.

Consider as a thought experiment, two children raised separately by two very bizarre parents. Parent A raises child A almost perfectly normally, except for one thing: parent A lies about the name of emotions. When they are feeling happy, or talking about being happy, they use the word “sad”. When they are feeling angry, or talking about being angry, they use the word “calm”. Etc. Etc.

Parent A is a little weird, but parent B is even weirder. Parent B doesn’t lie with words: they lie with body language and facial expression. When parent B is feeling happy, they use the word “happy”, but they *act* like they’re sad. When they’re feeling angry, they use the word “angry”, but they *act* like they’re calm. Etc. Etc.

In theory, the end result is exactly the same. For both children, their internal mapping of words to external cues is reversed from what we consider normal. They could probably even talk to each other about their emotions, and understand each other perfectly, though everybody else would end up quite confused. All of this simply to show that we have no certainty that, when we use a given word to describe an emotion we’re feeling, it lines up with how other people use that word at all. All we have to go on are easily faked or confused external cues.

For colours this wasn’t a problem; aesthetics are subjective anyway. But for emotions, it’s rather more serious, because we frequently attach ethical weight to our emotional states and the communication thereof. These range from the mundane (feigning enjoyment of an awkward social situation) to the serious (telling someone you love them when, in fact, you don’t feel any such thing).

Now, hopefully nobody does the latter on purpose; that would be an incredibly nasty thing to do. But we just got finished talking about the fact that we can’t really be sure about our emotional labels anyway. Maybe through some confusion of cues and feelings, the emotion you describe as love is just different than that of your partner. You say you love each other, but you mean different things by that statement. This is not only practically dangerous, but ethically complicated as well. In a certain sense, your relationship is built on a lie; not an intentional one, but a lie nonetheless.

I completely lack a conclusion, but I’ve run out of things to say. Hope everyone’s had a merry christmas.

Mens Rea

First piece of context: I just binge-watched the first season of The Good Place. It is excellent, and since it’s weirdly anchored in moral philosophy (this is a sitcom that references Kant, uses the word consequentialism as a punchline, and calls its episodes things like “The Trolley Problem”) it was right up my alley. This of course means that a warning is in order: spoilers for the first season of The Good Place ahead. I haven’t seen the second yet since it’s not on Netflix.

Second piece of context: this TED talk that I ran across on Facebook recently.

It’s a great talk with a lot of interesting ideas, but a couple of lines in particular stood out to me because I just found them so… incomprehensible.

Sure, she’s dating down, she’s sleeping with a knucklehead, but it’s not like she’s going to marry the guy.


Dating in my 20s was like musical chairs. Everybody was running around and having fun.

Do people actually think like this? Does this phrase fit in the worldview of a normal person? Am I really that unusual in my perspective that I find this a little weird?

Now, it’s easy to assume my objections here are along the lines of “traditional Christian morality”, prudishness around sex, and a very marriage-is-the-only-permissible-outcome kind of approach. But that’s not the case. I have no problem with sex as a recreational activity, with no expectations of commitment or marriage. My problem is with the confusion of the two that is evident in these two quotes.

If you sit down with any of these people and ask them what they’re aiming for, do they have an answer? Do they even know if they want their relationship to lead to a long commitment or if it’s just for fun?

It’s fine if you’re just looking for fun, and that’s clear and everyone involved is aware. The opposite is also fine, if you’re looking for something long-term and serious. The thing that boggles my mind is that so many people don’t really seem to know?! Oh, it’s fun for now, and maybe it’ll become serious later? Maybe we’ll get married if we’re still together when I turn thirty? I really don’t get it.

Let’s bring this back around to The Good Place, and specifically motivation, which is where my mind originally started (thus the title) and is a topic that TGP deals with extensively. It is sometimes hard to know your own motivation for things; after all, most of our conscious thought is retroactive story-telling justification rather than actual forward-thinking decision-making. In this way I identify very strongly with Chidi (William Jackson Harper), the indecisive ethics professor who acts as “moral support” (how has nobody made that joke yet?) for protagonist Eleanor (Kristen Bell).

In that sense it maybe isn’t so surprising that people just don’t know what they’re looking for. As somebody who spends an inordinate amount of time worrying (for those who care the experiment was a flop and only survived about a day) about my own motivation for certain decisions and the various ethical implications there-in, this is something I am particularly attuned to and I still have no idea half the time.

But (again per the title) motivation is a critical part of what makes many actions ethical or not, in a common practical sense. Yes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and a pure consequentialist is free to disregard motivation entirely, but pragmatically it makes a huge difference. There’s a reason it’s a key part of law, and law is basically just a higher-order abstraction on ethics. Breaking somebody’s heart? Bad, but sometimes unavoidable. Breaking somebody’s heart on purpose? Legitimately evil.

If you’ve read this far, and maybe you’ve read my previous posts (1, 2, 3) on related topics, the theme that is finally standing out for me (hindsight is wonderful) is the following underlying question:

Is it possible to have an ethically sound romantic or sexual relationship?

Most people instinctively say yes, of course. I can’t disagree with the obvious conclusion without sounding crazy, but sometimes I wonder.