When are we not being brainwashed?

The question is not so intuitive as what stands behind it: the nature and purpose of communication is to convey a message. An argument seeks to advance a particular point, often grounded in an ideology or worldview. What then is brainwashing if not an argument communicating a message that you don't like?

The connotation itself betrays its subjectivity. The Oxford English Dictionary defines the term as "mak[ing] (someone) adopt radically different beliefs by using systematic and often forcible pressure." These beliefs can only be "radically different" with respect to other beliefs taken to be normative. A cult, for instance, is thought to be an institution of brainwashing. But what is a cult other than a religion we don't like or recognize as valid?

Any religion or philosophy or governmental institution can be taken to be brainwashing by those who view it as deviant from the norm. We are fed arguments in the form of propaganda each day toward enculturating us to accept a particular agenda. The more seemingly innocuous forms of it assail our sensibilities as advertisements. We see people enjoying a product or identify with a situation or emotion on display, causing us to associate it with the product. Marketing is subtle and often subconscious. We don't need to be told something directly in order to fall sway to suggestion. The catechism or liturgy found in religions or fraternal rituals, though overtly suggestive, has largely become passe in a culture with an aversion to direct fronts. As with bacteria, however, the fact that we don't see it doesn't mean it isn't affecting us.

But brainwashing is more than simply an argument that we oppose: it's an argument that we fear. If we were stoical and objective in our rationale, brainwashing would just be regarded as an opposing argument. Instead, because we feel threatened due either to ignorance or hatred, we demonize our opposition's argument by labeling it as brainwashing. Insecurities cause us to take comfort in the sanctity of our convictions in contradistinction to what they are not.

Beware anyone who accuses of brainwashing. They are very afraid and want you to be as well.

Political Ideology – narrow-minded or not?

Yesterday for the first time in my life I was accused of being narrow-minded. This comment has arrested me in the most interesting way, for it has prompted me to step outside myself to view how it could be applicable. For a long time, since before I knew what diversity was, I have had friends of different races and cultures. I remember my first gay friend in 7th grade and my other friends who made fun of me for associating with him. But the accusation of my narrow-mindedness came in the context of ideology – more specifically, my sharing the observation that I have very few friends who identify as republican and my refusal to associate with anyone who does. Does this make me narrow-minded because I refuse to associate with others on the basis of politics? The answer, I would argue, depends on the politics.

Modern Republican politics are entrenched in negative ideology rather than the positive ideology of liberal politics. What I mean by negative is that Republican politicians position themselves against something rather than for something. For instance, they are not pro-life so much as they are against pro-choice. They are not for “preserving the sanctity of marriage” so much as against same-sex civil unions. In contrast, modern Democratic politics, by and large, position themselves for the greater good of all Americans rather than against the 1%. They want taxes to be income-based rather than against those who can afford to part with more. The difference is not merely negative versus positive, but self-serving versus civil.

Why would I refuse then to associate with Republicans? Not just because of the maxim that you become the company you keep and the sociological research that supports this, but because I believe that all relationships are grounded in respect. My democratic friends, even the ones who are white and straight and come from upper-middle class families understand that not everyone has it so easy; so out of respect they support policy that benefits the now proverbial 47%. They respect differences. But Republicans by and large do not share such a respect, for their ideology countermands all respect for those who don’t share the same beliefs as they do. They are uncompromising in believing that their beliefs should be normative for the rest of the population.

So does my refusal to associate with Republicans – to not respect their ideological differences – make me narrow-minded? Let me rephrase the question with a metaphor to illuminate the rhetorical answer: Would my refusal to associate with the Taliban – to not respect their worldview that desires Shariah law be imposed on all civilizations and to destroy those who will not submit to their will – make me narrow-minded? I think it makes me one who knows better than to waste time conversing with terrorists. To respect such differences would invite the annihilation of our society, though that is in effect what the Romney plan would do. It invokes terror in those who cannot afford health care without government subsidy; in those who do not have a heteronormative disposition; in those who wish to get an education but weren’t born into affluent families; in anyone who cares about the environment. Can Obama, the Nobel Peace Prize winner, be said to threaten the livelihoods and dreams of any American citizen? Only of those whose dreams enact privileged elitism and subjugation of the least of these.

I do not identify as a Democrat, for I do not agree wholly with their whole ticket. But I sure as hell do not identify as a Republican, for I have conscience. If you would require I self-identify, I am a humanist – one whose agenda eschews political allegiance and instead embraces what favors the common good. I believe in equal opportunity and the right to an education. I believe no individual because of his or her sexual, gendered, racial, ethnic, or socioeconomic disposition should be disenfranchised from the civil liberties promised in our nation’s constitution. Could I be narrow-minded? Those who are might tell you so.

Success in America

What does success mean in the 21^st century? Is it putting your kids through college so they have better opportunities than you did? Is it working hard and getting the promotion that you wanted? Is it turning your phone off and taking an hour to yourself to read a novel or go for a walk? Yes. Success is all these things. As society would tell us, a “success story” is someone who worked hard to get to where he or she is. But that is not the only definition of success.

The truth is that people define success based on their values. While working hard and achieving a goal is very much America’s classic definition of success and internalized by many Americans, such a definition merely reflects the value of hard work. But for those of us who do not value work as the be-all and end-all of existence – for those who value time with family or reading Tolstoy, for example – success is time spent in such activities as our values designate.

Author of The Black Swan and philosopher Nassim Taleb posted recently: "What we commonly call ‘success’ (rewards, status, recognition, some new metric) is a consolation prize for those both unhappy and not good at what they do." There is much truth to this, but we need not be so cynical about human nature. He grounds his argument in that most people do not enjoy their work, but make it meaningful by setting goals and celebrating their accomplishments as successes – effectively taking recourse in surrogate enjoyment though it is a thin veil over the truth of their feelings of inadequacy in failing to self-actualize. Why else would midlife crises be so commonplace?

But I think rather than reducing success to a consolation prize it would be more helpful to draw attention to the fact that success is relative and based on personal values. In our society, when asked about ourselves, we commonly give our name followed by our occupation. This directly reflects our work as the highest social value since it follows directly after our name. Naturally, we identify by what we hold dear. Yet if we can learn anything from the late Senator Bobby Kennedy, who said that the gross national product “measures everything… except that which makes life worthwhile,” perhaps we should adjust our values to reflect that which actually is worthwhile instead of what we tell ourselves or let society tell us is worthwhile. A job is a means, not an end. We as a nation would do well to remember that. Maybe then we will come to define success not in terms of occupational work, but in terms of personal fulfillment in the various facets of life.

A favorite professor of mine in college often warned his class never to confuse passion and happiness with ambition and success. One is real and the other is an illusion. But if we alter the way we define success in such a manner and are passionate about life, happiness can be our greatest success.

Why Online Journalism Falsely Reports the News to Make Money

Remember that game called telephone that you played as a kid in which someone whispers a phrase or sentence into your ear and you in turn repeat what you heard to the person after you? The more people you played it with, the more likely the wording changed drastically by the end. If it was ever explained, it's an exercise in demonstrating how facts get skewed. But did you ever play that game with an asshole who purposely distorted the wording so that at the end when the last person yelled the phrase and the group tried to figure out where it went wrong he (it was always a he; girls were never that immature) would gleefully yell or smugly confide in one student that he did it? That's what Internet reporting is like.

The more traffic a site gets, the more it can charge advertisers more money since that translates into a greater likelihood of people clicking their links. Naturally then Internet reporting (and plenty television and radio "news" as well for the same reason) would seek to sensationalize as much as possible to maximize traffic reducible to ad revenue. Essentially, if the syllogism is sound, Internet reporters are assholes.

But they're actually far worse than that. They're propagators of propaganda without an actual subversive agenda. They just do what they do because they hope it will have the desired effect which in turn will earn them a shoddy income. But there's an epiphenomenon as well that goes unconsidered and if realized becomes ignored just like pouring toxins into rivers. And that is the spread of misinformation causing a grossly misinformed public.

There are of course other factors. Marketing and PR certainly do their share, as well as the agendas of institutionally-backed studies and political rhetoric, but these are to be expected. Each seeks to further its employer's interests, so why should the news be any different? The sad answer is that these journalists don't report the news so much as twist it to make it more sensational and thereby more interesting. Their reporting is a travesty of journalism so far as it compromises the integrity of actually covering a story in favor of maximizing viewership. The story still gets conveyed, but it's filtered through the lens of sensationalism.

On one hand I can't fault the news-entertainment industry for creating such a niche, though it should be pointed out that less baseless news sources such as NY Times, CNN, and BCC rank among the top news providers. But on the other hand, when I consider how the proliferation of utter falsities and misinformation has contributed both to infecting a largely gullible population and making the unadulterated truth harder to discover, I lament what the implications it has for our culture. People are more informed today than ever before, but they are largely misinformed and therefore dumber (although one could argue that being dumb increases the likelihood of being misinformed, the causality is probably dialectical).

The satirical, dystopic movie Idiocracy was scary to me because its projected future reality didn't seem too far off. I could guess at the missing pieces in the causal chain that could lead us from our current society to one in which idiots abound and the policies reflect the values of the people. And while it's a bit of a stretch to say that the relatively recent trend in misleading journalism is indicative of greater societal degeneration, I wouldn't rule it out as a non-factor.

More Human than Human: Can Androids Elicit the Best in Humanity? A tangential review of Blade Runner

30 years after its 1982 release I finally got around to seeing the sci-fi classic, Blade Runner. Despite its age, I found the film, which is based on the book "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?", to be exceptionally relevant to our present age of questionable humanity. To situate it briefly, the dystopic plot resembles a kind of inverted Nazi Germany in which genetic engineers created a superior kind of human, Replicas, that are generally used for menial labor and dangerous missions on other planets. Banned from Earth for a vague reason (presumably fear of takeover), special police called blade runners hunt them down. The leader of a band of fugitive replicas, with blond hair and blue eyes, immediately calls to mind Aryan perfection as the Nazis might have idealized. This character, Roy, personifies Lucifer in his quest to meet his maker – that his maker might modify his biological structure to undo the four-year lifespan afforded to replicas as assurance that they won't overtake humans. Practically speaking, Roy desires to transcend his mortality by bargaining with God. Ascending into what the trope indicates should be heaven, Roy attempts to persuade Tyrell, his architect, to make the desired modification. Tyrell explains that it is impossible, for a living organization cannot be modified without immediately dooming it. He then caresses Roy's head as a father might sympathetically treat his "prodigal son". Realizing that he is powerless to transcend his mortality and that his other-worldly hope in beseeching God failed, Roy, now a lapsed ubermensch, seeks a Nietzschian "death of God". Roy gives Tyrell a kiss of death before gouging out his eyes – the windows to his soul – and ending Tyrell's life. As his maker's existence could no longer provide meaning, Roy had to destroy the source of false hope. Roy now descends from Tyrell's home ponderous of what meaning his life now has. He is met by the blade runner Deckard, whom he chases and playfully yet insidiously castigates – sporadically expounding on the ephemerality of life. Realizing his own imminent death as signified through unprompted contractions of his fingers, Roy places a stake through his hand in the manner of stigmata, effectively declaring his redemption. While Deckard is about to drop to his death, Roy catches him and, while Deckard cowers at Roy's mercy, he launches into a brief soliloquy on the transience of life and the imperative to live before finally expiring and releasing a dove from his hand. All moments are lost to time, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't make the most of it – as Tyrell previously advised Roy. In the end, Roy internalizes Tyrell's purpose for him in making the most of his remaining time as he makes the choice to save Deckard instead of culminating his destruction.

The theme of the reckless search for meaning and destruction begetting knowledge of creation plays out time and again throughout the great narratives of history and fantasy. We are presented with characters who so desperately want to live that they destroy everything in their paths searching for what purposive living entails. Then, when they finally realize it, they discover that they have destroyed the one thing that held the key to that realization through reification. It makes them all tragic heroes. They fail to realize, as Douglas Brooks has beautifully written, that life should be "an affirmation of the radical claim that the human experience is the point of having been born human. You are the point the universe has decided to make. Own that experience, receive that as the gift, never stop wanting to become more human: that is divine." Perhaps that is why so many of these tragic figures are cast as inhuman roles: to more aptly illustrate that we all aspire for humanity yet so few actually achieve it. Anakin Skywalker in Starwars; Agent Smith in The Matrix; Roy in Blade Runner; Ernest Hemingway in real life... the list can go on.

One of the appeals of seeing this dynamic play out on the screen is so that we don't have to do so ourselves. We are vicarious aspirants, not exactly living through others, but seeing how their stories play out so we can learn from them. It is the fan-crafted mythology that informs our lives as perhaps more temporally relevant retellings of classic motifs. Only through the perceived imminency of death and destruction does one have sufficient perspective to contemplate life. Georges Bataille reportedly spent hours a day for some time gazing at an image of a tortured Chinese man, quartered and bloodied, so as to inform his own isolated mortality. He writes that the man in the image "communicated his pain to me or perhaps the excessive nature of his pain, and it was precisely that which I was seeking, not to take pleasure in it, but in order to ruin in me that which is opposed to ruin." By this he means that he spent so much time studying the tortured image that, ignorant of such hopeless pain in his own life, he might come to know it vicariously and thus inform his lasting perspective on mortality.

The question of what makes one human has dominated the philosophy of science fiction for over half a century now. For the replicas of Blade Runner, one of the cardinal aspects that designates their inhumanity is their inability to genuinely experience human emotions – although Roy cites fear of death as his motivation for seeking to transcend it. We can perhaps see a modern version of such inhumanity in the driven obedience such attention-demanding drugs as Ritalin and Adderall have on mechanizing children into memorization and robots of directed control to the tasks at hand. This practice, as an article in today's NY Times argues, stymies and stultifies the development of children in the interest of societal expectations, thereby dampening their creative [and therefore human] development. Children are effectively re-programmed, as are stray programs in the movie Tron, or they face its equivalent of de-resolution – failure to make oneself useful to the system and sinking into unmitigated poverty. At stake here is the beginning of de-humanization and robotization of our species in the greater interest of societal values. How much humanity can be sacrificed before a person is only recognized as human aesthetically, but not by one's actions? How far before such humans stop identifying as humans and see themselves more as automatons?

Faced with such questions and realities in which much human labor has been outsourced to machines, we must attend to the existence of clones. A clone is by definition an imitation of an image – a picture of an image. As with the replicas in Blade Runner, some do not even know that they are replicas, as being programmed with the memories of their images and not told otherwise, they have no reason to suspect not being human. Even more terrifying is that they bleed just like humans. They are thus indistinguishable externally – through human appearance and actions – and internally – through the production of human blood. This fact makes clones effectively terrorists, as W. J. T. Mitchell argues in his book Cloning Terror. They look and act, modern cultural stereotypes withstanding, exactly like us until they reveal themselves to be otherwise. Thus unrecognizable even through familiar recognition, clones most grotesquely pervert humanity not due to their inhumanity, but because they would drive us to be paranoid about our own and that of our neighbors.

In the same spirit that we often must find out what we dislike in order to find out what we do like, so too is the maxim true of humanity in the science fiction age. We learn what it means to be human by negative definition of those characteristics that defy our intuitive conception of humanity. I _____, therefore, I am human, as this brief essay has indicated, could best be filled with verb forms of inclination toward creativity and avoidance of rote activities, elicitation of complex emotions, and acute awareness of and discomfort with one's mortality. With such an understanding, however, we could contend that Roy, despite being a replica, is the most human character in the film. Malcontent with his militant programming and dreading his biological expiration, he creatively thinks to beseech God for more life – as numerous characters have done across mythologies. Though it is never overtly spoken and only signified through imagery and action, Roy alone yokes himself religiously. He alone demonstrates the human proclivity toward meaning-making that has been the occupation par excellence of humankind from the earliest recorded histories. And when he finds his maker inadequate, he follows suit of countless individuals who have discarded insufficient theodicies in search of better ones.

Unless this understanding of humanity is misinformed, then the parabolic nature of much science fiction would appear to be well met. That is, by painting a picture of flawed non-humans striving for humanity, the audience can relate to their own imperfections – how none of them is an ubermensch – with respect to striving for meaning in a broken world (the telos of homo religiosus). Identity is constructed through the creative power of naming. By vocalizing his insecurity, Roy informs his telos, yoking it toward action and shaping his existential identity.

This dynamic might better be explicated through Tron. At the end of the film, CLU, Kevin Flynn's tyrannical turncoat surrogate, exclaims that he created the perfect system just as Flynn instructed him. Flynn responds, "The thing about perfection is that it's unknowable. It's impossible, but it's also right in front of us the entire time. You wouldn't know that because I didn't when I created you." This is all to say an obvious and very blasé point: that to be human is to be imperfect; but to be content is to recognize the perfection of imperfectability. And to embrace this radical view of humanity is, as Douglas Brooks said earlier, divine.

The eminence of distance in a moment

Riding home on the bus this evening, I was reading a book – trying to make the most of my time – when a woman a few seats up exclaimed how beautiful the sunset is. I looked up from what was admittedly an enthralling read (on mindful silence, nonetheless) and to my subdued, high school romanticism there across the sky lay the most breathtaking sunset I had ever seen. It beamed bruised blood orange before subduing into a pastel gradient that at last adumbrated the foreboding saturated stratus clouds. I was eminently present in the distance – not wanting to look away.

Then a degenerate thought crept into my mind: I should take a picture and capture this radiance for all time. Yet I hesitated, critical as I am about reproduced art and the beauty of a captured image as being inauthentically inferior to the unanticipated and thus unprimed transcendentalism of the pregnant moment. I hesitated, yet pulled my phone out anyway. I fumbled through the dallying commands to pull up the camera – being sure to look up with every operation so as not to lose the moment. But the moment was already lost the instant I looked away, entering a new moment and betraying my embodying gaze as my eyes readjusted to what was right in front of me. Sure enough, by the time the camera function was engaged, the bus was already rolling. I tried to snap a picture but it came out blurry.

I tried to retain the picture of the image in my mind, but it was already lost to inefficient descriptors – trying in vain to reconstruct what words always fail to precisely signify. Near my stop the bus came into line of sight with the sunset again, but now it had morphed into a goldenrod aura set atop an apricot horizon. Just as delicious, yes, but a totally different sunset; and I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

Because it's not right in front of us, it's easy to look away to our foreground. But by doing so, we lose focus so that if we return and attempt to re-gain focus, the object in the distance, not being subject to our immediate, intimate scrutiny, may very well have changed. So too with life.

Work and Play

Hospice workers report that one of the top regrets of people on their deathbeds is working too much and not spending enough time with their family. In the spirit of “living more”, what exactly, if not work, would people do? Looking outside right now it is sunny – a nice day for a brisk walk. But were I to walk, I would likely be thinking of the work I need to do. If my work was done, then I could walk calmly – a serenity produced from a sense of accomplishment. We relax and partake in recreational activities as contrast to our time working. We can only enjoy them with respect to work, for if we had no work to do and had all the time to do recreational activities, then boredom would surely afflict us sooner or later. We are not such a ludic species that, even if independent of economic factors, we could spend all our time reveling and enjoying. Living life, as the superlative phrase has come to mean, signifies breaching one’s comfort zone and doing fun things. But breaching one’s comfort zone can only happen with respect to having a comfort zone, and likewise doing fun things only has meaning with respect to things that aren’t fun. Thus the live-your-life imperative demands that we balance work and play – recognizing the role and necessity of each. It’s not simply that work gives one purpose and play gives one diversion; but that work necessitates play and play necessitates work. Only through appreciating the binary dynamic can, I think, one truly become content with one’s life in the face of a society that demands both that we continuously strive to climb the ladder of achievement while also exhorting us to take the time to enjoy the boons life offers. The best boons of all, if they don’t remove us from the world, teach us how to live meaningfully inside it – those that make sense of an otherwise latently entropy-yoking system.