Tag Archives: knowledge

Sane vs. Insane

Sane:  “Morning.”

Insane:  “Morning.”

Sane:  “How are you feeling?”

Insane:  “Good.”

Sane:  “Good.  Sleep well?”

Insane:  “Always.”

Sane:  “Excellent.  Do you know who and where you are.”

Insane:  “Yes.”

Sane:  “Who are you?  Where are you?”

Insane:  “I’m a patient at a psychiatric facility for the mentally disturbed.”

Sane:  “Do you know why you’re here?”

Insane:  “If I was to take a wild guess, I’d assume it’s because you think I’m mentally disturbed.”

Sane:  “Do you disagree?”

Insane:  “I wasn’t aware I had a vote in the matter.”

Sane:  “Why do you think you’re here?”

Insane:  “Because you think I’m dangerous.”

Sane:  “Dangerous in what way?”

Insane:  “Don’t know.  I’m not the one who thinks this, you are.”

Sane:  “If you had to, how would you prefer to describe yourself then?”

Insane:  “Aware.”

Sane:  “Aware?”

Insane:  “Yes.”

Sane:  “Of…”

Insane:  “Everything.  Everything that matters.”

Sane:  “Everything?  Like secret plots and conspiracies, things of that nature?”

Insane:   “Amongst other things.”

Sane:  “I see. What about other people?  Are they as aware as you are?”

Insane:  “No, it doesn’t look like they are.  I suppose if you all were, you wouldn’t have put me in here.”

Sane:  “Makes sense.  Can you tell me any specific things or details you are aware of which others aren’t?”

Insane:  “No, I can’t.  You’re already convinced I’m crazy and everything I say will just further validate this belief.”

Sane:  “And you don’t think that you’re crazy?”

Insane:  “As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

Sane:  “Why not?”

Insane:  “I can’t prove a negative.  Tell me why you think I’m crazy and I’ll tell you why you’re wrong.”

Sane:  “Okay.  You admit to being aware of things that other people aren’t, correct?”

Insane:  “Yes.”

Sane:  “And you are convinced that this awareness gives you insights to details that go by unnoticed to the rest of us?”

Insane:  “Yes.”

Sane:  “And, since only you can notice these details, your testimony is the only source you have to validate any of it, since (by your own admission) the rest of us lack the awareness to attest to anything that you’re saying.  Correct?”

Insane:  “You’re making it sound a bit more simplistic than I would.  But sure, that’s essentially right.”

Sane:  “So, what does it tell you when you have a piece of information that only you have the awareness to notice, whose validity cannot be deduced by anyone else’s perception but your own?  Would you agree that, given all this, you ought to exercise a bit of caution about how much trust you can place in this awareness of yours, and the validity of these various plots and conspiracies it’s helped you uncover?  Perhaps consider the alternative that all you think is so right and real, is possibly just the result of possessing a very confused mental state?”

(In)sane:  “Perhaps.  But, by that same token, how can I be sure that, what you perceive to be a healthy state of mind, isn’t simply a failure on your part to connect all the relevant dots?”


Excerpt from The Insomniac Manifesto, available for free here.

The Golden Age of Conspiracy

I have an unhealthy obsession with conspiracy theories.  When I say this please don’t misunderstand me.  I don’t actually buy into the stated details of conspiracy theories, I’m just fascinated by how much devotion and faith people put into them; how a person will take several demonstrable facts and then loosely connect them into something–which at first glance–sounds like a plausible narrative, which will appeal to a wide spectrum of people.  Despite what some might think, I am wholly unconvinced that either intelligence or education plays a significant role in deterring people away from believing in conspiracy theories, because such theories are not really about filling the gaps of our mind’s ignorance and shortcomings.  It’s more about satisfying a base desire for witnessing something greater, higher, that is closed to the majority of the “deluded” masses.  This is what makes conspiracy theories appealing to its proponents.

I was still young when Lady Diana died in 1997, but I was old enough to take note of the reactions people around me had to the news.  It took about four minutes after hearing the news for several members in my family to staunchly announce how they didn’t accept the “mainstream” story.  Why didn’t they accept it?  What tangible evidence did they have to make them doubt the news report?  Essentially none, but it didn’t matter.  There suspicion was that the simple answer must be a distraction to cover up the real story.  Or as my mother put it, “I cannot believe that there isn’t more to this whole thing.”  This sentence, I believe, captures the mindset most of us have, most of the time, when we are confronted with some awestruck piece of data.  The official report of the incident was that Diana and her boyfriend died after crashing in a road tunnel in Paris, due to the driver losing control of the vehicle.  But this just wasn’t big enough for most people, who to this day maintain there has to be more to it.  And no investigation will be enough to convince any of them otherwise, because any investigator who comes up with a different conclusion will simply be evidence of the greater conspiracy.  Most conspiracy theories follow a similar line of reasoning.

We have an innate aversion to simplicity.  Just repeating a story we hear isn’t enough, we need to add more complex details onto it to make it more digestible for wider consumption; refine it and move the narrative forward with facts we think ought to be included with the official details.  It can’t be that politicians are simply corrupt and self-serving, they must also be secretly operating under the direction of an unknown shadow government, which is menacingly pulling the strings behind the curtain [and (occasionally) this shadow government has to be made up of shape-shifting, inter-dimensional lizards, whose bloodline traces back to ancient Babylon].  It’s not enough to say that life on earth is simply adaptive to its environment, there has to be more to it; some kind of grand purpose and intent operating on a level too complex, too powerful for our meager minds to fathom.  This line of thinking is especially strong when we don’t have enough facts to draw any kind of clear conclusion, in such a case we’ll reason that even a conspiracy theory is better than no theory.

Simple reasons and answers are often not enough to do the job for us, because simplicity can never meet the expectations of our innately suspicious imaginations.  What does satisfy out suspicion is a narrative that goes counter to the “mainstream.”  That only those of us who are of the most elite intellect can grasp.  “The Illuminati may be fooling you but it’ll never fool me,” is the popular tagline.  Part of the appeal of conspiracy theories is the layer of excitement they bring to everyday facts.  It is stimulating beyond belief to lose oneself in all the various plots and details of a hidden world, even if its veracity is only verified by a very questionable set of complex circumstances; this just makes it more exciting.  The other part of the appeal is the strange level of remote plausibility it brings to the table.  For instance, there is no denying that people have conspired in the past (and still do today), often for ominous reasons (an example being the documented long history of unethical humane experimentation in the United States).  And this air of remote plausibility is more than enough to keep people’s suspicions on high alert, except when it comes to scrutinizing the various details being used to support the particular conspiracy theory they have chosen to embrace.

We know that the human mind is in many ways constrained in its ability to rationalize the world, thus we are constantly seeking the higher, the greater, the unimaginable as our answer of choice.  The strange thing is that as the answer we are seeking becomes more nuanced and complex the simpler it will begin to seem to us, and we will insist that our highly elaborate–immensely complicated and circumstantial–answer is really the most simple and obvious of them all.  Because by that point we have already accepted the narrative of the conspiracy, where the grand conclusion is being used to fill in the details, instead of the observable details being used to arrive at the most possible conclusion (be it simple or complex).

Precisely because there appears to be something innate about the way the human mind is drawn to conspiracies the ease by which ideas are exchanged in our lifetime makes it a ripe golden age for conspiracy theories and conspiracy theorists to thrive.  The reason being that this greater medium of communication, and the great vastness of information available to us in which we can indulge our niche interests, also makes it possible to feel as though we are exploring new pieces of data everyday without ever really having to step outside the conclusions of the particular niche interest we are being drawn to.  Given enough time, we’ll cease wanting to hear from an opposing view contradicting the knowledge we have invested so much time in attaining.  The deeper secrets we have learned will become a part of the way we view and interact with the world.  In short, the conspiracy will become a part of your identity, a personal matter for you to defend, and all competing and alternative data will work only to confirm what you already have accepted to be true.  Reducing reality to a matter of popular vs fringe consensus, the veracity of which is to be decided based on how titillating it is to one’s cynically credulous senses.

The Faux Wisdom of the Recluse

There is a common perception that, in my opinion, has hitherto escaped nearly all scrutiny.  By which I mean to say, it is a sentiment that remains unchallenged even by those who do not see fit to practice its perceived wisdom.  The perception I’m talking about is the notion that solitude yields enlightenment.  That the act of being cut off from social interactions somehow grants a person the ability to tap into a great depth of intellectual growth, which remain elusive to her/his more sociable counterparts.

The idea is that one’s withdrawal from societal obligations and distractions allows the individual to better reflect inward.  To become truly introspective about one’s inner self, and by extension be able to eventually apply this self-conscious awareness outward, towards understanding the world that surrounds the individual (and defines her/him).  When mused over in such mindful diction the whole idea of the enlightened recluse becomes very persuasive.  Especially for those of us who spent most of our available free time in self-imposed solitude; it gives us the warrant to excuse our shyness away as an example of robust intellectual discipline, instead of just plain social awkwardness.

People seem to have a high regard for those who decide to cut themselves off from the mundane worries of modern life.  Few people speak ill of the person who wandered up to a mountain top to “find himself”, or secluded him/herself to a monastic life or nunnery.  Even if they disagree with the wisdom that will result from such actions, people as a whole still find such decisions to be oddly admirable.  But my question is, what great enlightened wisdom has actually resulted from such dire life decisions?  What mountain top yogi has actually stumbled upon a paradigm changing revelation that has added to the resource of human knowledge about the world/life/existence in general?  People have for centuries now been secluding themselves in the woods, lived as spiritual recluses, and yet never could figure out what are considered to be the most basic of facts to any child nowadays.  Facts like that the earth revolves around the sun.  Or that disease is caused by germs.  Discoveries like these weren’t made by the lone individual, spending all of his time in complete seclusion from the world, they were made through a trans-generational exchanging and modifying of preceding ideas.  Even when it comes to knowledge about the inner dimensions of the human identity, solitary methods alone can leave things wanting.

The only mind any single individual has unrestricted access to is her/his own.  Thus the tendency to subconsciously apply our subjective experiences to others is a powerful temptation for most of us.  Yet, it’s a temptation many of us will refrain from doing, because our observations of the people and things that surround us demonstrates to us how our personal thinking is not to be taken at face value; we must verify it with the experiences of others and the consistencies of physical reality.  But how does one do that in complete seclusion from others?  In a life where the only source is either one’s own mind, or mind’s that already agree with one’s own, how can observations and musings about reality be fully trusted?  Better yet, why should such a method of attaining truth be admired as anything other than a foolproof way of avoiding having one’s views about reality rigorously challenged?

The idea that the loner is free of the emotional baggage the rest of the world carries, and can therefore engage in a more rational inner dialogue, is nonsensical, since if one is left with nothing but one’s own consciousness to contemplate reality, what else but one’s emotions will be dictating the introspective discourse?  And I say all of this knowing full well that I have spent an innumerable amount of my time on this blog arguing for the need for individuals to become more introspective about their values and desires.  But it needs to be understood that all the introspective philosophizing in the world will prove futile, if it is devoid of a relentless pursuit to measure one’s findings against verifiable data that has been attained independent of one’s subjective experiences.

I am a man who spends most of his time alone, in my house.  The time I spent at work, my conversations are usually brief and rarely dwell into personal matters.  I have to physically force myself to interact with others on anything more than a casually superficial level, hence I would love nothing more than to say that all one needs to do is to shut oneself away in silent thought to attain a greater understanding of the world.  But to embrace this view would be to fall in the trap of accepting a self-serving answer, simply because it would mean less effort on my part.  Knowledge and values gained through blind seclusion are little different from knowledge and values gained through group conformity; both are bound to be self-delusional.  Thus, rather than view the monk as a man who needs to be intellectually admired, I view him as a man who needs to be intellectually challenged–for it may be the only chance he’ll get to experience it in any thought provoking way.