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A systematic defense of Wikileaks

Posted by moses @ 11:45 • , , , • 0 comments


Having had a few garbled conversations with people where I've had to play the solitary role of a Wikileaks apologist, I'd like to do this systematically. (On a side note, who would have thought that it's Wikileaks that needs to have apologists, not the powerful organisations whose much more serious wrongdoings the former tries to uncover. This shows just how powerful ideology is in getting even ordinary people, who have little to nothing invested in it, to support the cause of governments and corporations.)


Let me begin with a very simple one-sentence argument, which I will expand on: The problem with secrets is that we cannot know and therefore make an informed judgement on them. Thus, people who are condemning Wikileaks for leaking out some 'inappropriate' information have the logic backwards, so to speak. You only know some things were inappropriate for release and are therefore condemning Wikileaks because they have been released.

Secrets, therefore, present a particularly tricky ethical problem because by definition they cannot be known, thus defying any attempt at rational analysis by which a sound ethical position can be arrived at. You cannot make an informed judgement on things that are secret, the knowledge of which is not available to you. Strange how this almost Mosaic principle in neo-classical economics is so often ignored in the neo-liberal world, for all its talk about free markets and the ubiquity of utilitarian decision making processes, which stress the ability to make informed judgements in order to maximise utility.

So you can rail against Wikileaks, but it doesn't seem to make much sense to be fundamentally opposed to its modus operandi as long as you are relying on the knowledge of the content of what it released. Also, asking Wikileaks to filter the information it gets before going public is to ask it to be yet another gatekeeper for information that only a select few can know, which seems to contradict its very raison d'être.

To reinforce this point and illustrate it in simple practical terms, let's take a look at the essential argument that the consequentialist stance entails:
Wikileaks leaked the diplomatic cables. Having seen them, I am capable of deciding for myself whether some cables should not have been made public. Therefore, I think Wikileaks was wrong to release some of them.
The second premise sits uncomfortably with an objection to the leaking of the information, which is after all being used to arrive at the conclusion. Thus, it would have to be removed in order to be consistent, which would necessitate a modification of the argument:
Wikileaks leaked the diplomatic cables. Therefore, Wikileaks is wrong.
Clearly, the argument becomes arbitrary. At best, it is inadequate—some premises and assumptions have to be filled in to make any sense of it. One way of doing so is to add "The authorities say that Wikileaks is wrong to do so" between the two sentences, thereby grounding one's ethical stance simply on what the authorities say.

Alternatively, one could acknowledge that basing one's opposition on a consequentialist argument (essentially, that leaking the cables is 'not a good thing to do') is unworkable, instead opposing Wikileaks' action on deontological grounds for 'not being the right thing to do' in principle. This position would then require a further argument regarding the ethical principles that Wikileaks have violated through the act of leaking the cables.

However, from I've seen so far, arguments to that effect seem to rely on treating public officials as private individuals who must be afforded privacy in their correspondence to each other through diplomatic channels. This argument is absurd because as long as public officials are using official channels to communicate to each other, they are performing roles on a public capacity. Therefore, the concept of privacy does not apply to them in such instances. Privacy applies to private individuals, and, as things stand, it may not even apply to the more public aspects of private individuals' lives, such as on the internet and at work. Confidentiality would be the more appropriate concept to use in this case, and it is governed by a different set of principles altogether.

Evidently, there is much work to be done disentangling some of the basic concepts and ideas involved in taking a stance on the Wikileaks issue. Being aware of the fundamental problem with secrets, I can nevertheless imagine that there are indeed certain situations where absolute transparency is not viable, especially where it directly endangers lives. However, in order to formulate rational beliefs about issues of public information, we first need to know what concepts to apply, where not to apply them and what principles may accordingly be invoked. This is what should be discussed out there in the public sphere, but I guess there won't be a slot on prime time programming as long as the public is preoccupied with blind furore over the leaks.

The present farce that is liberal democracy

Posted by moses @ 06:53 • , , , , , • 0 comments


Having witnessed first hand the large student protest against the UK government's decision to raise tuition fee caps, I'm neither unnerved by the sporadic violence nor disheartened by the chaos of mass action. Rather, looking at the aftermath of the day, I've become more convinced of the corruption and the absurdity of the system.

Bourgeois sensitivity towards militant action is amusing. Repeatedly, we've been treated to condemnations of acts of violence and hooliganism by the established channels of the dominant bourgeois voice. The emphasis has been on the contrast between justified peaceful protest and bad violent protest. Perhaps if those sitting in their sofas watching the telly would reach a little into their memory and recall the last large-scale peaceful protest, they might remember the time when more than a million marched against Britain's participation in the Iraq War. The government went ahead with it anyway.

So what the official mouthpieces are really advocating is mass action that can be sidelined and ignored while the elite go on with their business. God forbid that a demonstration might make the latter anxious.

Violence is inherently problematic as it is simultaneously a powerful tool of the dominant ideology. Yet this does not diminish the idiocy of refusing to recognise the violence as a politically relevant part of this mass action. Statements about how a peaceful student movement has been hijacked by violent factions is begging the question: Where do these violent people come from and what do they want? Are they simply embodiments of the semi-mythical anarchic ruffian archetype? Or are some of them—God forbid—people who are genuinely frustrated by how they are treated by the politicians and their law enforcement minions?


While people are desperately protesting their disenfranchisement in ways that they think might have an impact, the official mouthpieces are busy trying to appeal to middle class disgust towards violence. They are also painting attacks on icons of traditional authority as appalling anti-social acts. Under this 'objective' and 'reasonable' surface discourse, ideology is plainly at work, and there is nothing too absurd for its efforts.

The attack on a royal car, in particular, has received much coverage worldwide. In Britain, some channels have been very active in expressing horror at the act. The time-honoured and sacred tradition of the monarchy itself seems to be under attack. Will those protesters stop at nothing in their quest to destroy the very fabric of society? Nevertheless, the public would be glad to know that the royalty proceeded bravely and resolutely to attend the royal variety show despite the attack.

A comedian on the show couldn't have done better.

The Odyssey

Posted by moses @ 20:24 • , , , , , • 0 comments


I've been thinking: Maybe I can find no answers to the big ontological or ethical-political questions; maybe there is just too much that I don't know to give my own comprehensive and interesting account of how human society should be organised. Maybe I should strive, first of all, to answer one question—how to be?

A great many thinkers have devoted much time and effort to answering this question. Camus, one of those whom I remember most clearly, gives an absurdist answer when he asks and responds to his central question: If the universe is an absurd place, why live at all?

Yet, even though he deals exhaustively with the problem of existing with the awareness of the absurd, he seems to devote little attention to the material and therefore political-economic constitution of our everyday lives. That seems to be the domain of Marxist humanist philosophy, where the question has a different formulation: How does the individual assert himself as a human subject in a society that objectifies him and his labour through processes of reification and exchange? In other words, how does one be a human being who is capable of action unencumbered by the systems of domination immanent to our commercial society?

The answer seems to be revolution, one way or another—to destroy or destructively resist the systems of domination. Yet as we live our everyday lives, it seems to me that it is often not apparent what each of us as individuals can do in that regard. Between thriving through conformity and a difficult survival in opposition to everything that our society stands for, it's quite clear what most of us would choose.

So how might we chart the happiest path in our existence, neither completely consigning ourselves to having self-destructive tendencies to give up our subjectiveness nor sacrificing ourselves as martyrs on the barricades? How do we exist as human subjects in our normal everyday lives?

Nietzsche gives a pretty compelling answer: Be a strong subject. In essence, do not bow down to the rules imposed on you by others, but strive to create your own for yourself; assert yourself as a person with minimal regard to what others want to turn you into.

This sounds like a good general principle, but how do we go about applying it? What tangible thing can we build on it and hold on to?

Moving our attention away from the will to power, which can only reproduce systems of domination and thus lead to circularity, I believe that we must live for a labour of love. In other words, instead of instrumentalising ourselves to the conventions and modes of life prescribed by society in order to live, we have to subsume the necessity of conforming under our attempts to live to work on our own magna opera. Thus, in a Marxist way, we are re-inverting the order—instead of serving the rules, we are trying to make the rules serve us.

I think this is an interesting way of thinking because it implicitly makes a few crucial points—that we are only human in doing, and that we are only subjects in being able to do what we want (in a broad and existential sense of it). And I believe these points are crucial because they inform us on how to be.

Thus the journey begins.

Open letter to a neo-liberal or technocratic apologist

Posted by moses @ 17:38 • , , , , , • 0 comments


This letter is a synthesis of my arguments in an extended on-line debate with a member of an older generation. The debate pertains to the political situation in Singapore, but I believe my arguments can also be applied to the context of some of today's so-called liberal democracies, particularly the United Kingdom.

---

Dear Sir,

In the past year, I have witnessed growing discontent in the two societies that I am part of. There is increasing resentment against the ruling elite that stems from economic grievances. Yet, as apt as this may seem from a Marxist point of view, I think much of the resentment is not as productive as one might hope.

In saying this, I appear to be critical of criticisms from the ground, but this neither suggests that I am on your side nor that I have an intellectually elitist viewpoint. I just don't think the criticisms are radical enough.

I'm saying that simpler socio-economic complaints belie the real issue of our need to take back our agency. I'm also saying that we shouldn't get sidetracked into pseudo-xenophobic discussions about immigration. Many European countries are getting mired in this situation and it basically only allows the disaffected to expend their energy on something that wouldn't help them in the longer run. They can restrict immigration, but it wouldn't solve the fundamental problems in their society.

Essentially, the root of the problem is the fact that the people have been patronised all along by the government. I believe what many of us also believe—that our democracy is dysfunctional. You know why the government doesn't listen to us? Because it doesn't really have to. How are we even going to debate public policy properly when the government holds all the cards? And our own culture, mentality and method of opposition are contributing to this. We ourselves are guilty for letting this continue.

One reason might be that we are engaging in politics of wish-fulfilment. We look to the government to fulfil our wants and needs, and we give it pretty much a free hand as long as it can do this. That may sound par the course in politics, but that's also why we're so easily duped. In the next election, the ruling elite would come up with some bones to toss our way, and the majority of us would lap it all up and once again perpetuate the system. Who really holds the power—whether it's the bureaucrats, the politicians or the people—never really mattered to us. And no matter what evasive answers one might give about the necessity of a true participatory democracy, nothing changes the fact that it is what enables the people to govern themselves. If we don't want it, then we can't really cry when we are ignored by the ruling power. We have to blame ourselves for that.

To be fair, it's not entirely our fault. Our psychology is the product of the system. But that's all in the past. The government might have justified a top-down system because of the need to develop. However, now that we have developed to a large extent, what is pretty much the same system is still being kept around in the name of continued economic growth. When will this stop? That is the present question, and only we can come up with the answer.

On the economic aspect of social organisation, I agree that material interests are legitimate interests, but not when we run away with them and forget everything else. Now that times are hard, people are unhappy—that's a perfectly valid sentiment. But what about when times were good? Did we care about how things were done?

A true participatory democracy cannot guarantee that we meet our desired material goals, especially when we set the bar higher and higher. However, what it does guarantee is that we have a real say and that we as a people run our country. The overly risk-averse state of mind is what makes us captives of the system—we want rights and we want to be heard, but we won't take the necessary material risks to make our country our own.

The basic reactionary position is to deny that there is a real fundamental problem, or at least to justify the current system by pointing out that other systems have problems too. Yes, there is an empirical basis for making the latter claim. But does that mean that every society is simply stuck with its own set of problems? I'm saying that there is a possible way forward through changing the system. And systemic change is worth looking at because the problem is structural—it has to do with mechanisms of feedback and control.

There is no panacea for all problems, but we can choose to do something about them instead of simply suffering perpetual injury.

I doubt, however, that you will understand this line of reasoning as long as you choose to regard it as yet another normative point of view in a relativist political paradigm. It doesn't simply boil down to a subjective choice of political and moral values. Advocates of participatory democracy have valid and positive points to make about issues of power and participation as long as democracy serves as our political ideal.

On a final note, you might point to an uncertain future as the defining problem, but so does the ruling elite. And their proposed solution is to band together under their banner to work for the common good.

Yet there is an alternative, one that neither you nor they are willing to entertain. But perhaps under a system that clearly favours one particular brand of hegemonic discourse it's not surprising that we are not really being heard. Just like many of those who have simpler grievances.

A pro-choice critique of choice

Posted by moses @ 18:47 • , , , , , • 0 comments


There are some things that are perhaps confusing or seemingly very contentious in what I wrote about last. Therefore there is a need to qualify it or, more precisely, to delve into the unspoken claims behind some of the statements made. Most importantly, I think, I must talk about my perspective on choice, freedom of choice and the critique of choice.

I've written some time ago about the ability to question the choice of others. I argued that the sovereignty of the subject is illusory, since choices are often externally induced rather generated by an authentic individual will. I should add that whether there is such a thing as authentic individual will does not pose a problem to this view. In fact, if there is no such thing as authentic individual will, if choices are therefore entirely a matter of persuasion, all the more it should be possible to legitimately debate subjective choice.

There are two new things that I want to bring up here: Firstly, I want argue for the existence of general or common conceptions of what constitutes bad choices. Secondly, I want to question the non-invasiveness of subjective personal choice.

Some might disagree fiercely that what I consider bad are truly bad in any objective sense. Some might go on to say that there is nothing objective about taste. I'd like to question this last statement. Indeed, my position stems from my scepticism regarding absolute relativism even in the notoriously personal and subjective realm of tastes.

As such, I'm not so much positive of the existence of one correct theory of the good as I am sceptical of the notion that people cannot commonly share certain conceptions about what is bad. It may be impossibly difficult to find a general enough conception of the good with which we can objectively judge all choices, but it's a lot easier to find general ideas about what is bad with which we can legitimately argue that certain choices are bad.

This is a lot more obvious for choices with real material, physical and psychological consequences, but if we can establish this in the realm of tastes, it's probably safe to say that it's a solid claim. Are there instances where people commonly regard certain cultural products as lacking in quality? I think so. When I talk to people about reality TV shows, for example, I find that many would admit that certain shows are "trashy" or "bad", even if they admit to having a 'guilty pleasure' in watching them.

Perhaps this is too anecdotal, and perhaps there is a correlation between such sentiment and education level or class. However, there is still something to be said about this phenomenon.

Firstly, this implies that pleasure and people's conception of the good do sometimes diverge. Thus, it seems to contradict the central thesis of traditional hedonistic Utilitarianism, which is ironically a very popular mode of thinking. As such, good and bad is not merely a question of what consequences a choice brings in terms of utility or pleasure.

Secondly, though one might convincingly argue that common perceptions on what cultural products are bad could simply be explained by the fact that people have been told by the 'experts' about what could be considered good and what could not, all is not lost. At first glance, this may seem to corroborate the notion that nothing is objective, that what seems objective is simply the imposition of a subjective viewpoint. Yet, no matter what we think of some of those 'experts', there tends to be a process of discourse that generates and moderates the opinions offered within serious critical analyses of cultural products. Discourse, whether it is realised through an actual debate or through the influence of intellectual traditions that play off one another, lends criticism credibility as something greater than simply a collection of individualist subjective viewpoints.

Therefore, it might be that what is considered bad is something whose merits cannot be seriously analysed and discussed. Hence, it is mostly examined, if at all, merely as a symptom of a cultural trend, tending on its own to fall outside the process of discourse. What is good is a question that is debated, perhaps endlessly, in the discourse, but what is bad simply falls outside of it. The reverse is not true; what falls outside of the discourse is not necessarily bad. However, at least we now have somewhere to begin in deciding what is bad—by asking why some things don't come up in serious discussion on their own merits.

This is a bold argument, and it might come off as some kind of intellectual snobbery. But I would add that it's not necessarily a sin to enjoy something simply for any kind of pleasure that it gives. The problem is when the vast majority of what is offered can only be enjoyed in terms of the overt pleasure that it brings. Thus we come to the issue of the invasiveness of subjective choice.

If you want to do business, half the job would be done for you if you appeal to what people want. Does this mean, however, that consumer choice is paramount in production and marketing decisions? In fact, the very nature of marketing is antithetical to consumer choice. But the power of capital is not so much in forcing you to consume what you do not want, but in making you consume what you want all the time and, in the process, making you want to consume associated products as well.

Thus, the companies appeal to the lowest common denominator in order to increase sales. And they do not let your attention wander, for the sales of other cultural products and physical goods, upon which billions of units of exchange value ride, depend upon your near-undivided attention.

This is how capital imposes a near-monolithic culture on our tastes, by giving us what we want, but on their own terms and hindering our ability to emancipate ourselves from the pre-determined choices that we as consumers and members of modern society are expected to make.

But the burden of creating these circumstances does not lie on inhuman capital alone. In continuing to make the same kind of choices, we are also guilty of imposing on society a narrow range of tastes as the determinant of the cultural products that are available. Hence, our subjective choices are invasive in that, collectively, they deny other people and society at large choices that are emancipated from the dominant cultural milieu, while at the same time bulldozing through any question of quality in favour of focusing on the levels of pleasure obtained from cultural products.

Hence, like slaves who have never apprehended the notion of freedom or like the benighted denizens of Plato’s cave, we perpetually choose to live within the same kind of paradigm, not knowing what else lies outside of it, including things that convincingly possess qualitative value. The market may give us choices, but as long as we are unable to escape the paradigm of pleasure, we know that we are still fundamentally unfree.


Marx contra Nozick

Posted by moses @ 17:23 • , , , , , , , • 0 comments



If it is true that we are all free, why do we consistently choose what is bad? Why does participation not lead to quality in society?

This is a question that Christianity asks in order to call to our attention true freedom in God, free of enslavement and of human weakness, which causes us to be unable to choose anything but the slavery of sin. Unfortunately, Christianity cannot be divine because it is tainted by human beings. Thus we are left to ask questions on our own, as the Church Fathers did.

Does choosing to be slaves imply freedom? Some might say yes. This absurdity and contradiction comes about through two main threads of human thought: Libertarianism and relativism gone mad. The first posits that human agency is so absolute that human beings can, if they so choose, lose it. The second would have us believe that anything can be good to someone—perhaps some people choose to be slaves because they want to be slaves, perceiving slavery as a good? Or perhaps there is no good at all, only preferences, in which case we might as well be nihilists.

Marxist thought, on the other hand, offers a human solution to this puzzle. In our apparent freedom, we perpetually choose to be unfree because of false consciousness. We are not attuned to our real interests, and therefore we choose what is bad by first allowing our freedom to be subverted in letting powerful groups tell us what we want.

"We are free to choose," they say, as they readily queue up for the next Apple product like the hungry for bread.

It is probably true that to some extent preferences are negotiated. The industries give us what we want while trying to mould our tastes to further their own interests. But, if this picture allows neither side to wield near-absolute power, why does the reality feel so stunted? Why does a relatively free market not produce the promised creativity? Why does the UK publishing industry, for example, only publish what appeals to lowest common denominators, what will attract by virtue of its harlot-like easiness?

Why can we not, for the most part, refuse the bad?

Either we are extremely stupid as free beings, or we are not truly free. I choose to believe the latter.

The fact is we are not free as long as we are enslaved by uncompromisingly non-objective conceptions of the good, or by false notions about freedom. And this is something we as free beings are responsible for—we are guilty of enslaving ourselves through our own ways of thinking.

Some scholars are quite dismissive of the Frankfurt School, thinking it an artefact of a bygone age, while they indulge in blissful proclamations about an age of freedom and choice brought about by technologies they hardly know themselves. They study every petty whim of society and profess to find all that is good with the universe in Coronation Street.

But, far from dissipating, power merely grows ever more subtle in its application. The Frankfurt School is not wrong. It has just become less easy to see what they criticised in their time.

The Internet; serious business?

Posted by moses @ 19:40 • , , , , • 0 comments


Somewhat unsatisfied with the conclusion of a seminar and in a fit of madness, I decided to post my thoughts on the course forum, which I quote below:
Hi, people. I'm sure all of us had our discussions on this topic in our seminars, where, unfortunately, there wasn't much time to get more in-depth. I'm fairly interested in this topic, so I just want to (hopefully) continue those discussions a little by adding a few thoughts. I think the internet has the potential to be the source of a new Habermasian public sphere, but not in its entirety.

In my seminar group, we were drawn into a debate with arguments for and against the internet as a new public sphere, and I don't think that does the complex issue justice. From a Habermasian perspective, I don't think the internet can in itself become a new public sphere. I believe this is because a Kantian approach grounds rationality in humanity; that is to say, the basis of rationality is found in our ability as persons to apprehend rational concepts and arguments (i.e. our having practical reason). In turn, public discourse is grounded on rationality and can only be carried out if we let our rationality take precedence and thereby respect one another as rational beings, which is where the equality (or non-relevance) of status comes in - what matters is not our background and individual social status, but our universal capacity to reason.

To see public discourse as purely a contest of disembodied arguments is, I think, to miss the point a little. The human aspect is highly important because our capacity to reason is also what makes us able to be rationally persuaded by others and thereby reach a consensus. For this we need some kind of reciprocity, the ability to give each other credit for being right where it is appropriate. The problem with the internet is that, as a depersonalised community that people can opt in and out of easily and where individuals can hide behind a veil of anonymity, it does not lend itself to the kind of reciprocity needed for rational debate. Instead, people tend to become personifications of their arguments and are thus objectified. Internet debates are so fragmented and pointless because consensus is something that is reached by persons, not by objects or strawmen on which are pinned various viewpoints and arguments.

As such, although the internet does give people a platform for expressing their views with less of an eye to status and negative real-life consequences, it also tends to throw out the human (in the Kantian sense) aspect of discourse. Thus, I think there are a few criteria that must be satisfied before a new public sphere can be constituted from the internet:

1) Any proper debate must be moderated to ensure that the participants respect each other.

2) There must be some way for the participants to maintain credibility so that they would respect each other and no one's views would simply be dismissed.

3) There must be regularity, both of participants and of debate, since reciprocity is not achieved in one-off engagements but in a continuous relationship.

There are probably more, but these are what I can think of for now.

This way, a new public sphere can come from within the internet, even though the internet itself cannot be from my understanding of Habermas' theory.

So, will we show the rational efficacy of the internet and debate a little more on this topic?
Fittingly enough, no one responded. From this experience, I can make two observations: First, the Internet can't seem to hold a rational debate to save itself, even within a university environment. Second, professors don't tend to care much for contributions if those do not fall neatly within the programme.


Pig Iron: Why I like and dislike Iron Man 2

Posted by moses @ 20:08 • , , , , , • 0 comments


I quite liked the first iteration of Iron Man on the big screen so I had more than half a mind to catch the sequel. However, I didn't manage to see it in the cinema. Fortunately, a long plane ride a few days ago afforded me the chance. And I wasn't disappointed.

For a superhero movie, it was refreshingly honest. We like Iron Man, or Tony Stark, because he is rich and 'cool', not because he is a brooding hero with larger-than-life psychological problems or teenage angst. And it featured a promising villain whom we can sympathise with, at least initially. And by that I mean real sympathy, not some sort of twisted admiration for a fictitious terrorist or madman.

But in some ways the things I like about the movie also form what I, on hindsight, dislike about it. In its portrayal of the hero, the movie embodies the culture and social consciousness of the present age: We celebrate the lucky ones, those 'blessed' with ability, means or just plain luck that ultimately makes them our heroes and icons. On the other hand, those whose lot in life are different but who struggle against it are 'doing the wrong thing'. And because they are, they must be bad—ruthless, barbaric or simply inhuman.

That's how it works, not the other way round. The latter doesn't even find chronological support in the movie. As I said, we can initially sympathise with the antagonist in Iron Man 2. However, in the end, because he is gradually shown to be cruel and inhuman, we are fine with the fact that the lucky hero triumphs. First we see the unlucky man, then the man who is (therefore) filled with the desire for vengeful satisfaction; because he was deprived, he must therefore become something less than human, destined to eventually be beaten back by his betters.

This parallels story arcs found in other contemporary stories such as the agonisingly bad Harry Potter series. It even has a close resemblance to the model of paternalism seen in the Agamemnon/Clytemnestra dynamic in Aeschylus' masterpiece more than two thousand years ago. Perhaps celebrity worship is a time-honoured tradition after all.

Having said all that, sometimes the guilty pleasure elicited by an honest Hollywood flick can remind ourselves what fools we are. But, then again, with the popularity of the Twilight series as it is, maybe the human capacity for self-reflection has been Eclipsed.

Now, at the risk of spoiling my ending, let me end with a thought: We study pop culture as a representation or commentary of contemporary society because studying it as art would just be depressing.

Zarathustra the nomad

Posted by moses @ 12:37 • , , , • 0 comments


A resilient society, especially in this fast-moving age, is said to be one where the losers are allowed to be eliminated and new winners are ready to usurp the positions of those whose time has passed. Indeed, evolution (and not just the biological kind) seems to conform to this picture, with losers constantly being eliminated and the winners' positions being ever threatened by new challenges. And interestingly, the latter is what most people are blind to. The winners don't usually win forever.

This picture is a positive one for society as a whole—there is continuity and everyone collectively has some chance. However, it is not one that is fair to individuals. Every person has aspirations; many want to carve their own niche. Unfortunately, most would not get there, and those who do may not stay there for very long. You may aspire to be an Alexander and become a Pyrrhus, only to die ignominiously in the streets of Argos.

Hence, while it is often to our benefit to labour under the impression that we as individuals carry weight, the reality is we can really only expect to be infinitesimal parts of the big picture. Our individual selves might matter little, while the primordial life force will thrive—Nietzsche's very vision of the Dionysian.

When we celebrate the Dionysian, we become conscious of the continuity of the whole and disregard our own individual fates. In fact, this often constitutes the essence of national projects: To work for and celebrate the success of the nation, whether or not you as a part stand to benefit yourself.

Nevertheless, self-abrogation, though often encouraged and edified by the community, will not make everyone content. Hence the illusions under which many of us labour. We need the heroic myth, the Apollonian tale of human endeavour that holds the promise of what is possible for ourselves.

This is often a necessary lie, without which we might be left despairing. Yet, again, it is one we can see past easily as we acknowledge that only a small number can attain even a shadow of the promise. Meanwhile, those whom we hail as titans of the day could soon become of no consequence, another noteworthy addendum. We are so obsessed with the present that we don't realise the heroes of today might become distant memories tomorrow. Nor do we realise that many of these 'movers and shakers' do not have the impact we attribute to them today.

Thus, wanting to make your mark on the world is virtually a pipe dream. But does that mean we can and should hope instead to make a mark in the lives of a few people? It's certainly more realistic, but we should still be wary. If we depend on others for our fulfilment, we might still be in for a rude awakening.

Arguably, and I agree with this point, finding fulfilment in our lives almost always requires the participation of other people. Nevertheless, I believe that a life too dependent on others is a life not worth living. Better seek our own happiness, with or without the involvement of others.

These are things that I have in mind as I contemplate a trip to the Orkhon Gol and the Altai Mountains, to the hinterland of those nomads who roamed the vast steppes for thousands of years. Who would know better about lives full of constant movement and change? How many people can claim to know the solitude of the infinite like the top of their saddles? Which society can better demonstrate the survival of the whole through the unquestioning generosity of the individual?

And yet these nomads, full of vigour and survival wisdom, ride at the very margins the modern world. There, in a different plane of existence that reflects all our lives, like the realm of Ideas.

Identity Crisis

Posted by moses @ 12:05 • , , , • 0 comments


Social groups are often formed around common subjects or content, but much less frequently do the latter remain the defining characteristics of those same groups.

What do I mean? To get to the point, I am referring to the problem of identification: I believe that although identification with a group is initially inseparable from agreement with its formative tenets, and the two may always remain tied to some extent, there will probably come a point where identification with the outward image of the group becomes the members' main connection to it.

Indeed, we see this very often in history and in daily life. While a nation may have been founded on principles of liberty, for example, its citizens eventually become patriots first and defenders of liberty second. And national identity, in particular, rests very heavily on the nation's outward image—on names and symbols, including flags, pledges, anthems and various other markers of identity.

Such markers of identity, which collectively form the outward image of the group, become a checklist for identification. We become concerned with questions such as "How American are you?" or "How Christian are you?" without simultaneously contemplating what those identities really entail, or might have entailed before they became nigh empty shells.

This problem is what has allowed the corruption of social groups. It is what allowed corporations to successfully court counter-culture groups such as the hippies and the hipsters, for instance, as their identity markers turned towards the domains of lifestyle and fashion. Sometimes it has even allowed groups to do an about-face and turn against everything they had stood for without loss of identity and credibility. Just look at many revolutionary governments in history, or the changing economic doctrines of Communist China.

I think the chief cause of it lies in the need for the human brain to be able to recognise easily. An evolutionary scientist might say that this has its roots in our ancestors' need to quickly recognise predators and prey. We need to recognise easily and therefore our brain takes shortcuts. We pick out certain convenient markers and associate them with the corresponding things.

On the other hand, remembering the actual content behind a group's identity requires us to remember lists or arguments that often don't come readily to mind. This unwieldy information is stored somewhere in our brain and has to be found again. Compare this to the quick and easy identification offered by markers; it's no surprise that our brains favour the latter.

Nowhere is the problem of identification better exemplified than in the world of politics. The existence of party whips in 'free' countries (a relatively benign force for party discipline), which maintain the loyalty of party members, point to a common culture that prioritises identity (i.e. in accordance with its markers) over substance. It might be worth noting that it would be unreasonable to presume instead that the whip is the constant defender of the party's tenets, as it is answerable to the ever-changing leadership.

Even without such formal enforcement, the very act of adopting a certain political label often necessitates conformity in order to be accepted and recognised within the group. So it is with other kinds of social groups.

And, in case I have not stressed this enough, for most people conformity is measured by one's adherence to the markers of identity.


A God delusion?

Posted by moses @ 10:42 • , , • 0 comments


I suppose this is covered by the law of economy.

But let's not talk logic here. Let's speak intuitively, so that our hearts and minds can truly engage with the issue. So this is now an existential question: Is there a 'why' in the grand scheme of things?

When I sit and listen to a sermon in a church, I am often treated to a theistic perspective of the universe. On the face of it, that seems fine. If we are honestly agnostic, a theistic perspective cannot simply be discounted.

But it gets very complex. In the Christian perspective, God has a very elaborate plan for the universe and our souls. Moreover, how this plan relates to our everyday lives is rather obscure. Hence the many books needed to explain it—and even then we are often left wondering. "Well, God's ways are sometimes hidden to us," we are told.

I'm skeptical. It seems to me that centuries of (both Jewish and Christian) doctrinal issues and debate have created a worldview with many—probably fragile—moving parts. And we don't even need to get into differences between sects and denominations.

Looking at it from the outside, it seems that the only way someone can comfortably accept such a tangle of 'truths' is if one is already primed to accept it—if one is, for prior personal reasons, already willing to accept the faith. Or, in Christian parlance, if the Holy Spirit has opened one's heart.

I see what you did there.

So even in a matter of faith existence precedes essence—the existence of the desire comes before the meaty stuff that concerns the truth of it.

And therefore, if we are skeptical of a cosmological plan, especially a very complex one, we'd probably make the same observation about the universe. There is no 'why'; it simply exists as it is. The whys belong to the domain of human beings. It is our fate and our prerogative.


I guess there is comfort in thinking that there is a grand architect, a Divine Provider who guides us. Well, it's not an unacceptable notion. I just wonder if it has to come with the incredible complexity that organised religion tends to construct.

I'm going back to the start

Posted by moses @ 06:29 • , , , • 0 comments


What might seem like simple things can indeed unravel the whole.

I don't even need to look elsewhere. I just need to look inwards. At the end of another pointless day doing mundane work for an exploitatively small wage, I feel little.

But I can blame the world for that, talk about how stupidly work is organised in this society, how for the sake of a few lines in our résumés we force ourselves to seek 'work experiences' that, in reality, teach us almost nothing.

However, there is something else I can't push away in self-pity—something that might seem much simpler on the face of it, but that might mean a lot to someone else. Something that ultimately means a lot to me as well.

At the end of another pointless day, after an errand done "on the way home" that sent me in a different direction from home, I was wishing that things were better. That was when a woman fell onto her hands and knees on the side of the path just in front of me, without a sound. I even looked. She looked like she might be ill.

And I didn't know what to do, so I walked on as though I was afraid of doing something about it. People walked past. I turned back to look after a short while, but I didn't stop. Perhaps I was hoping that she had gotten up on her own. She hadn't.

At first, after I left the scene, it bothered me a little and I thought to treat it as a lesson learned. "Next time, be sure to offer help when something like this happens."

But I couldn't think of why I couldn't have done that earlier.

Then I thought to myself, "Well, if you're going to be ruthless to get ahead in this world, maybe you shouldn't let this bother you. It was probably nothing serious anyway."

Unfortunately, I couldn't buy that thought for more than a few seconds. It occurred to me that, having walked past, I was no different from the others around me at that time. I am the same. I am the most Singaporean of Singaporeans.

This was like poison in my mind. I realised that I am not different, that I can't look past myself. I feel little. Too little to offer even the simplest of help in a little situation.

What have I got to be proud of? I have lived for a good while and I have failed to really learn anything worthwhile. I realised that, because of this, I can't be anything.

And perhaps that is my real problem—today has proven that, after more than twenty years, I have done nothing.

The ignorant critic, or happy N-Day!

Posted by moses @ 01:44 • , , , , • 2 comments


Since it's National Day, maybe I should do a bit of my patriotic duty by slamming criticism of the government. I'm proud of Singapore, man!

About a week ago, I read a blog entry complaining about the government's approach to solving the problem of insufficient parking spaces in public housing areas. Apparently, the authorities decided to double "the overnight parking fee from $2 to $4".
Cars need to find a place to park at night. You increase the parking fee, they still need to park there if they have to. How is increasing the fee from $2 to $4 going to help?
So says the blogger, who also adds:
Planning guys! Planning. Either you increase the number of parking spaces or you decrease the number of cars on the road. Increasing the parking fee only give you a bigger bonus at the end of the year. It does not help anyone at all. End of the day, those car still need to park somewhere.
Tsk, tsk. This ignorant bad person obviously needs to get into the shoes of a bureaucrat. Here is a very simple economic model that shows the supply and demand of parking spaces and the effect of price fixing on the market, which I think is sufficient to explain the situation:

*I meant "spaces" not "lots"

The two grey diagonal lines represent the supply (S) and demand (D) 'curves' for parking spaces respectively. The y (vertical) axis of the graph measures the price of each parking lot, while the x (horizontal) axis measures the number of parking spaces used. Clearly, the graph shows the relationship between the price and the number of parking spaces used.

If the market is left to sort itself out, the common assumption is that it would default to a 'natural' sort of equilibrium. The equilibrium (default state of the market at which an equilibrium price is charged and an equilibrium number of parking spaces are used) point would be where the S and D curves intersect. So the equilibrium price would be represented by 'Pe' and the number of parking spaces used would be represented by 'Qe'. That is the point at which supply meets demand, so to speak.

However, let's say that in actual fact there aren't as many parking spaces as 'Qe'. Imagine that the S curve is vertical in the short term, since building of new car parks would take time or there just isn't enough space in the near future. Let's say there really are only 'Q`' number of parking spaces in the short term. So what happens then? The price has to correspondingly go up to 'P`' to reflect the reality of a shortage of supply.

But of course the real world doesn't quite work that way. Parking fees in public housing areas are most likely set by the authorities. That means when the authorities realise that there are too few parking spaces to meet demand, they would fix the price at a higher level in order to curb use and reserve available places for those who need them the most and are therefore willing to pay. 

So what happens in the above model is the authorities would impose the price of 'P`', represented by the red line, in order to meet a target of 'Q`' number of parking spaces used. In other words, this is similar to ERP and such price-based congestion-reducing measures. You increase the price (or impose a 'tax') to decrease the number of people who are ready to use the particular infrastructure.

But why not have the S curve vertical in the model to approximate reality better? First of all, as discussed above, since parking fees are set by the authorities, I want to show the effects of price fixing rather than those of limited and very inelastic supply. Secondly, I'm not sure that 'P`' is the price that corresponds (given demand) to the actual number of parking spaces available, so I can't say that 'Q`' is the number of parking spaces available in reality. Thirdly, this is just an example using very basic economic concepts, so it may not be the best model. Lastly, this can reflect the real situation in the longer term, when there is enough time to increase the supply of parking spaces.

So one of the things worth talking about is not the fact that people still need to park their cars despite the price increase, which is neither here nor there as it skips any attempt at rational analysis, but the fact that there is deadweight loss as represented by the shaded area. However, what is more relevant in this situation is not even that, since we are speaking from the public's point of view, but the loss of consumer surplus, which is represented by the black and yellow shaded area. This area represents the utility loss of those people who don't get to use the parking spaces they otherwise would have used because the fee is now higher than they deem affordable.

Now, it's probably the case that, in the short term, demand for car parks is more inelastic than shown (D curve more vertical) so doubling the price would indeed not result in a significant reduction in the number of parking spaces used. However, this doesn't necessarily mean that people can either have nowhere to park their cars or pay up, as the blogger seems to imply. They may decide to use non-public car parks since those are no longer as expensive relative to public car parks, or they may be more willing to risk parking illegally. More importantly, in the longer run, this may discourage people from using personal vehicles, allowing the supply of car parks to catch up more easily with the demand. 

So although this measure is not exactly good in the short term, it's a reasonable enough solution for the longer run. Besides, in the first place, what else can be done in the short term?

The reality is increasing the supply of parking spaces is not a short term solution, nor is managing the trend of growing use of personal vehicles. In fact, the increase in parking fees, as I've explained, is one way of doing the latter. Furthermore, the officials quoted in the news article this blog entry cites do talk about the need for longer-term solutions, so the entry proves to be very selective in what it mentions. And it certainly ignores the fact that, from an economic point of view, the price increase would better reflect the situation on the ground, giving preference to those with greater need and hence (presumably) greater willingness to pay.

So I've written one of my longest entries ever just to discuss a relatively trivial issue. But the point isn't really to prove that blogger wrong. The point is to illustrate that you don't have to be an expert to criticise something, as many people in Singapore like to imply (when it suits their purposes), but you should at least think through what you're saying. As it is, given such a small pool of dissent in the country, there is too much crap swirling around for it to be taken seriously. Any wonder that the opposition doesn't have much credibility?

Singaporeans like to complain about small things—well, who doesn't? But get it right more often. For a nation of brilliant scorers, we say a lot of stupid things.

Now go watch the parade.

Home

Posted by moses @ 12:46 • , , • 0 comments


I think this is a problem that people in such a small country like Singapore don't often appreciate.

When you move to a new place, you don't know anyone and you have to build your life anew. In a large country where there actually are different towns and cities, that is, where moving would count for something. But that's fine—you just have to work on it. The trouble is if it's temporary. Then it's simply going to get torn down again. And when you get back (if you do go back), you don't know anyone anymore either.

The problem can be set up and compounded by two things: The fact that you are moving to a different country with a different culture, and the fact that your original country is a deeply impersonal place. That way, you'd be a stranger everywhere.

But we don't have to complicate things that way. We can say something about the uprooting itself. When you uproot yourself, you set before you the task of building a new life. A new network, a new schedule, new habits, a new lifestyle (to a certain extent). But the normal assumption is that this is a task of some permanence. You rebuild. You don't normally rebuild to tear down again.

So I'm in a rare enough position.

But for me there is yet another dimension to this: Leaving my hometown (which isn't where I originated), I felt that I had begun to build a life of my own, and it was good. Losing that has an impact.

Maybe I'm just sensitive. Maybe this also has to do with the fact that I left my hometown having lost almost all connection with the people around me.

Nevertheless, I think one thing is true: They say you must know your roots, but the truth is you mostly need to grow them. Where you are, that's where you need to plant. There is no home where you don't have much to hold on to.

And that will never make it into one of the National Day anthems.

David's Sling

Posted by moses @ 01:34 • , , • 0 comments


It's the small things that sometimes trip up the giant.

For big problems, there are big answers. In the case of arguments against theism, for example, there is the problem of evil, which many theologians have spent much time answering. Whether or not they succeed entirely is quite beside the point here. The fact that there are substantial answers would suffice to keep theism afloat.

For small problems, however, the big answers often can't fit. Or they might simply be unable to cover every small problem.

Let's consider the notion of intelligent design. Why would there be any great imperfection (such as the existence of suffering) in the world if it was designed by an all-powerful and benevolent God? Well, a Christian might answer, God has a plan—perhaps we need to experience these large imperfections in order to grow spiritually.

But let's take a small problem. Let's say we ask why many of us continue (long after our less evolved ancestors) to grow extra teeth when our jaws might be too small to accommodate them. Would it not be absurd to say, as the answer to such a question, that "God has a plan" or that "It is because we have fallen into sin"?

To give a big answer to such a small problem would indeed strike most people as ridiculous. God planned human beings' teeth issues so that they would grow spiritually? This problem is a consequence or perhaps a punishment for falling into sin?

I suspect, therefore, that most believers would, owing to its lack of magnitude, simply shrug the problem off. However, it does not go away, and after we've accumulated enough of such problems we begin to build a strong case against intelligent design: If intelligent design is true, why do so many small imperfections exist that are clearly too trivial to serve a larger cosmic purpose?

You can't even neatly package some of these small problems as part of the larger problem of suffering—a major flaw can exist by design, but the existence of many small disconnected flaws can only point to carelessness or the lack of deliberation. The meaning of 'intelligent' would thereby become lost if one still insists that intelligent design is true regardless.

So, ultimately, a cosmic scheme involving a deity with a plan simply isn't good at coming up with explanations for small factual phenomena; although it's always tentative, science can.


Emphatically lacking

Posted by moses @ 12:10 • , , • 0 comments




Human, all too human—that describes the best of us.

Again we must talk about the foolishness of what I call 'feel good talk', the kind we console ourselves with and which makes human society sound rosier than it is. To that end, people talk about empathy, about the ability to put yourself in others' shoes as an important ingredient in social interaction and in winning love and respect.

What they seem to forget, however, is the fact that you are a person too, that you have your own perspective and sometimes your own (valid) reasons for doing things the way you do. What use is having empathy when, the moment there is disagreement, you might as well not have any in the eyes of others?

And disagreements are inevitable. As I've mentioned, you are your own person, and you view the world from your particular perspective. There is a necessary 'I' that fundamentally shapes how you interact with your surroundings. Given the uniqueness of each individual, there is bound to be instances where points of view clash.

So what happens then? Very often, we'd find that even with a lot of empathy we can't avoid conflict. It is often not enough, in personal matters, that others know that you respect their points of view. They want you to agree with them wholeheartedly. Otherwise, you are a bad person, or at least one lacking in empathy.

We see, therefore, that many people don't understand empathy. They understand it only from the point of view of themselves.

Ah, so it turns out that the problem is recursive. We are trapped in this unending loop of "me, myself and I", even when it comes to what is supposed to be about understanding others.

We are so hopeless we can hardly believe it. Even the people closest to you may, after a period of separation, be so detached to your fate that you might not have been able to imagine it had you tried to before being separated.

And, again, this stems from the fact that each of us only sees the world from each of our own particular perspective. Moreover, there is only so much information that we can process and consciously act on at any point of time. Once we are removed from some kind of stimuli, we will often fail to pay attention to the associated things.

I think it takes a great mind to be able to rise above such failings, or even to be aware of them. Hence, for the most part in this life, Michel de Montaigne's saying comes to mind:

"O my friends, there is no friend."

Truth cuts both ways

Posted by moses @ 22:39 • , , , , , • 0 comments


I've been reading an interesting book called The Black Swan. I'm about two-thirds of the way through now and I think I have grasped the central message of the book, which is that our ability to predict the future in social matters is highly limited.

I think this is a very interesting point, and I find myself agreeing with it. I'm not so sure, however, with the seemingly suggested conclusion that a skeptical-empirical approach (which is similar to but more comprehensive than the open-minded attitude I've talked about) is linked to the libertarian position in questions of political economy. Indeed, Hayek and the Austrian school—those proclaimed bastions of libertarian thought—receive not few words of praise in the book and almost no criticism.

The thing is, Hayek might have a good point about economics, but in his political commentary he is guilty of the same thing the book criticises heavily. As I understand it, Hayek alleges that attempts to control economic activity will lead to authoritarianism, hence the 'The Road to Serfdom'. But the evidence speaks for itself. Describing, say, modern-day Britain as authoritarian is a bit of a stretch—what more labelling it as serfdom.

The truth is economic activity in modern society will always be controlled in some (not insignificant) degree, for better or for worse. And this has not and does not seem likely to result in large-scale authoritarianism. Thus, Hayek too fails when he attempts to predict a potential socio-political trend.

But I don't want to focus my criticism on Hayek. Rather, I'd like to talk about why a libertarian position does not necessarily follow from the main point of the book.

The crux of my point is this: As many have pointed out, doing little or nothing also tends to incur costs. There is a price for instituting social programs aimed at helping the impoverished, for example; on the other hand, the alternative of inaction would also have a price.

The book says that not to form quick conclusions is an act as it requires effort. Similarly, not to do something is an act as it tends to have its own cost. Hence, the lack of certainty on the possible consequences cannot justify inaction. As the book also says, having people who take their chances is often necessary for social development.

Therefore, it is rather the case that people are justified in acting on their beliefs as long as they are acting on good faith and are constantly aware of their limitations.

This leads us to another point: It is precisely the lack of absolute certainty in social matters that prevents one from judging a certain school of thought as absolutely wrong, as long as it is not in the business of making predictions or creating concrete historical narratives. So despite, say, the book's criticism of the historicity and scientism of Marxism, a non-scientific/deterministic brand of Marxism is not as vulnerable to the same criticism. Simply put, observations that are not necessarily false cannot be called out for being false.

It turns out, therefore, that under conditions of uncertainty we have to be open-minded about things that have not been proven false. But that's hardly surprising, isn't it? Except perhaps to stubborn libertarians.

Essays on Mind and Matter II

Posted by moses @ 20:42 • , , , • 0 comments


Sometimes things just don't work out; life seems intent on proving that you are not capable enough. Sometimes you are prevented on moving to higher or better paths and endeavours. Instead, you are dragged down and forced to traverse the lower roads, to eke out a bland existence in a fundamentally alienating universe.

You may then be left with a feeling of purposelessness, a sense that things took their own turn and have left you high and dry with your wants and your plans. Perhaps you may even realise that you don't know what you want anymore.

Strangely, though, I'm not too hung up on these feelings. Well, it's not exactly strange because I think I know why. The reason, however, is strange enough—I'm not so bothered by purposelessness because I've realised that it's pointless anyway. At least when you don't have the means to control your life.

So how does it work? How can the realisation of pointlessness somehow be helpful?

Perhaps it will become clear once I explain my reasoning. The point is when you realise that there is no point, you become less insistent on fulfilling a specific purpose (as opposed to a general one, such as to be happy). You become less preoccupied with following a predetermined course. In a somewhat Schopenhauerian sense, when you realise that there is nothing but the chains that bind you to the material world, all that you can lose are the chains that bind you to self-inflicted suffering; if you desire nothing that badly, you wouldn't feel that bad about not having something.

But what do I mean by the fact that there is no point? Have we perchance arrived at the Grand Hotel Abyss?

This isn't a sigh of despair. If you've read some of my earlier entries, you might notice that I try to draw strength from weakness, zest from purposelessness. Why I reason about life is not to express a desire to give up, but to articulate a wish to go on.

As for why there is no point, I'm not going to offer a grandiose narrative about suffering. I think suffering is merely a consequence and could therefore be reduced or avoided if we focus on the right things. Instead, my reasoning is much more Marxist in character. It stems from our alienation from our own labour.

The fact is, out there, almost no one is interested in your purpose or the exact function that you desire for yourself. They say that you have to sell yourself. What this really means is you have to make you seem useful to others. And that's how you make you useful to yourself—without being made use of, you'd seldom have the means for subsistence. You serve yourself by, willingly or not, first serving the purposes of others, most likely the impersonal ends of your employers.

Thus, what is the point of being stubborn about a specific purpose of yours, especially when that doesn't mesh well with reality as it turns out? You'd only inflict physical and emotional suffering on yourself. If you can serve your own purpose while at the same time serving those of your employers, that's great. But such serendipity may be hard to come by.

This realisation that they hardly matter in society is what makes me fairly indifferent to personal milestones and sense of direction. If no one else cares, why should you care? It's your choice: You can choose to be exacting and suffer, or you can choose to shrug them off as inconsequential.

A personal kind of purposelessness, therefore, turns out to be good. But to take it further you need to turn it into the ability to adapt, something that I'm still trying to learn. Basically, if I don't have anything that I badly want to be, I can be anything that people want me to be.

And therein lies power, the flowering of your potential to actually take control.

Like a cruel angel

Posted by moses @ 23:17 • , , • 0 comments


I think some people figured out that it's best to be nice and positive-sounding, even if the ends of others are sometimes better furthered by truthfulness. Clearly, there is nothing inherently 'nice' about this attitude. It's merely convenient. But perhaps I should give these people more credit—it's quite cunning.

The simple trick lies in the fact that people love the sugar coating. They love the smiles, the sweet words and the genial laughs, whether or not they know if those are genuine. Of course, many would say that they prefer to hear true words. Nonetheless, most of them are still susceptible to the psychological effect of being met with niceties.

I think we should be at least a little wary of those who speak good but dishonest words. The mask they wear might make them seem better people than they really are, and it's only when you expect something of them that you might realise the true depth of their good-natured ways. Then you might be in for a disappointment. Or worse. After all, doesn't it resemble a confidence trick?

Infuriatingly, however, such consummate liars also tend to get away with things. People really do love the sugar coating. It's usually only when the truth stares them in the face would they admit that they've been bought. And the trickster would still be able to count on the goodwill of others who have not had their own encounter with his or her true character.

This makes me think, sadly, that the trick is too effective. Thus, on reflection, I can't say that I don't find something that I could learn from it. Therefore, try to reveal the truth only if you know that it's relatively safe to do so.

You might object that it's difficult to constantly be insincere, and that people will eventually be able to tell if you don't mean something.

However, there's a deeper level to this. If you're convinced yourself that you are being kind and pleasant by withholding your true feelings, you can certainly appear genuinely nice despite the fact that you are insincere. The goodwill of others can thus be maintained. People love their sugar coating. They adore those who are loveable and well-meaning.


The Death of Danton

Posted by moses @ 17:31 • , , , , • 0 comments


Every year on Armistice Day and V-Day Europe remembers the dangers of nationalism—at least one would hope. In contrast, I don't think too many people in Asia are attuned to it. Maybe not enough of us have died tragically in its name?

Certainly, between violent squabbles about the ruins of a temple and lengthy periods of compulsory military service, a cacophony of nationalist sentiments permeates Southeast Asia. And few seem to stop and ask: Why does it matter?

Indeed, why? I'm sure we've all heard John F. Kennedy's famous line, "Ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for the country". I think that should be reformulated, and not as a statement but as a question: What does your country even mean to you?

In truth, for many people, I can think of very little. Sure, your country gives you a sense of identity as the place you were born in, where you perhaps live and have the right to be. But you pay your taxes, don't you? As productive or at least honest members of society, you are paying your dues to the community as a member. You are participating in the community.

Yes, everyone stands to lose if the country is weak and vulnerable, but up to what point are concerns about security still reasonable? When does it start to resemble paranoia?

The leaders know that simple pragmatism alone wouldn't commit people to readily pledge their service to the country, at least not to the extent that they're hoping for. That's why they come up with nationalistic propaganda. Their hope is that some sort of love for and sense of responsibility to the country would be instilled in you. The blinder you are as a follower the better. When they need martyrs, they know where to look.

So why do we play along? What is it that the country gives us in exchange? We know why the politicians hold office and why the government is in power. They give their service in exchange for power and position. I can perhaps understand the American sentiment that the country is the defender of their liberties. But especially in places like Singapore, where you're always simply asked to go the extra mile for the 'greater good', so that the country can be competitive, what's in it for you?

Do you think the country takes care of you? In the age of globalisation, where the welfare state is deemed inefficient, the country can no longer make the promises it used to make. Will you have jobs? Will you be able to earn a decent living? Will you have enough funds to retire comfortably? The paradigm of the neo-liberal state gives no clear answers to such questions. You are essentially on your own. The role of the state is to leave you free to do what you want, provided you have the means to do it. Batteries not included, of course.

Even then, in some countries you're not actually free to do a great number of relatively harmless things, like buying chewing gum.

And so, as I've said some time ago, is there any real meaning to nationalism today? How is it that they are asking you to love something selflessly in a world of self-love? If you love yourself, you will find the means to live. That is the living ethic of today. Can loving your country provide an alternative?

It's funny that years ago I had a pragmatic attitude towards nationalism, seeing it as necessarily existent and even necessary. Young minds are impressionable, I suppose. And that's when it's most dangerous. If the leaders want to fight a great war, they need the young to be on board.

A mutinous army results in a dead Tsar. Do we want to give him the power with which he could kill us instead?