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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?