The world our ancestors encountered was dazzlingly complex. Bordering on chaos, how did primitive man navigate this world of unforseen dangers and mind-boggling complexity? I'd venture to guess it arose through our ability to recognize patterns.
We are programmed to see patterns, as evidenced by the faces we see in appliances and animal shapes in clouds. We are constantly on the lookout for cause-and-effect relationships. Where no clear cause is demonstrated for a witnessed effect, we typically associate the cause with the spiritual realm, and have done so since were children. The wall creaks as the temperature changes and the materials that compose it shrink or swell. Being children we dont know what the wall is made of, much less the effect that temperature and humidity have on wood, metal screws and bricks. So we blame the noise on a "monster" of some sort, or ghosts or gods.
Even as adults we try to boil complexity down to understandable phenomena, as demonstrated by the numbers of people who faithfully follow their daily horiscope; life is so complex and chaotic, yet it is governed by the simple movements of stars and planets. Astrologic signs are based on astronomic constellations, yet another example of seeing order in randomness. At the root of finding order in the mess is our system of labeling things.
Labeling things allows us to better understand their relationships with other things, and tease more sense out of complexity. After labeling enough things distinct categories of traits begin to appear, and clusters of order seem to emerge out of chaos. Such labeling became a standardized practice under the recent use of science and the scientific method to better know the world around us.
Labels and categories are fine, however few are prepared when they find exceptions to their label. The more our reach expands beyond our immediate surroundings, the harder labeling becomes. Assigning names to the bodies visible in the sky is easy. Lumping them into categories based on shared traits is simple. There is a curtain of sparkling lights that do not move in relation to one another, we call these stars. There are five other objects in the night sky that do things on their own, moving relative to the stars and each other. These are planets. The sun and moon are easy as well, since they are clearly two very different things. Our order makes sense.
Fast forward to the present, with our ability to experience further than our naked eyes allow. Empowered by telescopes, we know there are four more planets in addition to the five we can see that orbit our sun. Some of these planets have moons of their own. The sun is a star, very unexciting as stars go, just like the billions visible to us in the sky. These stars are parts of a galaxy, and way off in the distance are more galaxies with more stars, and likely, more planets in them. At the outer edges of our solar system lie small frozen worlds similar to our latest planet, Pluto. But whats this? Among these balls of ice are bodies quite a bit larger than planet Pluto that also orbit the sun--have we more planets than we thought?
You all know how that turned out, Pluto became relegated to a new class of objects that had distinct traits in common with one another, and were not considered planets. Similarly, we have detected the presence of planets around other stars, however these planets are much larger than anything we previously knew of. We could only detect their presence because they were so large and close to their parent star that they made the star wobble; we detected the wobble and inferred the invisible object's size. Some are so large that they stretch the definition of both star and planet, and this raises a question similar to what we encountered with Pluto--what traits must be present to clearly define an object as one thing and not another? This is crucial, since the universe probably consists of a spectrum of size objects from molecules at the small end, to moons and planets in the middle, to stars and galaxies and finally galaxy clusters at the unimaginably large end. Where on the spectrum of names and traits does one thing stop and another start? Any line we draw to distinguish one thing from another will be blurred and arbitrary.
Steven Jay Gould wrote "What is a Species?" in the December 1992 issue of Discover magazine about our need to categorize things, and pointed out how aribtrary our systems could be:
I had visited every state but Idaho. A few months ago, I finally got my opportunity to complete the roster of 50 by driving east from Spokane, Washington, into western Idaho. As I crossed the state line, I made the same feeble attempt at humor that so many of us try in similar situations: Gee, it doesn’t look a bit different from easternmost Washington.
We make such comments because we feel the discomfort of discord between our mental needs and the world’s reality. Much of nature (including terrestrial real estate) is continuous, but both our mental and political structures require divisions and categories. We need to break large and continuous items into manageable units.
Such categories and labels work on small scales and narrow experiences. As we increase our knowledge we must embrace complexity and understand that the best use for labels is as temporary communication of a standardized idea that may or may not be accurate when we acquire more information. Such new understanding is not limited to science, but must extend to all aspects of our experience, from politics to the arts, and beyond.
Remember, things are always far more complex than they seem.
What problems do we encounter when we use labels to break continuous things down into smaller units in fields such as politics?
Monday, December 27, 2010
Capitalism in education
Not to be confused with the concept of for-profit educational institutions, which are crap scams.
Economic theory is rooted in a particular perspective, and looks at the labor market from the point of view that employers are the demand-side and workers are the supply-side of an equation. Employers compete for workers under this paradigm, while workers may choose to work or not, but always work for the wage that is equivalent to or higher than the value they place on their free time. It is little wonder, then, that my economics teacher in high school was unable to articulate a reason for students to stay in school beyond the chart that showed average incomes of workers who had achieved various education milestones.
You've seen the chart, where high school dropouts make a salary below the poverty line, while those who graduate make more, and those who go on to college make even more than that. Topping out the list are those who earn masters and doctorate degrees. His chart had actual numbers, a concrete way to lay out your future, right?
Why was it that the more schooling you received the more money you made? That was never explained in his dry, verbose lectures. We spent a few minutes on the chart, then learned the rest of the semester why markets were wonderful.
It wasnt until I came across some European economic literature (probably rooted in Marx) about welfare states in Europe that I fully understood labor markets. One key point jumped out at me: workers compete against each other for work. By applying the principles of traditional economics, supply and demand, to the labor market from that perspective, my high school economics teacher's chart made sense.
Under the traditional labor market model, as I previously wrote, employers are the demand side of the labor market while workers offer a supply of labor for various prices. Employers compete with one another to offer the best package of wages and benefits to entice workers off their couches and into employment. Workers can always (and do) opt out of the labor market when they choose to do so. Employers cannot opt out of the market, because they always require labor.
I fundamentally disagree with the crux of what I've just written; yes employers compete against each other, however workers cannot opt out of the labor market. That employers must entice workers into the labor market neither reflects the reality faced by most workers nor concedes how paltry the few welfare tools are that allow them to attempt to opt out. I do not know a single person who can quit their job and take a year off on a whim; even women who have babies must return to work quickly, otherwise the household requires a huge upheaval to make her staying home realistic. The theory, however, is a cornerstone of modern economics so it isnt going anywhere.
The employment (rather than labor) model I have cobbled together is done so from the prespective of the worker. Employers are the supply side of employment, while workers are the demand side of the equation. As the number of workers in competition for employment increases, wages will fall. This makes perfect sense, as the more competition for employment the larger the pool of labor to the point of a surplus, where wages fall to the lowest bidder, in effect. Naturally the fewer workers competing for employment the higher wages will be.
Now imagine the salary chart as tiers of employment under capitalism. The bottom rung, those with the largest number of workers, also has the lowest wages. This follows because the work done by the least-skilled workers can be done by anyone, thus the pool of possible talent is everyone on Earth. We see this level of employment in sweatshops in places like Asia; kids are doing this work because it requires so little skill or knowledge. How does a worker move out of this pool of workers and make a better wage? By acquiring additional skills that the others lack. This is the equivalent of the high school graduate; a student has completed more math, reading, and science skills than a dropout and thus has more skills than one who did not stay and acquire those tools. By continuing education to college, the student is assumed to have acquired even more skill sets and participates in an even smaller pool of workers competing for the same jobs. Continuing education beyond college narrows the competition further, resulting in even highers wages. Ultimately, the goal of workers should be to move into employment that can not be done by anyone else on Earth, resulting the highest wages imagineable.
In short, workers compete against one another for jobs, and the more skill sets you acquire through education, the more money you'll make because you'll be competing against fewer workers. It is simple but not taught to students--this is how to succeed under capitalism.
One reason why its not taught might be that these skill sets can be acquired outside of institutional education. Witness Bill Gates and the other whiz kids of his generation, few of whom graduated college. They created a job description so specific, requiring skills that only they had, that they were billionaires in their 30s.
Trade schools also offer opportunities to acquire skill sets, and in America for the longest time trade schools were associated with labor unions. No conservative administration would suggest a path to success for students that might empower organized labor. This is no longer true with the flurry of private trade schools producing mechanics and medical assistants; perhaps it is finally time to let students in on the secret to success. It is also time for school boards and state departments of education to gear their schooling programs towards this idea of skill-set achievement, and the myriad ways such achievement could be confirmed beyond standardized tests.
What are the implications to schooling from the perspective of acquiring skill sets, versus the traditional model?
Economic theory is rooted in a particular perspective, and looks at the labor market from the point of view that employers are the demand-side and workers are the supply-side of an equation. Employers compete for workers under this paradigm, while workers may choose to work or not, but always work for the wage that is equivalent to or higher than the value they place on their free time. It is little wonder, then, that my economics teacher in high school was unable to articulate a reason for students to stay in school beyond the chart that showed average incomes of workers who had achieved various education milestones.
You've seen the chart, where high school dropouts make a salary below the poverty line, while those who graduate make more, and those who go on to college make even more than that. Topping out the list are those who earn masters and doctorate degrees. His chart had actual numbers, a concrete way to lay out your future, right?
Why was it that the more schooling you received the more money you made? That was never explained in his dry, verbose lectures. We spent a few minutes on the chart, then learned the rest of the semester why markets were wonderful.
It wasnt until I came across some European economic literature (probably rooted in Marx) about welfare states in Europe that I fully understood labor markets. One key point jumped out at me: workers compete against each other for work. By applying the principles of traditional economics, supply and demand, to the labor market from that perspective, my high school economics teacher's chart made sense.
Under the traditional labor market model, as I previously wrote, employers are the demand side of the labor market while workers offer a supply of labor for various prices. Employers compete with one another to offer the best package of wages and benefits to entice workers off their couches and into employment. Workers can always (and do) opt out of the labor market when they choose to do so. Employers cannot opt out of the market, because they always require labor.
I fundamentally disagree with the crux of what I've just written; yes employers compete against each other, however workers cannot opt out of the labor market. That employers must entice workers into the labor market neither reflects the reality faced by most workers nor concedes how paltry the few welfare tools are that allow them to attempt to opt out. I do not know a single person who can quit their job and take a year off on a whim; even women who have babies must return to work quickly, otherwise the household requires a huge upheaval to make her staying home realistic. The theory, however, is a cornerstone of modern economics so it isnt going anywhere.
The employment (rather than labor) model I have cobbled together is done so from the prespective of the worker. Employers are the supply side of employment, while workers are the demand side of the equation. As the number of workers in competition for employment increases, wages will fall. This makes perfect sense, as the more competition for employment the larger the pool of labor to the point of a surplus, where wages fall to the lowest bidder, in effect. Naturally the fewer workers competing for employment the higher wages will be.
Now imagine the salary chart as tiers of employment under capitalism. The bottom rung, those with the largest number of workers, also has the lowest wages. This follows because the work done by the least-skilled workers can be done by anyone, thus the pool of possible talent is everyone on Earth. We see this level of employment in sweatshops in places like Asia; kids are doing this work because it requires so little skill or knowledge. How does a worker move out of this pool of workers and make a better wage? By acquiring additional skills that the others lack. This is the equivalent of the high school graduate; a student has completed more math, reading, and science skills than a dropout and thus has more skills than one who did not stay and acquire those tools. By continuing education to college, the student is assumed to have acquired even more skill sets and participates in an even smaller pool of workers competing for the same jobs. Continuing education beyond college narrows the competition further, resulting in even highers wages. Ultimately, the goal of workers should be to move into employment that can not be done by anyone else on Earth, resulting the highest wages imagineable.
In short, workers compete against one another for jobs, and the more skill sets you acquire through education, the more money you'll make because you'll be competing against fewer workers. It is simple but not taught to students--this is how to succeed under capitalism.
One reason why its not taught might be that these skill sets can be acquired outside of institutional education. Witness Bill Gates and the other whiz kids of his generation, few of whom graduated college. They created a job description so specific, requiring skills that only they had, that they were billionaires in their 30s.
Trade schools also offer opportunities to acquire skill sets, and in America for the longest time trade schools were associated with labor unions. No conservative administration would suggest a path to success for students that might empower organized labor. This is no longer true with the flurry of private trade schools producing mechanics and medical assistants; perhaps it is finally time to let students in on the secret to success. It is also time for school boards and state departments of education to gear their schooling programs towards this idea of skill-set achievement, and the myriad ways such achievement could be confirmed beyond standardized tests.
What are the implications to schooling from the perspective of acquiring skill sets, versus the traditional model?
Some implications of the Second World War--introduction
It is almost unimaginable today, but the length and breadth of destruction that was World War Two (WWII) has had a profound impact on our lives. Many significant impacts--culturally, economically, in terms of the workforce, in terms of our obligations around the world, etc. etc.
Nothing that has happened in this country over the last 60 years can be fully understood outside of the context of a post-war America. Unfortunately, people have short term memories or an ignorance of history; to those people, 2011 must seem mysterious indeed.
The nation faces a long, slow slog out of the deepest economic trouble this country has faced since the collapse of the stock market at the beginning of the Great Depression in 1929. TV pundits and politicians lament the state of education in America and the low test scores of students relative to other nations. The official unemployment rate hovers stubbornly just below 10%. Industry has fled to cheap labor overseas. As we roll forward into a new year, people wonder if the golden age of America has passed. Answers to this question can only come from a full understanding of what has come before us, and the most relevant place to start is the end of WWII.
Europe was still smoldering from the destruction of Germany. That destruction was total, from two directions--the Russians fought their way to Berlin from the East, while the allies (America, the United Kingdom and free France) fought to Berlin from the West. This left a ribbon of death and total destruction from the coast of France to Moscow.
The Japanese had broken China and had to be pushed off of a series of islands in the Pacific; bombing Japan in the later years of the war destroyed the infrastructure of most of that nation's largest cities. In short, the industrialized world had been levelled--factories lay in ruins, cities were piles of rubble, and workers wore uniforms. There was only one industrialized nation that stood unmolested in September, 1945; only one nation with its infrastructure and factories and workforce intact.
America.
In those years after the war we pledged to help our enemies rebuild. We loaned money to Europe and Japan to reconstruct their countries; our factories filled the gaps in need for "stuff," and they needed all kinds of stuff--cars, construction and mining equipment, toasters, generators, refrigerators, ovens, clothing, radios, food, and all the little things we take for granted that make life easier.
This made us kingmakers, put us on top. We stood alone above the rubble of the postwar world and supplied it with whatever the world needed; we had no competition for supply of the world's goods. Our economy made up half of the world's wealth.
This is the golden age of America that many reference for statistics on our economic health. You can see the problem with this--we had no competition for providing goods, the world needed everything we could make. It was a one-off situation, one not likely or desired to be repeated soon. As such, it is nothing we should compare to today, where we face competition from all corners of the globe. Even with our recent economic troubles and the oft-repeated warnings about the rise of China, we still account for a quarter of the world's wealth; China and Japan are vying for second place, but still in single digits--a distant second. The European Union alone has more wealth than the United States, and thats a compilation of 27 nations that still dont act as one--a technicality at 30 percent.
So the story of America since the end of WWII isn't a story of American decline, its a story of global reconstruction. It was inevitable that we should face competition again, inevitable that our wealth could not continue to dominate the world we rebuilt. We rebuilt it, in fact, to have competition, and our modern global economy ensures that the industrialized world's interests overlap and intertwine, hopefully staving off future conflicts.
What does this mean in terms of education? What does this mean in terms of our domestic economy? More on those later!
Nothing that has happened in this country over the last 60 years can be fully understood outside of the context of a post-war America. Unfortunately, people have short term memories or an ignorance of history; to those people, 2011 must seem mysterious indeed.
The nation faces a long, slow slog out of the deepest economic trouble this country has faced since the collapse of the stock market at the beginning of the Great Depression in 1929. TV pundits and politicians lament the state of education in America and the low test scores of students relative to other nations. The official unemployment rate hovers stubbornly just below 10%. Industry has fled to cheap labor overseas. As we roll forward into a new year, people wonder if the golden age of America has passed. Answers to this question can only come from a full understanding of what has come before us, and the most relevant place to start is the end of WWII.
Europe was still smoldering from the destruction of Germany. That destruction was total, from two directions--the Russians fought their way to Berlin from the East, while the allies (America, the United Kingdom and free France) fought to Berlin from the West. This left a ribbon of death and total destruction from the coast of France to Moscow.
The Japanese had broken China and had to be pushed off of a series of islands in the Pacific; bombing Japan in the later years of the war destroyed the infrastructure of most of that nation's largest cities. In short, the industrialized world had been levelled--factories lay in ruins, cities were piles of rubble, and workers wore uniforms. There was only one industrialized nation that stood unmolested in September, 1945; only one nation with its infrastructure and factories and workforce intact.
America.
In those years after the war we pledged to help our enemies rebuild. We loaned money to Europe and Japan to reconstruct their countries; our factories filled the gaps in need for "stuff," and they needed all kinds of stuff--cars, construction and mining equipment, toasters, generators, refrigerators, ovens, clothing, radios, food, and all the little things we take for granted that make life easier.
This made us kingmakers, put us on top. We stood alone above the rubble of the postwar world and supplied it with whatever the world needed; we had no competition for supply of the world's goods. Our economy made up half of the world's wealth.
This is the golden age of America that many reference for statistics on our economic health. You can see the problem with this--we had no competition for providing goods, the world needed everything we could make. It was a one-off situation, one not likely or desired to be repeated soon. As such, it is nothing we should compare to today, where we face competition from all corners of the globe. Even with our recent economic troubles and the oft-repeated warnings about the rise of China, we still account for a quarter of the world's wealth; China and Japan are vying for second place, but still in single digits--a distant second. The European Union alone has more wealth than the United States, and thats a compilation of 27 nations that still dont act as one--a technicality at 30 percent.
So the story of America since the end of WWII isn't a story of American decline, its a story of global reconstruction. It was inevitable that we should face competition again, inevitable that our wealth could not continue to dominate the world we rebuilt. We rebuilt it, in fact, to have competition, and our modern global economy ensures that the industrialized world's interests overlap and intertwine, hopefully staving off future conflicts.
What does this mean in terms of education? What does this mean in terms of our domestic economy? More on those later!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The myth of simple peoples living close to the Earth
People are fond of comparing and contrasting Native American (or other indiginous lifestyles) to the lives we lead today, and lament how removed we are from Mother Earth.
"The Indians never wasted any part of an animal, they put it all to use!" they exclaim, as a model for us to follow in our inefficiently gluttonous times. It's as though indiginous people had a lock on some kind of connection or magical power over/with nature that led them to be peaceful, happy people. If we could only live more like them, we'd be happier too.
Putting aside the fact that we did live like them once, this kind of mythology has been around for awhile; nearly as long as Europeans saw indiginous people as barbarians or savages. It really took flight in the 1960s with the hippy movement, a generation's attempt to reject the materialism of their parents (which was in turn a post-war movement borne out of the have-nothing of the Great Depression). Live closer to the Earth, make your houses out of dung and mud, and you'll find inner peace.
If you feel like you're not connected to mother Earth, thats a paradigm you've created and fostered yourself. As my previous posts suggest, I know I live in a world that wouldn't be possible without the resources we extract from our environment. I live in an Earthen home; it is made from volcanic cinderblacks and concrete, two types of "dirt." I've lived in homes made of bricks; baked dirt. The gypsum drywall under the paint in my home is "dirt." The screws that hold the drywall to the wood two-by-fours connected to the cinderblocks are made of metals mined from the Earth, while the lumber came from trees. Etc, etc. To my knowledge, there is nothing in my home or my life that did not originate somewhere on or in this planet.
In this sense I live no different than my ancestors, who cobbled stones or wood together with mortar or mud to make houses, or the Native American tribes who lived on the plains in skin teepees held up by wood poles; you dont live any different either.
The greatest difference between our lifestyles and that led by indiginous peoples lie in our numbers and our use of resources. Because of our larger populations we've had to become more efficient in the production of food, as one example. I've seen estimates of the native population of North America pre-Columbus as anywhere from fifty million to a hundred million inhabitants. We now have over 300 million in the US alone, and we can feed them. With the limitations of their technology, they supported at least two-thirds fewer in the same area.
This is not just a function of food production, but I use food as an example. Through technology we have other options available to us that were not available to natives in the production of tools, too. We have diviersified our dependence on resources.
Take the indiginous people of the Amazon Basin, practically deified for their proximity to the Earth in the movie The Emerald Forest. These people use blowpipes constructed from the roots of Walking Trees to hunt small game, as well as simple bows and arrows. They are a stone-age people, not using metals of any kind except that which they have traded with outsiders; mining is not something they know much about. These wooden bows and arrows come from the Earth and are a resource for them. If their population swells, so will their demand for Walking Tree roots to make blowpipes. It is conceiveable that the population could swell so large that Walking Tree roots become scarce, generating competition for them among tribes. Some families may lose or break their blowpipe, either causing them to starve or depend on others for food. This reduces the caloric intake of the next family, and so on, with a cascading effect throughout the tribe. Based on the resources available to them, this tribe might have reached its growth limit, and all because of a lack of diversity in resources. The dominant culture of the tribe may have to shift to actively growing Walking Trees so they have enough roots to make blowpipes; does doing so make them more or less in tune with nature?
To impose this analogy on our lifestyle, if any one of us breaks a wooden blowpipe it might be an opportunity to make one made of metal, or plastic; we have more options available to us to make the tools we need to survive. This is due to our increased population, but has also supported its growth. Hunting-gathering offered less options to our ancestors than the introduction of farming did, while primitive farming offered fewer options to our ancestors than massive economy-of-scale farming offers us now. Globalization has offered the most variety, since a regional drought or seasonal change does not mean the end of food in that area (with noteable exceptions that are more logistical than availability in nature). This is not to say everything in our food-industrial-complex is great, I recognize the problems; I'm saying that we've engineered ways to support larger numbers of people, and that engineering doesn't mean we are less connected to the Earth than the Australian Aborigines or the tribes in The Emerald Forest, despite what popular culture would have us believe. That difference is neither inherently good or bad, since good and bad is a matter of perspective. Two examples:
Australian Aborigines have a right-of-passage ceremony for males--their first kangaroo hunt. Sometimes the kangaroos are hard to find, so to make it easier, the older men in the tribe start a grassland fire to encourage the collection of kangaroos in one smaller area. They can burn down miles of grassland and trees in their attempt to capture kangaroos. They have this tradition and are able to do this because their populations aren't so large that burning down forests and grasslands impacts the resources of someone else. It is clearly not an efficient way of hunting, however, and may be why their numbers are as small as they are (certainly among other reasons, such those based in European racism).
As anyone who has watched Dirty Jobs or How It's Made can tell you, it is amazing how many different ways you can use stuff. Take a cow, for instance. The cow is slaughtered for its meat, but that is not the only use we have for it. We tan its skin to make shoes and jackets. We grind its bones down to make bonemeal feed and gelatin. The brains are blown out of the skull with an air compressor and canned for sale in Latin America. The meat not fit for human consumption is used in pet food. We literally do not waste a single part of a cow, and why? Because under capitalism, any waste is lost money. If after your production process you have material left over, you can make money finding a use for it--and we have. Compare that to the Navajo tradition of deer hunting where the animal's bones are buried in the spot where it was killed in an act of gratitude. Those bones might not be considered a waste to the Navajo, but they could be used to make gelatin instead.
Waste and closeness to the Earth or nature are perspectives and paradigms. We dont live like indiginous people do or did, but thats not to say that one lifestyle is better than another, for that assigns judgement and places value on actions that always depend on paradigms.
The appearance of indignous people being closer to nature than we are is actually a function of their populations and dependence on a limited series of resources. If that's a lifestyle you want to choose, go on ahead. It's not better or worse than my lifestyle, it's just different.
"The Indians never wasted any part of an animal, they put it all to use!" they exclaim, as a model for us to follow in our inefficiently gluttonous times. It's as though indiginous people had a lock on some kind of connection or magical power over/with nature that led them to be peaceful, happy people. If we could only live more like them, we'd be happier too.
Putting aside the fact that we did live like them once, this kind of mythology has been around for awhile; nearly as long as Europeans saw indiginous people as barbarians or savages. It really took flight in the 1960s with the hippy movement, a generation's attempt to reject the materialism of their parents (which was in turn a post-war movement borne out of the have-nothing of the Great Depression). Live closer to the Earth, make your houses out of dung and mud, and you'll find inner peace.
If you feel like you're not connected to mother Earth, thats a paradigm you've created and fostered yourself. As my previous posts suggest, I know I live in a world that wouldn't be possible without the resources we extract from our environment. I live in an Earthen home; it is made from volcanic cinderblacks and concrete, two types of "dirt." I've lived in homes made of bricks; baked dirt. The gypsum drywall under the paint in my home is "dirt." The screws that hold the drywall to the wood two-by-fours connected to the cinderblocks are made of metals mined from the Earth, while the lumber came from trees. Etc, etc. To my knowledge, there is nothing in my home or my life that did not originate somewhere on or in this planet.
In this sense I live no different than my ancestors, who cobbled stones or wood together with mortar or mud to make houses, or the Native American tribes who lived on the plains in skin teepees held up by wood poles; you dont live any different either.
The greatest difference between our lifestyles and that led by indiginous peoples lie in our numbers and our use of resources. Because of our larger populations we've had to become more efficient in the production of food, as one example. I've seen estimates of the native population of North America pre-Columbus as anywhere from fifty million to a hundred million inhabitants. We now have over 300 million in the US alone, and we can feed them. With the limitations of their technology, they supported at least two-thirds fewer in the same area.
This is not just a function of food production, but I use food as an example. Through technology we have other options available to us that were not available to natives in the production of tools, too. We have diviersified our dependence on resources.
Take the indiginous people of the Amazon Basin, practically deified for their proximity to the Earth in the movie The Emerald Forest. These people use blowpipes constructed from the roots of Walking Trees to hunt small game, as well as simple bows and arrows. They are a stone-age people, not using metals of any kind except that which they have traded with outsiders; mining is not something they know much about. These wooden bows and arrows come from the Earth and are a resource for them. If their population swells, so will their demand for Walking Tree roots to make blowpipes. It is conceiveable that the population could swell so large that Walking Tree roots become scarce, generating competition for them among tribes. Some families may lose or break their blowpipe, either causing them to starve or depend on others for food. This reduces the caloric intake of the next family, and so on, with a cascading effect throughout the tribe. Based on the resources available to them, this tribe might have reached its growth limit, and all because of a lack of diversity in resources. The dominant culture of the tribe may have to shift to actively growing Walking Trees so they have enough roots to make blowpipes; does doing so make them more or less in tune with nature?
To impose this analogy on our lifestyle, if any one of us breaks a wooden blowpipe it might be an opportunity to make one made of metal, or plastic; we have more options available to us to make the tools we need to survive. This is due to our increased population, but has also supported its growth. Hunting-gathering offered less options to our ancestors than the introduction of farming did, while primitive farming offered fewer options to our ancestors than massive economy-of-scale farming offers us now. Globalization has offered the most variety, since a regional drought or seasonal change does not mean the end of food in that area (with noteable exceptions that are more logistical than availability in nature). This is not to say everything in our food-industrial-complex is great, I recognize the problems; I'm saying that we've engineered ways to support larger numbers of people, and that engineering doesn't mean we are less connected to the Earth than the Australian Aborigines or the tribes in The Emerald Forest, despite what popular culture would have us believe. That difference is neither inherently good or bad, since good and bad is a matter of perspective. Two examples:
Australian Aborigines have a right-of-passage ceremony for males--their first kangaroo hunt. Sometimes the kangaroos are hard to find, so to make it easier, the older men in the tribe start a grassland fire to encourage the collection of kangaroos in one smaller area. They can burn down miles of grassland and trees in their attempt to capture kangaroos. They have this tradition and are able to do this because their populations aren't so large that burning down forests and grasslands impacts the resources of someone else. It is clearly not an efficient way of hunting, however, and may be why their numbers are as small as they are (certainly among other reasons, such those based in European racism).
As anyone who has watched Dirty Jobs or How It's Made can tell you, it is amazing how many different ways you can use stuff. Take a cow, for instance. The cow is slaughtered for its meat, but that is not the only use we have for it. We tan its skin to make shoes and jackets. We grind its bones down to make bonemeal feed and gelatin. The brains are blown out of the skull with an air compressor and canned for sale in Latin America. The meat not fit for human consumption is used in pet food. We literally do not waste a single part of a cow, and why? Because under capitalism, any waste is lost money. If after your production process you have material left over, you can make money finding a use for it--and we have. Compare that to the Navajo tradition of deer hunting where the animal's bones are buried in the spot where it was killed in an act of gratitude. Those bones might not be considered a waste to the Navajo, but they could be used to make gelatin instead.
Waste and closeness to the Earth or nature are perspectives and paradigms. We dont live like indiginous people do or did, but thats not to say that one lifestyle is better than another, for that assigns judgement and places value on actions that always depend on paradigms.
The appearance of indignous people being closer to nature than we are is actually a function of their populations and dependence on a limited series of resources. If that's a lifestyle you want to choose, go on ahead. It's not better or worse than my lifestyle, it's just different.
Friday, December 24, 2010
On human exceptionalism
There is a trend toward "natural" products. You've seen them touted as superior products to those products which are considered "unnatural." But what exactly do "natural" and "unnatural" mean?
From Wikipedia:
The word nature is derived from the Latin word natura, or "essential qualities, innate disposition", and in ancient times, literally meant "birth". Natura was a Latin translation of the Greek word physis (φύσις), which originally related to the intrinsic characteristics that plants, animals, and other features of the world develop of their own accord.
Let's focus on a key aspect of the root of the word nature, specifically that the Greek word physis "related to the intrinsic characteristics that plants, animals and other features of the world develop of their own accord." This demonstrates that ancient Greeks had already divided the world into two camps--the world that mankind created, with its culture and related artifacts, and the world not influenced by mankind. We recognize this divide today; when we walk through a forest, most would consider that forest to be natural, while walking through a city is a walk through a man-made landscape, therefore making a city an unnatural or artificial place.
In my previous post I touched on this issue regarding a picture of a fish swimming in an aluminum can. If we surveyed people, I'd expect most would call the fish a natural being, and the can would be a man-made artificial object. I also explained that the can was constructed of aluminum which is found in the crust of the Earth, and can be found in the soil under water. This raises the issue of human exceptionalism. At what point does a "natural" object turn into an "unnatural" object?
The human transformation of natural materials into tools has been going on for millennia. Bone, rock, obsidian, and wood are some of the earliest recognized examples of natural materials our ancestors turned into tools. At what stage in the tool production process has a natural material evolved into an "unnatural" tool? Obsidian must be flaked into an arrowhead; an arrowhead is clearly a tool. Laying about the ground in a manner uncovered by processes of erosion, obsidian in this state would probably be considered in its natural or innate state. Once picked up by a knapper, with the intention of turning the volcanic glass into an arrowhead, the obsidian is removed from this state of being. However without working the obsidian, anyone who held it might consider it to be a natural object (particularly if they had no knowledge that it could be used as a tool). Once worked and shaped into a recognizable arrowhead it is clearly no longer a natural object but a tool. How many strikes on the obsidian does it take for it to be recognized this way? What if the obsidian was found in nature in an arrowhead shape, and did not need to be worked? There are any number of ways to parse this example without coming to a universal answer.
How about wood, then? If found in a forest, a tree is clearly a natural object. Cut a limb from it, and that limb might be called unnatural. Make a tool out of it and its clearly not natural. What of limbs that fell of their own accord, due to weather or the heath of the tree? What if the tree was planted for the purpose of harvesting wood to make tools--is that tree no longer a natural object? There are similar issues of "naturalness" that arise with wood as well. Use a naturally occurring rock to pound a stake into the ground, or even crush another rock. That's clearly using a natural object as a tool, however once discarded and removed from the context of tool use, who else would know that the rock was ever used in an "unnatural" way? Given this, how can we be sure that things labelled as "natural" were not put to some unnatural use, and are therefore not a natural occurrence?
These rhetorical questions lead to this last point. Look around you, sitting in what is probably an unnatural structure, in the most understood use of the term. You could be in a house, a park, a library or classroom, surrounded by a structures that do not occur without human intervention. But look at the material these structures are made from--wood, stone, metals, glass, clay bricks, these materials all existed at one time in an innate state, free from the hand of man. We cobbled these materials to make the "unnatural" world around you right now, but did so with natural materials. When do these materials evolve into unnatural things?
This habit of adapting natural materials to suit particular needs is not solely a human trait. Think of beavers, who turn wood into homes. Think of ants, digging and burrowing into the ground and placing the excess around the entrance to their tunnels. Think of birds, who make nests of sticks, fibers, paper, even rocks, to suit their needs. Think of various apes who use twigs to pull termites out of their tunnels to eat, effectively using a natural object as a tool. How is what we do any different than what they do? Yet when we come upon an anthill, most would agree that the anthill is a natural structure, or a nest is a natural structure, simply because it was made by an animal. That is the key to human exceptionalism--that we are somehow different from the other creatures on the Earth, when clearly we are not.
When does aluminum go from being a natural object to an unnatural can? At what point in the arrowhead-making process is obsidian no longer a natural object? When, during the construction of your home, does your home become an unnatural object? Given the complexity of nailing down the precise moments when these things change from natural to unnatural, it is far easier to recognize the universal answer--they do not change into unnatural things. Never.
Why are we not as much a part of nature as anything else living on Earth? What makes us special? Science has revealed that very little in fact makes us different from animals, despite what we would like to think. A landscape of suburban homes may be considered pollution by some, but now we have to look at things differently. You are natural, and I am natural, and everything we do is natural, under this new concept.
Perhaps the most exceptional thing about us is how unexceptional we really are!
From Wikipedia:
The word nature is derived from the Latin word natura, or "essential qualities, innate disposition", and in ancient times, literally meant "birth". Natura was a Latin translation of the Greek word physis (φύσις), which originally related to the intrinsic characteristics that plants, animals, and other features of the world develop of their own accord.
Let's focus on a key aspect of the root of the word nature, specifically that the Greek word physis "related to the intrinsic characteristics that plants, animals and other features of the world develop of their own accord." This demonstrates that ancient Greeks had already divided the world into two camps--the world that mankind created, with its culture and related artifacts, and the world not influenced by mankind. We recognize this divide today; when we walk through a forest, most would consider that forest to be natural, while walking through a city is a walk through a man-made landscape, therefore making a city an unnatural or artificial place.
In my previous post I touched on this issue regarding a picture of a fish swimming in an aluminum can. If we surveyed people, I'd expect most would call the fish a natural being, and the can would be a man-made artificial object. I also explained that the can was constructed of aluminum which is found in the crust of the Earth, and can be found in the soil under water. This raises the issue of human exceptionalism. At what point does a "natural" object turn into an "unnatural" object?
The human transformation of natural materials into tools has been going on for millennia. Bone, rock, obsidian, and wood are some of the earliest recognized examples of natural materials our ancestors turned into tools. At what stage in the tool production process has a natural material evolved into an "unnatural" tool? Obsidian must be flaked into an arrowhead; an arrowhead is clearly a tool. Laying about the ground in a manner uncovered by processes of erosion, obsidian in this state would probably be considered in its natural or innate state. Once picked up by a knapper, with the intention of turning the volcanic glass into an arrowhead, the obsidian is removed from this state of being. However without working the obsidian, anyone who held it might consider it to be a natural object (particularly if they had no knowledge that it could be used as a tool). Once worked and shaped into a recognizable arrowhead it is clearly no longer a natural object but a tool. How many strikes on the obsidian does it take for it to be recognized this way? What if the obsidian was found in nature in an arrowhead shape, and did not need to be worked? There are any number of ways to parse this example without coming to a universal answer.
How about wood, then? If found in a forest, a tree is clearly a natural object. Cut a limb from it, and that limb might be called unnatural. Make a tool out of it and its clearly not natural. What of limbs that fell of their own accord, due to weather or the heath of the tree? What if the tree was planted for the purpose of harvesting wood to make tools--is that tree no longer a natural object? There are similar issues of "naturalness" that arise with wood as well. Use a naturally occurring rock to pound a stake into the ground, or even crush another rock. That's clearly using a natural object as a tool, however once discarded and removed from the context of tool use, who else would know that the rock was ever used in an "unnatural" way? Given this, how can we be sure that things labelled as "natural" were not put to some unnatural use, and are therefore not a natural occurrence?
These rhetorical questions lead to this last point. Look around you, sitting in what is probably an unnatural structure, in the most understood use of the term. You could be in a house, a park, a library or classroom, surrounded by a structures that do not occur without human intervention. But look at the material these structures are made from--wood, stone, metals, glass, clay bricks, these materials all existed at one time in an innate state, free from the hand of man. We cobbled these materials to make the "unnatural" world around you right now, but did so with natural materials. When do these materials evolve into unnatural things?
This habit of adapting natural materials to suit particular needs is not solely a human trait. Think of beavers, who turn wood into homes. Think of ants, digging and burrowing into the ground and placing the excess around the entrance to their tunnels. Think of birds, who make nests of sticks, fibers, paper, even rocks, to suit their needs. Think of various apes who use twigs to pull termites out of their tunnels to eat, effectively using a natural object as a tool. How is what we do any different than what they do? Yet when we come upon an anthill, most would agree that the anthill is a natural structure, or a nest is a natural structure, simply because it was made by an animal. That is the key to human exceptionalism--that we are somehow different from the other creatures on the Earth, when clearly we are not.
When does aluminum go from being a natural object to an unnatural can? At what point in the arrowhead-making process is obsidian no longer a natural object? When, during the construction of your home, does your home become an unnatural object? Given the complexity of nailing down the precise moments when these things change from natural to unnatural, it is far easier to recognize the universal answer--they do not change into unnatural things. Never.
Why are we not as much a part of nature as anything else living on Earth? What makes us special? Science has revealed that very little in fact makes us different from animals, despite what we would like to think. A landscape of suburban homes may be considered pollution by some, but now we have to look at things differently. You are natural, and I am natural, and everything we do is natural, under this new concept.
Perhaps the most exceptional thing about us is how unexceptional we really are!
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Relativity in environmentalism
I saw a picture taken by a reader of National Geographic in the magazine a little while ago (November issue?) which was a fish floating in the opening in an aluminum can. In the photo's caption the photographer bemoaned the effects of mankind on the sea.
Let's break this whole thing down, parse it out. We infer that the writer of the caption (who may or may not have taken the picture, but my impression was that they were the same person) thinks that mankind has a negative effect (if even only, at times) on the sea. Similarly, we infer the writer thinks the presence of the can in the sea is due to some act of mankind; after all we don't find aluminum cans in the wild. The picture of the fish in the can must also have some poinancy for the writer, as though a picture of the can without the fish, or just the fish alone, would not convey the same message. The writer must also ascribe human attributes to the fish, in order for the message to be poiniant--that the fish is in the can and not pleased, or not happy with the can's presence. Perhaps the writer feels the fish is trapped in the can, or harmed by the can's presence in the sea.
A picture really is worth a thousand words, isn't it? I dont have the picture in front of me, so it may be worth far more or less--I'm doing this from my memory, though that's largely irrelevant to what follows.
How do we know the fish is unhappy with the can? It seems to me if I'm small enough to fit in the mouth of an aluminum can, I'd probably fit in the mouth of just about every other predator in the sea. As such, the can offers me a significant level of protection from those predators--"I'm pretty damn happy that someone was concerned enough to throw this can into the water for me! How thoughtful of them!"
That being the other extreme interpretation of an expressionless fish's presence in an aluminum can, what about the mundane? "I'm just swimming around looking for food, and happened to find this thing nearby that I wanted to check out."
Further still, the can is made of aluminum. The dry surface of the Earth is covered in seashells, including mountaintops, that represent what used to be the bottoms of bodies of water now pushed high into the air by tectonic forces. The land under your feet was probably under water at some point in its history. Where do we mine aluminum? We pull it out of the land that probably used to be under water at some point in its history. So at some point, aluminum was under water (and continues to be underwater). Aluminum found in the Earth's crust is under water, and this pictured aluminum can that was made from aluminum mined from the Earth's crust is under water too. Since the writer of the caption probably doesn't object to the presence of aluminum in the Earth's crust under water, the writer must be objecting specifically to this aluminum. Because the only difference between the aluminum in the Earth's crust and the aluminum can is the form the aluminum takes, the crucial point of offense for the writer of the caption must be that the aluminum is shaped like a can.
Burying the cans in the earth would probably be considered a similar travesty, an act likely called "pollution." However burying the cans in the Earth from which it came could also be returning it to its "natural" state, because after all, we don't commonly consider burying dead people to be pollution, do we? Here again, burying aluminum itself isnt the issue, but rather the form the aluminum takes.
Now extrapolate the consequences of this for everything we consider to be pollution, all of which was made by extracting resources from the Earth--nothing came from outside the Earth, say from Mars or Venus. Glass bottles (made from silica sand), plastics (a form of petroleum products, extracted from the ground), wood, all metals, etc, are all natural materials. Yet when they go into a landfill to be reburied after we've used these elements, we consider them to be garbage or pollution. What has turned natural materials into pollution? Little more than the form which these materials take from one case to the next.
When you think about environmentalism in this way, it seems rather silly, doesn't it? It's all a matter of perspective!
Let's break this whole thing down, parse it out. We infer that the writer of the caption (who may or may not have taken the picture, but my impression was that they were the same person) thinks that mankind has a negative effect (if even only, at times) on the sea. Similarly, we infer the writer thinks the presence of the can in the sea is due to some act of mankind; after all we don't find aluminum cans in the wild. The picture of the fish in the can must also have some poinancy for the writer, as though a picture of the can without the fish, or just the fish alone, would not convey the same message. The writer must also ascribe human attributes to the fish, in order for the message to be poiniant--that the fish is in the can and not pleased, or not happy with the can's presence. Perhaps the writer feels the fish is trapped in the can, or harmed by the can's presence in the sea.
A picture really is worth a thousand words, isn't it? I dont have the picture in front of me, so it may be worth far more or less--I'm doing this from my memory, though that's largely irrelevant to what follows.
How do we know the fish is unhappy with the can? It seems to me if I'm small enough to fit in the mouth of an aluminum can, I'd probably fit in the mouth of just about every other predator in the sea. As such, the can offers me a significant level of protection from those predators--"I'm pretty damn happy that someone was concerned enough to throw this can into the water for me! How thoughtful of them!"
That being the other extreme interpretation of an expressionless fish's presence in an aluminum can, what about the mundane? "I'm just swimming around looking for food, and happened to find this thing nearby that I wanted to check out."
Further still, the can is made of aluminum. The dry surface of the Earth is covered in seashells, including mountaintops, that represent what used to be the bottoms of bodies of water now pushed high into the air by tectonic forces. The land under your feet was probably under water at some point in its history. Where do we mine aluminum? We pull it out of the land that probably used to be under water at some point in its history. So at some point, aluminum was under water (and continues to be underwater). Aluminum found in the Earth's crust is under water, and this pictured aluminum can that was made from aluminum mined from the Earth's crust is under water too. Since the writer of the caption probably doesn't object to the presence of aluminum in the Earth's crust under water, the writer must be objecting specifically to this aluminum. Because the only difference between the aluminum in the Earth's crust and the aluminum can is the form the aluminum takes, the crucial point of offense for the writer of the caption must be that the aluminum is shaped like a can.
Burying the cans in the earth would probably be considered a similar travesty, an act likely called "pollution." However burying the cans in the Earth from which it came could also be returning it to its "natural" state, because after all, we don't commonly consider burying dead people to be pollution, do we? Here again, burying aluminum itself isnt the issue, but rather the form the aluminum takes.
Now extrapolate the consequences of this for everything we consider to be pollution, all of which was made by extracting resources from the Earth--nothing came from outside the Earth, say from Mars or Venus. Glass bottles (made from silica sand), plastics (a form of petroleum products, extracted from the ground), wood, all metals, etc, are all natural materials. Yet when they go into a landfill to be reburied after we've used these elements, we consider them to be garbage or pollution. What has turned natural materials into pollution? Little more than the form which these materials take from one case to the next.
When you think about environmentalism in this way, it seems rather silly, doesn't it? It's all a matter of perspective!
Relativity in history
Actions (as well as inactions) can have positive or negative consequences, depending on the human issue under examination or the perspective of the observer. For example: we've heard the phrase, "one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter," indicating that the positive or negative effects of actions depend on the perspective or who is observing the action. Some will benefit, some will lose out, and history will be left to judge the outcome.
History, however, is the judgement of individuals examining fragments of an event, as told by prejudiced witnesses from their perspectives, through their paradigms, while exmining the event through their own lenses of truth. Another example: burning down houses of government officials, throwing tar on the bodies of government officials that was hot enough to burn skin, and inciting riots all sound like terrorist activities. Anyone who did this today would be arrested, and rightfully so.
These were all documented events that American colonists committed against the British leading up to the American Revolution.
When put in that light, such acts take on a kind of theatrical melodrama of an oppressed people fighting for their liberty. We see the events of the 1770s as the American Revolution; the British history books refer to that period in their history as the American Civil War. To Americans the American Civil War occurred generations later, as the war between the states in the 1860s.
Interesting how perspective changes a story, isnt it? Word choices used to describe an event have the same effect, as in my sentence above "These are all documented events that American colonists committed against the British leading up to the American Revolution." Including the word "documented" leads the reader to believe that they can find examples of such acts themselves, written by witnesses at the time they occurred. The inclusion of "documented" lends the thought credibility and authority, making what is written around it more credible. I've read many biographies and historical accounts that have written such things, however I cannot say I've looked at a single letter or newspaper article from the period to confirm these accounts are true. You probably won't either. We have a degree of faith that allows us to assume some information is true without verifying it directly ourselves. After all, if we had to verify everything we were told, we would spend more time verifying than learning.
Likewise, these acts were "committed" by American colonists against the British; rather than "committed" any other word could have been substituted to mean the same thing, right? Not really.
Use "perpetrated" instead of "committed" and the sentence takes on a different tone. A "perpetrator" is understood to be (or commonly used as) a negative description of someone, which tinges the sentence in such a way as to make it appear to be written by a British sympathizer; the colonists' acts take on a negative tone. When using "perpetrated" to describe actions colonists made against the British to someone who wasn't there, the speaker or writer is invoking opinion that the acts were negative.
This might not be the way it is received by the listener, however. If the listener is pro-British (called Tories in that day) the listener may agree that such acts were "perpetrated." If the listener is not a Tory, and really hates the British, the leader may hear and understand that such acts were "committed" by, or even credited to the colonists. A third angle is that the listener may be a new english speaker, therefore not understand what perpetrated means, and ascribe a new definition of the word imposing a new paradigm on what he or she has just heard.
With these uncertainties, history becomes a dynamic and fluid account. Truth in history becomes relative to those who write it, and later write about it. Initial judgements about events are colored by the times in which they occurred, while analyzing those events over time are colored by the times in which they're analyzed, and so on.
We can be certain some events took place (with sufficient "proof"), however we must recognize that our opinion about them is tainted by a messy series of perspectives. Now take a logical leap. . .
What does this say about biblical certainty?
History, however, is the judgement of individuals examining fragments of an event, as told by prejudiced witnesses from their perspectives, through their paradigms, while exmining the event through their own lenses of truth. Another example: burning down houses of government officials, throwing tar on the bodies of government officials that was hot enough to burn skin, and inciting riots all sound like terrorist activities. Anyone who did this today would be arrested, and rightfully so.
These were all documented events that American colonists committed against the British leading up to the American Revolution.
When put in that light, such acts take on a kind of theatrical melodrama of an oppressed people fighting for their liberty. We see the events of the 1770s as the American Revolution; the British history books refer to that period in their history as the American Civil War. To Americans the American Civil War occurred generations later, as the war between the states in the 1860s.
Interesting how perspective changes a story, isnt it? Word choices used to describe an event have the same effect, as in my sentence above "These are all documented events that American colonists committed against the British leading up to the American Revolution." Including the word "documented" leads the reader to believe that they can find examples of such acts themselves, written by witnesses at the time they occurred. The inclusion of "documented" lends the thought credibility and authority, making what is written around it more credible. I've read many biographies and historical accounts that have written such things, however I cannot say I've looked at a single letter or newspaper article from the period to confirm these accounts are true. You probably won't either. We have a degree of faith that allows us to assume some information is true without verifying it directly ourselves. After all, if we had to verify everything we were told, we would spend more time verifying than learning.
Likewise, these acts were "committed" by American colonists against the British; rather than "committed" any other word could have been substituted to mean the same thing, right? Not really.
Use "perpetrated" instead of "committed" and the sentence takes on a different tone. A "perpetrator" is understood to be (or commonly used as) a negative description of someone, which tinges the sentence in such a way as to make it appear to be written by a British sympathizer; the colonists' acts take on a negative tone. When using "perpetrated" to describe actions colonists made against the British to someone who wasn't there, the speaker or writer is invoking opinion that the acts were negative.
This might not be the way it is received by the listener, however. If the listener is pro-British (called Tories in that day) the listener may agree that such acts were "perpetrated." If the listener is not a Tory, and really hates the British, the leader may hear and understand that such acts were "committed" by, or even credited to the colonists. A third angle is that the listener may be a new english speaker, therefore not understand what perpetrated means, and ascribe a new definition of the word imposing a new paradigm on what he or she has just heard.
With these uncertainties, history becomes a dynamic and fluid account. Truth in history becomes relative to those who write it, and later write about it. Initial judgements about events are colored by the times in which they occurred, while analyzing those events over time are colored by the times in which they're analyzed, and so on.
We can be certain some events took place (with sufficient "proof"), however we must recognize that our opinion about them is tainted by a messy series of perspectives. Now take a logical leap. . .
What does this say about biblical certainty?
Concepts of power
Regarding concepts of power interplays between and among people, rather than, say, electricity. What is power, and when does (or doesn't) someone have (or not have) power over others?
The power dynamic requires at least two people, as in concepts of leadership; one person cannot have influence over another if there is no "another." A person can certainly have (or lack) power over themselves, but that does not automatically translate to power over others.
Given this, lets assume one person has power over another person, regardless, for now, of how or why. For ease of thought let's refer to one as the leader and the other the follower. We can make some assumptions about the relationship--the follower will do as the leader wishes, for example. Describing the pair in this way already has paradigm issues. The follower is assumed to have a subordinate position to the leader, however the leader would have no power over the follower if the follower didn't "subordinate" themselves to leadership--therefore the follower has a great deal of power in his or her own right. Such a great deal of power, in fact, that the leader would not be a leader without the follower. As such, the source of power for the leader over the follower comes not from leadership, but from followship.
Following a leader is a source of power, and it empowers both the leader and the follower. The new paradigm of power, then, needs to incorporate the fact that power actually comes from subordinates or followers.
With this basic principle in mind, there is no means by which someone can have power over another without their approval or submission. Submission may be coerced; is coercion power?
I've noted over the years that the simple-minded among us are often confused between when someone has power over someone else, and when someone simply fears someone else. The often used example is when someone holds a gun to your head. The simple-minded (street thugs, for example) consider that the empowered offender holds power over the intended victim. . . but do they?
The victim may decide that the consequences of not submitting to power are too great (threat of loss of life being a compelling argument for submission). If the victim is not afraid of death, however, that threat is empty. Likewise if the gun is a toy, or the victim doesn't believe that the offender intends to follow through with the threat. As such, the offender has no inborn or magical power over the victim, but must make a compelling case that the threat of imminent harm is real.
We can go further and say that the offender has no power at all, then, if the power lies in the threat of harm; how will the threat be conveyed? In this example, through the use of a weapon, power is more accurately described as residing in the weapon and the threat of its use. That relegates the offender to a mere catalyst that unleashes the power inherent in the weapon (and therefore the threat), and not a powerful person in his or her own right. The power in the offender/victim dynamic resides in the weapon, not the person.
How do we know this? If faced with a demand from an offender with a weapon, most people will likely comply; if the offender puts the weapon down, throws it away, or in some other way unarms themselves, compliance disappears when the threat disappears.
We must change the dominant paradigms of power, and recognize that power is granted by submission--and cannot be had with a gun. Submission through coercion is not a power dynamic but fear dynamic, and where power resides in a coercive relationship, it never resides in the person who coerces.
What are the implications of this new power paradigm?
The power dynamic requires at least two people, as in concepts of leadership; one person cannot have influence over another if there is no "another." A person can certainly have (or lack) power over themselves, but that does not automatically translate to power over others.
Given this, lets assume one person has power over another person, regardless, for now, of how or why. For ease of thought let's refer to one as the leader and the other the follower. We can make some assumptions about the relationship--the follower will do as the leader wishes, for example. Describing the pair in this way already has paradigm issues. The follower is assumed to have a subordinate position to the leader, however the leader would have no power over the follower if the follower didn't "subordinate" themselves to leadership--therefore the follower has a great deal of power in his or her own right. Such a great deal of power, in fact, that the leader would not be a leader without the follower. As such, the source of power for the leader over the follower comes not from leadership, but from followship.
Following a leader is a source of power, and it empowers both the leader and the follower. The new paradigm of power, then, needs to incorporate the fact that power actually comes from subordinates or followers.
With this basic principle in mind, there is no means by which someone can have power over another without their approval or submission. Submission may be coerced; is coercion power?
I've noted over the years that the simple-minded among us are often confused between when someone has power over someone else, and when someone simply fears someone else. The often used example is when someone holds a gun to your head. The simple-minded (street thugs, for example) consider that the empowered offender holds power over the intended victim. . . but do they?
The victim may decide that the consequences of not submitting to power are too great (threat of loss of life being a compelling argument for submission). If the victim is not afraid of death, however, that threat is empty. Likewise if the gun is a toy, or the victim doesn't believe that the offender intends to follow through with the threat. As such, the offender has no inborn or magical power over the victim, but must make a compelling case that the threat of imminent harm is real.
We can go further and say that the offender has no power at all, then, if the power lies in the threat of harm; how will the threat be conveyed? In this example, through the use of a weapon, power is more accurately described as residing in the weapon and the threat of its use. That relegates the offender to a mere catalyst that unleashes the power inherent in the weapon (and therefore the threat), and not a powerful person in his or her own right. The power in the offender/victim dynamic resides in the weapon, not the person.
How do we know this? If faced with a demand from an offender with a weapon, most people will likely comply; if the offender puts the weapon down, throws it away, or in some other way unarms themselves, compliance disappears when the threat disappears.
We must change the dominant paradigms of power, and recognize that power is granted by submission--and cannot be had with a gun. Submission through coercion is not a power dynamic but fear dynamic, and where power resides in a coercive relationship, it never resides in the person who coerces.
What are the implications of this new power paradigm?
My challenge to you
Look at the world in a different way; change your perspective; challenge your beliefs; think outside the box; parse out questions to get full answers, and always always ask, "why?"
When a person says this or that, what do they really mean? What is being left unsaid? Why do they believe this or that?
When we do X,Y and Z, why do we do those things and not something else? Think for yourself! Act for yourself! Look for the gray between black and white! Dont take anything for granted!
That is precisely what I intend to do here, "out loud" as it were, with the hope of changing a few of my own beliefs while challenging yours.
I'm not a liberal, I'm not a converservative, I'm a man with questions. Do you have questions?
Good! Let's find some answers.
When a person says this or that, what do they really mean? What is being left unsaid? Why do they believe this or that?
When we do X,Y and Z, why do we do those things and not something else? Think for yourself! Act for yourself! Look for the gray between black and white! Dont take anything for granted!
That is precisely what I intend to do here, "out loud" as it were, with the hope of changing a few of my own beliefs while challenging yours.
I'm not a liberal, I'm not a converservative, I'm a man with questions. Do you have questions?
Good! Let's find some answers.
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