My dear, perceptive reader, this post, as it takes shape in my mind, promises to differ from all the previous ones in that while all that came before dealt with very generalized situations, this one is on a very specific little thought nagging my consciousness, the philosophy and ethics behind the practice that is as of now still confined to the realm of science fiction, the Brain Transplant.
Also, I humbly beg you to forgive me for my use of the all too powerful and all too widely used tool of analogy. I resort to this because it is far too uncomfortable for me to present the arguments of which I as yet have only a dim view, using living, breathing human beings as subjects.
Fortunately, philosophy proposes a ready analogy in the form of an age-old legend and thought exercise, that of the Ship of Theseus. Plutarch put the story thus;
The ship wherein Theseus and the youth of Athens returned [from Crete] had thirty oars, and was preserved by the Athenians down even to the time of Demetrius Phalareus, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and stronger timber in their place, insomuch that this ship became a standing example among the philosophers, for the logical question of things that grow; one side holding that the ship remained the same, and the other contending that it was not the same.
The question is obvious; the ship has been overhauled many times over; at what point, if at all, does it cease to be the original ship on which Theseus sailed?? If every part of the original ship was replaced in the name of repair, is it still the same? And if now, the parts which were replaced were used to build another ship, which is the ‘true’ ship of Theseus?
As one can no doubt imagine, there are many, many ways in which this particular thought exercise could proceed, and many different answers. Aristotle and his causes by themselves give a multitude of ‘solutions’, which, in my opinion are no more than a hopelessly tangled web. Consider, merely for the sake of argument, the Aristotelian ‘Formal Cause’, or the form/design of the object. Using this, it is clear that the ship is the same, as its design as not been altered, merely the materials used for the form. Batting for the exact opposite is the ‘Material Cause’, or the substance of the object. Here, the ship of Theseus loses identity with every overhaul, because the particular components are altered. However, one can also see that the ship loses its identity completely on the very first overhaul, rather than it being a gradual process.
Do you see what I mean, my dear reader? Already, we run into a mass of contradictions and puzzles. Also is the concept of ‘Final Cause’, which depends exclusively on the function of the object, or what it was intended for. Thus, even though the material of the ship changes, its purpose, viz. transporting Theseus, remains intact, and thus, the ship is the same. We run into more quagmire when we explore ‘Efficient Cause’, which focuses on the mode of creation of the object. Here, it is obvious that the solution would depend on the choice of craftsmen and artisans/
The problem is obviously one of identity, or sameness. Is something which is space extensive and time variant, ever the same at two different point in time? Hmmmm.. the preceding statement sounds like something out of a relativity textbook, doesn’t it? But wait, perhaps relativity can provide a resolution. Perhaps we could use the concept of a four dimensional existence to provide some light. An object is, after all, merely the aggregate of an infinite number of 3-D time slices. So, my argument runs thus, while there are no two identical time slices of the Ship of Theseus, the ship as a 4-D object is still the same. Now, I am the first to admit that the above doesn’t make much sense to intuition, but it is a possible solution, nevertheless.
Leaving the ship aside, let us return to the main question. In a brain transplant, whose identity is passed on to whom? I.e. say, if X’s brain is removed from his body, as he was in an irreversible vegetative state, and put into the brain dead Y, what would you address the result of the surgery as?? X? Y? Perhaps a combination, XY?? Or, perhaps, a completely new person, Z? The answer obviously depends on what you consider to be the identity of the person. But then, why would you consider a persons identity to be his brain, rather than his body, or vice versa?? The identity, that which makes X, X, is obviously not localized, but a composite, in which case, you come back to the exercise of the Ship of Theseus.
Two examples which spring to mind instantly are R. Daneel Olivaw of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation and Robot series’ , who, in Foundation and Earth says, “over the thousands of years of my existence, every part of me has been replaced several times, including my brain, which I has carefully redesigned six times, replacing it each time with a newly constructed brain having the positronic pathways containing my then current memories and skills, along with free space for me to learn more and continue operating for longer.”, and Marvin of H2G2 by Douglas Adams, who faces a similar situation.(with the exception of the diodes down his left side, of course, one of the standing jokes of the series)
You see, even science fiction is not completely comfortable with the concept of a human brain transplant, mainly, I bellieve, because of the problems outlined above. To you, perceptive reader, I leave the rest. Speculate to your hearts content, and, here I must ask of you a favour, enlighten me about your thoughts and ideas.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
KILLING ME…. NOT TOO SOFTLY
The complete memory of the first time I heard ‘Killing me softly’ by Roberta Flack eludes me. All I recall is that it was a rainy afternoon a couple of years ago, and the curtains to my room were drawn, giving it that amber glow that soothed both the body and the mind. And then there was the music…… the soulful melody, Lori Lieberman’s haunting lyrics, the power of Roberta’s voice. This day holds special significance for me, because it sealed my love affair with the ballad. I absolutely had to know the story behind the song, and it did not disappoint!!
Some say that I have a strange taste in music; I, on the other hand, say the same to them. For me, a song must always have a meaning; it must reach out to its audience by more than just a peppy tune. It must always have a storyline to it. Or rather, the listener, in this case, yours truly, must be able to imagine a satisfactory scenario in whose embrace the song fits….. Perfection. It must speak of the artist’s emotions and desires, perhaps like ‘Lady in red’ by Chris DeBurgh; or ‘The power of love’ by Jennifer Rush. There are many, many more. The preceding examples are not even the foremost among he class I wish to discuss, they just happen to be the first songs which came to my head.
A song must always have a storyline to it. Or rather, the listener, in this case, yours truly, must be able to imagine a satisfactory scenario in whose embrace the song fits….. Perfection.
What strikes me most is that most of the songs which are not merely hollow shells come from a bygone era. There are but a handful of great ballads originating from the time period after the late eighties. I place most of the blame for this situation on the advent and abuse of electric music. Take, for instance, the electric guitar. It has the potential to sound great, this I concede. One only has to listen to ‘Goodbye to love’ by the Carpenters or ‘November Rain’ by the Guns and Roses to know of what I speak. But I also must remark that most of its exponents make it sound like a cross between a banshee and extremely long, keratinized fingernails scratching on a blackboard.
One memory comes back to me vividly. It was during the so-called ‘Rock Show’ in Saarang 2007. I, against my better senses, decided to attend. My only memory of the performance is a bunch of extremely hairy guys prancing around on stage, sometimes not even using their feet for locomotion, all the while making extremely loud, incoherent, and to me, incomprehensible noises. Deciding to give this ‘art form’ another chance and blaming my confusion on a relative lack of exposure to….well…this, I turned to a friend of mine, who, for as long as I can remember, enjoyed this kind of ‘music’ and asked him what were the ‘artists’ ‘singing’ about. His reply, paraphrased, ran thus; “who knows, and who the hell cares??” In retrospect, I would give anything to be able to see my own face at that instant of time. To say I was shocked would be like calling the universe ‘quite large’, namely, an understatement.
Since when had music become more about the unfathomable art of head-banging and less about the lyrics of the song and how it reflected the emotion of the artist? Don’t mistake me though; modern music has come up with some truly great songs. Take for example the music of the Corrs. It has a touch to it which while being aesthetically very appealing, also speaks volumes about the depths of the song. Three very attractive women, great music and wonderful lyrics, what more could a guy ask for?? ;). It’s just that it’s becoming more and more of a rarity to hear a song which you know is going to last for eternity.
I have yet another bone to pick with rap. Again, I don’t see anything in it except a mindless rhyming of arbit phrases with one bearing no connection to the next. Apparently, good rap seems to be one filled with more obscenities than prepositions. Why this is so popular, I shall never comprehend.
It seems to be that we live in a culture today, where to admit that you prefer songs which actually mean something, rather than a mish-mash of sounds which, by the way, give you a high only by knocking your senses out of whack, is to be labeled a wimp. As the character portrayed by Hugh Grant in the movie ‘About a Boy’ aptly puts it, it is nothing short of social suicide. Again, why this is so, I do not know.
What happened to the Abba’s, the Carpenter’s, the Beatles, the Bob Dylan’s, the Queen’s of music? To see the state of music today pains me. In my humble opinion, the concept of a song which tells a story is dying, is dying a slow, painful death; and the process is killing a part of me too, and not too gently at that!!
My dear perceptive reader, while begging your forgiveness for this inordinately long post as also for the fumbling nature of it, for I fear I as yet haven’t been able to convey my true feelings on this subject, I also hope you possess also a perceptive ear, and will do me the honour of sharing your opinions on this topic, which is so close to my heart, with me. Farewell, until the next time we meet!!!
Some say that I have a strange taste in music; I, on the other hand, say the same to them. For me, a song must always have a meaning; it must reach out to its audience by more than just a peppy tune. It must always have a storyline to it. Or rather, the listener, in this case, yours truly, must be able to imagine a satisfactory scenario in whose embrace the song fits….. Perfection. It must speak of the artist’s emotions and desires, perhaps like ‘Lady in red’ by Chris DeBurgh; or ‘The power of love’ by Jennifer Rush. There are many, many more. The preceding examples are not even the foremost among he class I wish to discuss, they just happen to be the first songs which came to my head.
A song must always have a storyline to it. Or rather, the listener, in this case, yours truly, must be able to imagine a satisfactory scenario in whose embrace the song fits….. Perfection.
What strikes me most is that most of the songs which are not merely hollow shells come from a bygone era. There are but a handful of great ballads originating from the time period after the late eighties. I place most of the blame for this situation on the advent and abuse of electric music. Take, for instance, the electric guitar. It has the potential to sound great, this I concede. One only has to listen to ‘Goodbye to love’ by the Carpenters or ‘November Rain’ by the Guns and Roses to know of what I speak. But I also must remark that most of its exponents make it sound like a cross between a banshee and extremely long, keratinized fingernails scratching on a blackboard.
One memory comes back to me vividly. It was during the so-called ‘Rock Show’ in Saarang 2007. I, against my better senses, decided to attend. My only memory of the performance is a bunch of extremely hairy guys prancing around on stage, sometimes not even using their feet for locomotion, all the while making extremely loud, incoherent, and to me, incomprehensible noises. Deciding to give this ‘art form’ another chance and blaming my confusion on a relative lack of exposure to….well…this, I turned to a friend of mine, who, for as long as I can remember, enjoyed this kind of ‘music’ and asked him what were the ‘artists’ ‘singing’ about. His reply, paraphrased, ran thus; “who knows, and who the hell cares??” In retrospect, I would give anything to be able to see my own face at that instant of time. To say I was shocked would be like calling the universe ‘quite large’, namely, an understatement.
Since when had music become more about the unfathomable art of head-banging and less about the lyrics of the song and how it reflected the emotion of the artist? Don’t mistake me though; modern music has come up with some truly great songs. Take for example the music of the Corrs. It has a touch to it which while being aesthetically very appealing, also speaks volumes about the depths of the song. Three very attractive women, great music and wonderful lyrics, what more could a guy ask for?? ;). It’s just that it’s becoming more and more of a rarity to hear a song which you know is going to last for eternity.
I have yet another bone to pick with rap. Again, I don’t see anything in it except a mindless rhyming of arbit phrases with one bearing no connection to the next. Apparently, good rap seems to be one filled with more obscenities than prepositions. Why this is so popular, I shall never comprehend.
It seems to be that we live in a culture today, where to admit that you prefer songs which actually mean something, rather than a mish-mash of sounds which, by the way, give you a high only by knocking your senses out of whack, is to be labeled a wimp. As the character portrayed by Hugh Grant in the movie ‘About a Boy’ aptly puts it, it is nothing short of social suicide. Again, why this is so, I do not know.
What happened to the Abba’s, the Carpenter’s, the Beatles, the Bob Dylan’s, the Queen’s of music? To see the state of music today pains me. In my humble opinion, the concept of a song which tells a story is dying, is dying a slow, painful death; and the process is killing a part of me too, and not too gently at that!!
My dear perceptive reader, while begging your forgiveness for this inordinately long post as also for the fumbling nature of it, for I fear I as yet haven’t been able to convey my true feelings on this subject, I also hope you possess also a perceptive ear, and will do me the honour of sharing your opinions on this topic, which is so close to my heart, with me. Farewell, until the next time we meet!!!
Sunday, May 6, 2007
THE WHIP BEHIND THE MULE.
I’m willing to bet everyone reading this remembers the childhood tale about the hare and the tortoise. Most likely, all of us have also gleaned a valuable life lesson from it, and much more such blah!! However, I have always had a general wonderment about certain aspects of the story.
My first query runs thus: what would have happened if the hare, upon hearing some small noise the tortoise made as it passed him, had awoken and actually seen the tortoise passing him?? Would he have still neglected the tortoise as a threat, it being as slow moving as it is, and continue to rest in the certainty that he would be able to make up any deficit over the tortoise; or would the hare have been galvanized to action, sprinting forward, unwilling to give the tortoise any length of the stick whatsoever?? Would the tale, perhaps, have ended differently?? Granted, if it ended on a different note, the moral it was fabricated to teach in the first place would be lost, but then this is more of an abstract thought exercise than anything concrete at all!
Secondly, and this I think is more worthy of thought than the first, what if the hare had decided to rest in such a place where he could see the finish, the proverbial flag at the end of the road? Would he have been able to bring himself to rest in the first place?? Or perhaps, would he find it more appealing to finish the race and then rest, a rest which would then have a certain finality to it?? Again, the moral is lost in this case, but my excuse, the same as the first one, stands firm.
The point I’m trying to make is essentially an analogy: what is it about humans that requires either a definite goal or a sense of competition in order to drive us towards excellence?? Why cant the human mind, when deprived of both of the above, namely when it is aimless and wandering, perform productively? Why is it that we, as a species, lack a driving force, when devoid of both a clearly perceivable target and competition to achieve that target??
The chronicler has no answers to the questions posed? He does not even comprehend whether the questions are profound or naïve. It is to you, perceptive reader, that he looks for answers. Here’s to the hope that you shall provide.
My first query runs thus: what would have happened if the hare, upon hearing some small noise the tortoise made as it passed him, had awoken and actually seen the tortoise passing him?? Would he have still neglected the tortoise as a threat, it being as slow moving as it is, and continue to rest in the certainty that he would be able to make up any deficit over the tortoise; or would the hare have been galvanized to action, sprinting forward, unwilling to give the tortoise any length of the stick whatsoever?? Would the tale, perhaps, have ended differently?? Granted, if it ended on a different note, the moral it was fabricated to teach in the first place would be lost, but then this is more of an abstract thought exercise than anything concrete at all!
Secondly, and this I think is more worthy of thought than the first, what if the hare had decided to rest in such a place where he could see the finish, the proverbial flag at the end of the road? Would he have been able to bring himself to rest in the first place?? Or perhaps, would he find it more appealing to finish the race and then rest, a rest which would then have a certain finality to it?? Again, the moral is lost in this case, but my excuse, the same as the first one, stands firm.
The point I’m trying to make is essentially an analogy: what is it about humans that requires either a definite goal or a sense of competition in order to drive us towards excellence?? Why cant the human mind, when deprived of both of the above, namely when it is aimless and wandering, perform productively? Why is it that we, as a species, lack a driving force, when devoid of both a clearly perceivable target and competition to achieve that target??
The chronicler has no answers to the questions posed? He does not even comprehend whether the questions are profound or naïve. It is to you, perceptive reader, that he looks for answers. Here’s to the hope that you shall provide.
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