I Am Not Just A Stubborn Atheist

Listening: "Après Moi", Regina Spektor.

I've been debating a lot. Religion, philosophy, government; anything. I think now that my MIT application is due in (gulp) seven days, my body expects some intense stress; since I'm procrastinating the essays I have to write, I'm putting the stress into argument. People don't like it. The same form inevitably arises: I present an outlandish idea that my outlook happens to support, and my opponent starts attacking the whole of my philosophy. I guess that's normal, but the fervor with which they deny my ideas is so uncomfortable. The common theme among their objections isn't even a certain syllogism: it's a worry. They're worried that I think I have everything figured out, and so I won't be able to deal with anything I haven't already considered. They each think I have some rule that I apply to every problem: Paula thinks it's a refusal to apply rules at all (which she insists is a rule in itself), my mom and my sister Allie think it's just a half-baked agnosticism, and my other sister Melissa thinks it's a dependence on logic. They all insist that there are things outside of the domain of logic, or that logic is as fallible as any other human invention.

And there's the question. I always start to answer it by asserting that mathematics is completely objective: even if you don't have words for "two", "three", and "five", it is still true that the concatenation of "II" and "III" is "IIIII". And that would be true even if no one existed to count objects. Why? Because mathematics is universal, rather than particular. You apply particular problems to it, like "How many apples are there in a uniform grid of apples whose sides number 6 and 4?", and get answers with units: "24 apples". But six sets of four things together always contain twenty-four things; we write that statement shorthand as "6*4=24", a statement without units. Of course "6" and "4" don't exist by themselves. They're hypothetical; they're symbols. The whole beauty of mathematics is that manipulation of symbols can mimic exactly the much messier manipulation of real objects, and thus the mathematician can solve a physical problem in the abstract. If it doesn't work, all it means is that his system of symbols didn't represent the situation exactly enough.

So did humans invent mathematics? Not any more than we invented fire. Invention is the application of a truth into a method to solve a particular problem. Writing "4+6=10" is a method. "4+6=10" is a truth. So while the human application of a mathematical truth to a situation might be prone to human error, mathematical truth itself is flawless.

The same is true of logic. Take the basic modus ponens syllogism: "The belief that a certain fact is true, combined with the belief that the same fact implies a second fact, causes belief in the second fact." (Or, in short: "If A is true, then B is true. A is true. Therefore B is true.") Notice that I wrote "belief" and not "knowledge". "A" doesn't have to be inherent, or empirically demonstrated, or even popularly accepted. If somebody believes A, and the implication from A to B, then he believes B. In that way, the application of logic (that is, discourse) is subjective. In fact, misapplication of premises to syllogisms is the idea we know as "fallacy". But the truth of the relationships among different kinds of syllogisms, just like the relationships among different kinds of mathematical operations, is inherent.

The problem I run into is this: I rely on logic. Where other people evaluate arguments based on their religious convictions, or their emotional reactions, I evaluate them based on their merits: whether they are fallacious; whether I believe their premises; whether their forms are valid. And life makes sense to me, doing that! And yet faith, which is supposed to be such a desirable virtue, consists entirely of denying a conclusion that you would otherwise believe.

Now, when people say that spirituality is outside of the domain of logic, there are two different ways to interpret them. One is that they have been convinced, by their younger selves or by a religious compulsion, that their beliefs are simply not to be challenged; that the only way to protect their beliefs, and the happiness that rests upon them, is to deny all attempts to undermine them.

The other is that spirituality is a way of dealing with the emotions that come with being human that cold logic can never be: logic can help you to understand, but not to feel better. And so we adopt religion, superstition, unsupported categorical assertions. We trust people despite the knowledge that they will fail us; we love life despite the knowledge that it will end. These things fly in the face of logic, but we accept that and agree to integrate a contradiction into ourselves in order to balance logical understanding with emotional contentment.

By breaking out of the first interpretation, and adopting the second, a person may not even change his actual system of beliefs: the important thing is that he understands them and is not afraid of challenges to them, because he does not rely on them. He knows there's really no deep meaning in the frequencies that comprise music, but he listens and plays anyway because he loves the way it makes him feel to imagine the meaning that could be there. The judgment he develops throughout his life fine-tunes his ability to decide when this kind of escapist placebo is appropriate.

Maybe my sisters are right. Maybe I've spent so much time defending the merits of atheism that I haven't stopped to consider the fact of my own emotions' control over me. But I will say this: If the world is the same for everyone, and yet we are all predisposed to different personalities, then our beliefs ought to be correspondingly different. So now I'm searching for something to believe, to accept in the face of contrary evidence, and it better be something good.

Nocturne, but a few hours later

Listening: The local Spanish channel (Univision 41), so I can concentrate.

In the fourth hour of the morning, the vigilant observer may detect an anomaly in the teenagers' behavior: they are no longer actually watching the TV. They are listening to the sound of the fan in the projector, maybe, or at most taking stray words from the characters' voices and fueling their hazy imaginations.

It always seems very important to me, during the early morning, that I express this feeling, that I not let it pass with the dawn and fall asleep. But there's not much to say: I feel inspired, but have no subject. It's just that everything is so much more interesting, more exciting, when you're so tired that you regress to childhood and you find yourself thinking thoughts that were familiar then: "it's 4:49. 4 plus 4 is 8, how do I get to 9? 4 divided by 4 is 1, 8 plus 1 is 9; so (a+b)+(a/b) = c ... shit, now it's 4:50."

As soon as you move, even just to sit a different way, the feeling either changes or disappears: just in writing this I've almost lost it. Why does it feel so important to hold on to it? It's not really a feeling of being alive. It's just that words like "alive" are reentering my vocabulary. "Pain". I've been living off the words "beauty", "love", "morality", "ennui", "sex" - every feeling that you can make impersonal, intransitive. The words "trust", "honesty"...well, it's harder to think of them; these are the ones I haven't been using.

My sister and I walked to the pizza place yesterday, where she informed me that I was aloof, self-centered, and unavailable. I denied it, but it was true. This blog is helping, though. I know you've only seen three posts so far, but I have about five more in Drafts, and I think about it a lot. I ate with my dad at the diner on Route 303 this morning, and I told him something that I think made sense:

I know the answer to almost every question people ask me. That doesn't mean I'm smart, it's just that over the course of a day, nobody asks me anything I don't know. So it becomes easy to give automatic answers, and to simply let my mind wander - except that it doesn't wander, it falls asleep. And it's been asleep all summer. So I think I'm doing this blog in order to ask myself questions I don't know the answers to, in order to force myself to think, be creative, and eventually rejoin the ranks of sentient humans. And, as I assured my dad, to tune up my writing for those college essays I'm supposed to be working on.

How strange, to realize there's actually something wrong with you.

Manifesto

Let's get something straight right now:

You can't expect anything from this blog. It's nothing. I am sixteen and this is just a place for my monologues to go to die.

The title, for now, is "Across the Retina". It may not still be, whenever you're reading this, but it connotes my attempt to break out of an annoying "autopilot" phase that I'm in, where I feel so distanced from the reality in front of me that I have to keep reminding myself to, y'know, exist.

I'm a senior at North Rockland High School. In terms of high intellectual discourse, it's about as interesting as its Wikipedia page. But it's fine. There are a few really talented teachers, and our orchestra's pretty great, and they pretty much let me do what I want in choosing courses. The students are mostly charismatic and bright, although there are only a couple of real intellectuals. Luckily for everyone else, NR is great for teaching you how to bullshit your way around anything. For example, my conductor always asks us to switch from Violin I to II or vice versa, five minutes before a concert. End result: we became really good sightreaders. Everybody wins. It's just that NR seems to be training suburbians, not leaders. It bothers me. But it's home.

I live in a suburb of New York that does not lend itself to complaining. It's nice. The neighbors don't bother us or each other, we're close enough to the city to be vital and rational, and we spend our lives driving up and down the Palisades Parkway intently, but not urgently.

I have one nephew, two parents, three sisters, and four animals. One of the sisters, Melissa, got smart and moved to Pennsylvania after college to teach special education to urban sixth-graders. Everyone else still lives here, in relative tranquility most of the time, although at our peak we were quite a dramatic bunch. You'll be reading about that, trust me.

It's currently summer, and I have a Lot of Shit to do. I suppose I'll list:

- Teach self Music Theory I so as not to look like idiot in AP Theory

- Read and answer essay questions about summer reading books

- Read and understand "El sur" and "La muerte y la brujula" by Jorge Luis Borges

- Finish mechanics-related problem sets for Physics

- Plan courses of independent study in AP Spanish Lit and AP Physics C, (see last two items)

- Take and pass road test for driver's license

- Plan overnight reunion party for 25 camp alumni/ae

- Revive social life post-camp

- Apply to college (Picked the schools, but still have to write the ESSAYS!)

Given that, I don't know why I chose now of all times to start a blog. I guess it's that I have to bring myself into some kind of healthy emotional state from which to write my college essays. Not that I'm unhealthy. Maybe "lucidity" is a better word for what I'm seeking. I need to escape from the "autopilot" state I mentioned before - it's as if I just think my actions into existence, without actually performing them; does that make sense? I consider which words I'd like to see on the screen, and then my fingers type them out, but there's some silent disconnect going on that I don't like.

(My brain silently debates itself on whether all this is actually a personal conflict between nihilism and consequentialism. I write on.)

So I'm using this blog to tie myself to the universe. Lofty purpose, yes. But necessary.