For my first non-introductory blog post, I think I should write about a friend of mine. Not a real friend (depending on what it means for a friend to be real), but an imaginary friend. I'm talking about a certain detached, introspective frame of mind that I'm prone to, which has been both a source of frustration and amazing benefit in my life. To make things more interesting, let's call this frame of mind the Observer. The Observer is a researcher from an alien planet, interested in the mechanics of human life. This is the story of how it helped form the system of ideas that I live by today.
Just a side-note: you'll probably relate to this post more if you believe the universe is (at least mostly) pre-determined and that free will is (at least mostly) an illusion. I'd love to hear alternative perspectives in the comments! I mean it, I don’t really know why I believe these things myself!
Anyway, let’s return to the Observer. At some point in the early 21st century, the Observer moved away from its previous place and time and arrived on Earth to do field research. It chose a human specimen to study, a young human in the process of absorbing information that would apparently prepare it for the next stages of its life. The human was identified by a series of symbols: Alice. Now that the hard part was done, the Observer settled in to watch and learn.
The Observer came to see me as a system operating on many levels of scale, each level comprised of a set of objects and a set of motivations that governed how these objects acted. On a very low level, I was made up of atoms that acted according to physical laws. These atoms interacted to form objects called molecules, which interacted to form objects called cells, which formed organs, which formed bodily systems, which formed me. On the largest scale, I was also a very complex object governed by certain motivations, generated by my brain: I acted to maximize my well-being, which could be broken into physical and emotional parts.
The Observer observed that my emotional well-being was determined by my performance according to a vast array of needs, ranging from basic biological impulses to high-level structures called values. These values were constructed from my interactions with other humans and yet-larger-scale systems called communities, which had humans as their basic objects. The Observer didn’t really care where these values came from, though. It was most fascinated by what set humans apart from other life on Earth: the ability to make deliberate actions based on awareness of the consequences of actions and the properties of the self and the outside world. This is what some people might call free will.
So far, so good for this enterprising alien. But there was one thing the Observer disastrously failed to expect: in the process of observing me, it would become a part of me—in particular, part of my soul, my subjective experience. The Observer spent so much time immersed in my emotional states that it eventually found itself sharing them. This was not good news for the Observer. In fact, the Observer was in for a world of hurt, because my emotional states at the time were often intensely negative.
Let me paint the scene. It was the first semester of my senior year of high school, and I felt like my entire life hinged on the selection of colleges that would accept me in the spring. My only sources of comfort were my family, my books, and my video games. My emotional landscape was dominated by hatred and fear: hatred at myself, for my flaws, and fear for the consequences of my flaws. To give you a better idea, I'll describe some of the sources of this hatred.
I hated myself for not being smart enough. I was dominated by envy for people I thought were talented—people who could write better than me, do math better than me, get higher test scores than me. I wanted to be a real intellectual (whatever that means), and I thought this was impossible for me, and so I hated myself.
I hated myself for being awkward and shy, and I was sure that other people hated this too. I hated that my voice shook when I gave presentations. I hated that I couldn't think of what to say when having a conversation. So I isolated myself from people, maybe subconsciously believing I was incapable of making friends, and that I didn't need people anyway.
I hated myself for not being responsible enough—for forgetting to take the trash out and do the dishes, for putting off everything I needed to do, for never accomplishing goals when I didn't have an outside authority to enforce them. Hatred and fear didn't solve any of these problems.
I hated myself for having sexual desires. I couldn't look at anyone I found attractive without feeling like I'd done something wrong, like I was a creep.
You get the picture. I almost can't believe myself in hindsight, but this was really how I felt. No matter how much I was told that I had no reason to hate myself, I still hated myself. My flaws were just so glaringly obvious. For contrast, nowadays I'm more disposed to feeling love for the people close to me, gratitude for being alive and healthy, appreciation for beautiful things, and curiosity about the universe and my own mind.
Back in senior year, though, I had this crisis of the soul, which the Observer found itself sharing. This meant it had no choice but to make itself known to me. One night, as I was drifting off to sleep, an electric jolt shot through my body and my vision was filled by a flash of light. I sat up and cast a bewildered gaze around me: I was surrounded by a dark, shifting surface, more solid than my bed but more formless than water.
Indulge me for a moment here, okay.
The space was lit by a tall figure before me, the radiant grey of a cloud-covered sky, dressed in smoky robes of no fixed form, with hands clasped behind its back. Its eyes were black and lustrous as obsidian, the same color as its flowing hair. Those piercing eyes were its only defined facial features, although its voice resounded in my mind: “Hello there, little one.” The mist that spilled from its robes seemed almost solid, obscuring its feet and surrounding us in haze. Yes, okay, I’ll get back to the story.
The apparition told me: “Something needs to change in your head. Your mental health is like a flaming pile of garbage.”
I took a moment to collect myself. “I know. It sucks. You don’t need to remind me.”
The Observer watched me as I acclimated to my surroundings. When I looked expectantly at it, its voice flowed again through my mind: “You know what sucks? Your values. You’re gonna have a hard time reaching emotional well-being by acting according to these values.”
Who did this stupid alien think it was, honestly? I told the Observer: “You’re a dick. My values are important to me and you can’t change that.”
The Observer stood its ground, staring at me impassively. “Alright then. You’re a logical person, right? Can you justify these values? Why should they be important to you?”
This strange being and the whole atmosphere of the place were beginning to intimidate me. “I don’t know,” I said to the Observer, “but can I please dream about something else?”
“Very well,” said the apparition as mist obscured my vision. “Think about my questions.”
This I would do, and the Observer would come to rue its words, because it turns out that having no values is even less fun than having firm but non-ideal values. As if I had just started thinking clearly, my values seemed absurd. I struggled to find reasons to care about the performance of my cross country team, or the effects of climate change on the world’s ecosystems. Worst of all, I began to lose faith in my personal relationships. Where I once saw love or friendship, I could only see a grey mix of instinct and expedience. A few weeks and some difficult nights spent crying in my mother’s arms later, the Observer appeared to me again.
This time its obsidian hair looked a little more limp and its mist fell rather than flowed.
“Hmmmmmm,” it intoned.
“What do you want?” I said. This nonsense dream-ass was the last thing I wanted to see. It got me to this awful state in the first place.
“It doesn’t seem like you found answers. I can help.”
“Fuck you,” I told the thing. “And no, I don’t have any answers.”
“What are your thoughts, then? I’ll wait.” The Observer stared at me. Not a challenge, but a firm insistence.
So I waited, and the Observer waited. And it dawned on me that I was lost and afraid, and here was some kind of authority, and maybe I needed an authority. And I spoke: “I don’t know. I don’t know why I value the things I do or whether I should value them. Maybe it all boils down to wanting to be happy. But that seems so... bleak. Do I only love my family because I want to be happy? If it stops making me happy, should I stop loving them? What even determines what I should do? Can I find it using reason? Why should I care about reason, anyway?”
The Observer’s internal light dimmed and flared, reacting to the depths of my confusion and fear. “Please, hear me out.” Its robes crackled. “What I'm about to suggest might seem bleak, but I've decided you should hear it. I think you’re right: your behavior depends on your emotional well-being, which you might call happiness. Your emotional well-being depends in large part on your values, which have origins that you don’t understand. But these values have never been fixed—they’re always changing according to new input, although I don’t think they’ll ever change enough for you to stop loving your family. I think your soul can handle it, so why not hand me the reigns to your values? You’ll be happier for it, I promise, and so will I.”
I stared at the luminescent dream person. I blinked. “Go on.”
“I have a plan.” The Observer’s body resumed its steady glow. “I want to hack your values. Since your well-being is your ultimate goal, it would be best if, instead of coming from sources independent of your well-being, your values were determined in order to optimize your well-being. This way, I can set up a feedback loop that will transform you into a healthier, happier person. Here’s how it’s going to work: first, try to change a value according to my hypothesis that it will be more optimal for your well-being. If your well-being increases, keep the value. If not, change it again. Repeat until you are emotionally well.”
The Observer had more or less lost me at this point, and I drifted into a dream about sailing a stormy sea, where blue whales breached the waves only to be pulled beneath by the fat tentacles of krakens.
A few days later, a familiar vision appeared in my sleep. This time I was not unhappy to see it.
The Observer’s voice was a gentle ripple. “I gave you some time to consider. What do you think of my suggestion?”
I leaned, flowing into the surface around me. “You know what? I like you. You’re very logical and reasonable, and I admire that. And what you're saying makes a lot of sense.”
I stood up and my trajectory changed. “But. I can’t give you total control over my values. I feel like my values should come from outside sources, at least for the most part. I don’t know how much I trust this value-hacking thing—it seems unnatural. I don’t know what the consequences would be for myself and other people.”
“Fine,” said the Observer, flowing along with me. “I expected this, you know. Let’s compromise. I'll make suggestions for more optimal values, and you listen to them to whatever extent seems right. How about that?"
I smiled as the weird space collapsed on itself. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful. This partnership with my Observer could be exactly what I needed.
Just a side-note: you'll probably relate to this post more if you believe the universe is (at least mostly) pre-determined and that free will is (at least mostly) an illusion. I'd love to hear alternative perspectives in the comments! I mean it, I don’t really know why I believe these things myself!
Anyway, let’s return to the Observer. At some point in the early 21st century, the Observer moved away from its previous place and time and arrived on Earth to do field research. It chose a human specimen to study, a young human in the process of absorbing information that would apparently prepare it for the next stages of its life. The human was identified by a series of symbols: Alice. Now that the hard part was done, the Observer settled in to watch and learn.
The Observer came to see me as a system operating on many levels of scale, each level comprised of a set of objects and a set of motivations that governed how these objects acted. On a very low level, I was made up of atoms that acted according to physical laws. These atoms interacted to form objects called molecules, which interacted to form objects called cells, which formed organs, which formed bodily systems, which formed me. On the largest scale, I was also a very complex object governed by certain motivations, generated by my brain: I acted to maximize my well-being, which could be broken into physical and emotional parts.
The Observer observed that my emotional well-being was determined by my performance according to a vast array of needs, ranging from basic biological impulses to high-level structures called values. These values were constructed from my interactions with other humans and yet-larger-scale systems called communities, which had humans as their basic objects. The Observer didn’t really care where these values came from, though. It was most fascinated by what set humans apart from other life on Earth: the ability to make deliberate actions based on awareness of the consequences of actions and the properties of the self and the outside world. This is what some people might call free will.
So far, so good for this enterprising alien. But there was one thing the Observer disastrously failed to expect: in the process of observing me, it would become a part of me—in particular, part of my soul, my subjective experience. The Observer spent so much time immersed in my emotional states that it eventually found itself sharing them. This was not good news for the Observer. In fact, the Observer was in for a world of hurt, because my emotional states at the time were often intensely negative.
Let me paint the scene. It was the first semester of my senior year of high school, and I felt like my entire life hinged on the selection of colleges that would accept me in the spring. My only sources of comfort were my family, my books, and my video games. My emotional landscape was dominated by hatred and fear: hatred at myself, for my flaws, and fear for the consequences of my flaws. To give you a better idea, I'll describe some of the sources of this hatred.
I hated myself for not being smart enough. I was dominated by envy for people I thought were talented—people who could write better than me, do math better than me, get higher test scores than me. I wanted to be a real intellectual (whatever that means), and I thought this was impossible for me, and so I hated myself.
I hated myself for being awkward and shy, and I was sure that other people hated this too. I hated that my voice shook when I gave presentations. I hated that I couldn't think of what to say when having a conversation. So I isolated myself from people, maybe subconsciously believing I was incapable of making friends, and that I didn't need people anyway.
I hated myself for not being responsible enough—for forgetting to take the trash out and do the dishes, for putting off everything I needed to do, for never accomplishing goals when I didn't have an outside authority to enforce them. Hatred and fear didn't solve any of these problems.
I hated myself for having sexual desires. I couldn't look at anyone I found attractive without feeling like I'd done something wrong, like I was a creep.
You get the picture. I almost can't believe myself in hindsight, but this was really how I felt. No matter how much I was told that I had no reason to hate myself, I still hated myself. My flaws were just so glaringly obvious. For contrast, nowadays I'm more disposed to feeling love for the people close to me, gratitude for being alive and healthy, appreciation for beautiful things, and curiosity about the universe and my own mind.
Back in senior year, though, I had this crisis of the soul, which the Observer found itself sharing. This meant it had no choice but to make itself known to me. One night, as I was drifting off to sleep, an electric jolt shot through my body and my vision was filled by a flash of light. I sat up and cast a bewildered gaze around me: I was surrounded by a dark, shifting surface, more solid than my bed but more formless than water.
Indulge me for a moment here, okay.
The space was lit by a tall figure before me, the radiant grey of a cloud-covered sky, dressed in smoky robes of no fixed form, with hands clasped behind its back. Its eyes were black and lustrous as obsidian, the same color as its flowing hair. Those piercing eyes were its only defined facial features, although its voice resounded in my mind: “Hello there, little one.” The mist that spilled from its robes seemed almost solid, obscuring its feet and surrounding us in haze. Yes, okay, I’ll get back to the story.
The apparition told me: “Something needs to change in your head. Your mental health is like a flaming pile of garbage.”
I took a moment to collect myself. “I know. It sucks. You don’t need to remind me.”
The Observer watched me as I acclimated to my surroundings. When I looked expectantly at it, its voice flowed again through my mind: “You know what sucks? Your values. You’re gonna have a hard time reaching emotional well-being by acting according to these values.”
Who did this stupid alien think it was, honestly? I told the Observer: “You’re a dick. My values are important to me and you can’t change that.”
The Observer stood its ground, staring at me impassively. “Alright then. You’re a logical person, right? Can you justify these values? Why should they be important to you?”
This strange being and the whole atmosphere of the place were beginning to intimidate me. “I don’t know,” I said to the Observer, “but can I please dream about something else?”
“Very well,” said the apparition as mist obscured my vision. “Think about my questions.”
This I would do, and the Observer would come to rue its words, because it turns out that having no values is even less fun than having firm but non-ideal values. As if I had just started thinking clearly, my values seemed absurd. I struggled to find reasons to care about the performance of my cross country team, or the effects of climate change on the world’s ecosystems. Worst of all, I began to lose faith in my personal relationships. Where I once saw love or friendship, I could only see a grey mix of instinct and expedience. A few weeks and some difficult nights spent crying in my mother’s arms later, the Observer appeared to me again.
This time its obsidian hair looked a little more limp and its mist fell rather than flowed.
“Hmmmmmm,” it intoned.
“What do you want?” I said. This nonsense dream-ass was the last thing I wanted to see. It got me to this awful state in the first place.
“It doesn’t seem like you found answers. I can help.”
“Fuck you,” I told the thing. “And no, I don’t have any answers.”
“What are your thoughts, then? I’ll wait.” The Observer stared at me. Not a challenge, but a firm insistence.
So I waited, and the Observer waited. And it dawned on me that I was lost and afraid, and here was some kind of authority, and maybe I needed an authority. And I spoke: “I don’t know. I don’t know why I value the things I do or whether I should value them. Maybe it all boils down to wanting to be happy. But that seems so... bleak. Do I only love my family because I want to be happy? If it stops making me happy, should I stop loving them? What even determines what I should do? Can I find it using reason? Why should I care about reason, anyway?”
The Observer’s internal light dimmed and flared, reacting to the depths of my confusion and fear. “Please, hear me out.” Its robes crackled. “What I'm about to suggest might seem bleak, but I've decided you should hear it. I think you’re right: your behavior depends on your emotional well-being, which you might call happiness. Your emotional well-being depends in large part on your values, which have origins that you don’t understand. But these values have never been fixed—they’re always changing according to new input, although I don’t think they’ll ever change enough for you to stop loving your family. I think your soul can handle it, so why not hand me the reigns to your values? You’ll be happier for it, I promise, and so will I.”
I stared at the luminescent dream person. I blinked. “Go on.”
“I have a plan.” The Observer’s body resumed its steady glow. “I want to hack your values. Since your well-being is your ultimate goal, it would be best if, instead of coming from sources independent of your well-being, your values were determined in order to optimize your well-being. This way, I can set up a feedback loop that will transform you into a healthier, happier person. Here’s how it’s going to work: first, try to change a value according to my hypothesis that it will be more optimal for your well-being. If your well-being increases, keep the value. If not, change it again. Repeat until you are emotionally well.”
The Observer had more or less lost me at this point, and I drifted into a dream about sailing a stormy sea, where blue whales breached the waves only to be pulled beneath by the fat tentacles of krakens.
A few days later, a familiar vision appeared in my sleep. This time I was not unhappy to see it.
The Observer’s voice was a gentle ripple. “I gave you some time to consider. What do you think of my suggestion?”
I leaned, flowing into the surface around me. “You know what? I like you. You’re very logical and reasonable, and I admire that. And what you're saying makes a lot of sense.”
I stood up and my trajectory changed. “But. I can’t give you total control over my values. I feel like my values should come from outside sources, at least for the most part. I don’t know how much I trust this value-hacking thing—it seems unnatural. I don’t know what the consequences would be for myself and other people.”
“Fine,” said the Observer, flowing along with me. “I expected this, you know. Let’s compromise. I'll make suggestions for more optimal values, and you listen to them to whatever extent seems right. How about that?"
I smiled as the weird space collapsed on itself. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful. This partnership with my Observer could be exactly what I needed.
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ReplyDeleteInteresting. I'm a little bit uneasy about sanctioning anything that makes you feel good though.
ReplyDelete