Imagined Beauty, Real Love

 

An age-old question in philosophy is, “Is beauty in the mind or in the object?” We know that in most cases it is in the mind as a result of what’s in the object – in the eye of the beholder, internally constructed by the first-person state of consciousness. The sounds of great music, the mathematical proportions in classical architecture, the stunning natural sunsets, and so forth, are configurations of physical reality that are reified by the fecundity of our sophisticated cognition.

This leads me to profound questions about the differences between a beautiful fictional character and a beautiful real person. So, consider the following question: Which film or TV character of the opposite sex have you desired most, in a way that simulates a desire for a real person you might know? I don’t know if it’s possible to fall in love with a fictional character. One may fall for the ideal, or acknowledge compelling physical and mental traits in the character that one finds desirable – but whether that’s really just the case of falling for the actress or actor’s portrayal is a complex question. It might not be possible to fall in love with a fictional character like one does a real person one gets to know, on account of the fictional character not being a real person. Perhaps one could be seduced by their qualities so much that one could wish they existed, but I fancy that real love for those who exist is on a different plane to the ersatz love in fiction.

Given the foregoing, if we think about what loving someone is, it’s a complex, multi-faceted response to qualities we value. If we love honesty, or beauty or creativity, and someone has those things, this may induce desire for them, that turns into affection, and then love. So, if all good things come from God, then loving good things is a way that humans love God, even if some of them don’t acknowledge it as love of God. Here’s an example. God is truth. Suppose a man who doesn’t believe in God nevertheless passionately loves the truth, to the extent that he is willing to seek it throughout his life and go wherever it leads him (intellectually, morally, psychologically, philosophically, politically and emotionally). Now, I am certain that such a man would find God eventually – but even before he does find God, you can say that in loving truth he is loving God (at least to some extent).

Perhaps it’s like how a lady who loves wit is really loving intelligence, because of how wit is a fundamental property of intelligence; or how a teacher’s love of perseverance is really a love of determination, because of how perseverance is a fundamental property of determination. Similarly, I can conceive of how an individual’s love for justice offers love towards God’s righteousness; how their love of beauty offers love towards God’s creativity; how their love of compassion offers love towards God’s mercy; how their love of wisdom offers love towards God’s Omniscience; how their love of harmony offers love towards God’s order; and how their love of forgiveness offers love towards God’s grace.

How To Talk About Politics

Jonathan Haidt’s elephant and the rider metaphor develops Hume’s famous “reason is the slave of the passions”, and illustrates the elephant as the powerful, emotion-driven part of the mind, while the rider symbolises rational, controlled thought trying to steer it. However, the elephant often steers the rider, as emotions, instincts, and ingrained beliefs influence our actions and shape our reasoning. While the rider may believe they are in control, they frequently justify decisions the elephant has already made, highlighting how emotional impulses frequently overpower rational thought, particularly in tribal areas where the beliefs of your in-group are what you feel compelled to defend, even if there’s no empirical basis for them.

Consequently, most political commentary we read in newspapers and on social media is a reflection of an individual’s tribal and emotional biases, rather than thoughtful, well-reasoned analysis. Because of which, most political opinions are not really edifying – and I think you’re only likely to offer worthwhile contributions if you can master your elephant as a competent rider and transcend the litany of prosaic in-group discourse. I think the most compelling perspectives are those where the agent has tried to transcend instinctive allegiances, in an attempt to cultivate a clarity that allows meaningful engagement beyond the pull of predictable ‘them vs. us’ tribal partisans.

A Little Note Of Encouragement

 

There is an old maxim that goes 'The longer I live, the less and less I believe in, but the little I believe in, I believe in more and more.' I think that nicely reflects what I feel about so much of the worldly affairs that predominate our news channels, as I try to grow more maturely in my faith. The above maxim is a good algorithmic sentiment about focussing on the most important things in life, where the bigger they become, the smaller the less important things become. If we believe more and more in the important things, and prioritise them, the more trivial things fade into the background.

The stronger my relationship with Christ, the more that strength dwarfs my worldly problems; the more we invest in people who are valuable to us and have our best interests at heart, the less our lives are affected by shallow connections; the more we anchor our hearts in love, the more we reflect the light of Christ in the world; the deeper we grow in gratitude, the less we dwell in negativity and cynicism - that sort of thing.

The more we focus on what truly matters, the better our lives will be, and the clearer our purpose will become. 

Your Individual Vote Won't Affect The Outcome

 

People who think we are compelled to vote in elections use ethical persuasion (namely, civic duty and the value of participation), but they never use mathematical probability, because then they wouldn’t have a good argument. Their thinking is roughly; before an election, without knowing the margin of victory, it’s theoretically possible for any vote to be decisive if the race turns out to be exceptionally close, so you should vote, because all votes count.

But there’s a lot wrong with that reasoning, because all votes do not count in a way that they would need to, to make it worth your while voting. In my constituency, the Norwich North seat was won by a margin of 10,850 votes. That means the chance that a single vote in Norwich North could change that outcome would be one in 10,850. It’s so unlikely for a large lead to be reduced to a margin of just one vote, the probability of an individual vote deciding the outcome here is actually much lower than one in 10,850. In fact, it’s closer to being so rare that it’s practically negligible.

Even more so across the pond - the chance of your vote making any difference to the US Presidential Election result is even smaller.

So, I don’t think we have a civic duty to assent to the value of participation, when the actual value of participation in terms of a probability estimate is close to zero.

Other than that, enjoy the Election. 😅

Further reading that elaborates much more on this subject: 

A Radical Way To Change Politics For The Better

Some Things You May Not Have Considered About The Process Of Voting

Why It's OK Not To Vote

Why You Probably Shouldn't Have Bothered Voting

On Truth, Beauty & Simplicity: Literary Greats

 

In yesterday's Blog post, I explored the relationship between beauty and simplicity in scientific laws – and how, while simplicity offers clarity, beauty often reveals deeper truths by connecting seemingly disparate concepts. We also saw that beauty doesn’t always mean simplicity, as demonstrated by complex systems like general relativity – and that, ultimately, beauty can uncover profound insights that simplicity alone may overlook, further enriching our understanding of reality.

Now I want to examine this theme from the perspective of writers I highly value. Obviously, everything can be as simple or as complex as we choose, but some of the best expressions of literary greatness, in my view, are writers who explored complex subjects with elegant simplicity, and those who, at the other extreme, explored simple subjects with profound but creative and accessible complexity. Both appeal to me for different reasons.

Perhaps my favourite example of the former would be C.S. Lewis, who tackled complex theological and philosophical themes - Christianity, faith, and morality - with the kind of stylish and accessible prose to which all Christian apologists should aspire. His ability to convey intricate spiritual truths in intelligent, modest and relatable works, coupled with wonderful analogies and profound allegorical narratives is, in my view, unmatched. Lewis was invaluable to me when I was an agnostic exploring the Christian faith in the late 1990s.

At the other end of the scale, I love Kierkegaard for the almost opposite reason; he takes ideas - like faith, love, and suffering - and delves into them with beautifully complex, layered prose, and profound multi-dimensional philosophical explorations. Yet at the same time, Kierkegaard’s personal, intimate, existential style makes his works consistently accessible and relatable, which is a delicate balance to achieve.

Similarly, writers like Orwell, Dickens and Austen excel in their accessible handling of complex subjects - like power, poverty, justice, love and social status. By contrast, writers like Proust, Woolf, Camus and Kafka delight in their unpacking surface-level themes with deep insights, multitudinous layers of meaning and profound existential allegories.

And if, in my personal opinion, C.S. Lewis was the best I’ve read at exploring complex subjects with elegant simplicity – I think Dostoevsky is perhaps the best I’ve read at exploring simple subjects with profound but creative and accessible complexity. The way he takes matters like crime, guilt, justice, faith, humility and redemption, and infuses them with the rich layers of philosophical and psychological complexity, are remarkable feats in literary history. Dostoevsky’s use of profound dimensions through his exploration of faith, struggle and, ultimately, human nature offer literary experiences I’d encourage everyone to have at some point in their life.

I don’t necessarily mean these two are the ‘best’ by any objective measure (they have tremendous competition) – but they have touched me in the profoundest ways at pivotal different stages on my journey (especially C.S. Lewis).

It would be lovely to wax lyrical about writers I admire all day long. But ultimately, in summation, the interplay between beauty and simplicity in literature reflects the full range of profundities of human experience itself, just as the scientific laws we explored in the previous post reveal profound truths about nature through their elegant formulations. The literary journey and the scientific methods are invitations to embrace the depth and richness of existence itself. With this dance of words in literature, and this web of investigation in science, we find a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world, reminding us that both beauty and simplicity have their places in the structure and order of truth, enriching our lives in ways that resonate long after we turn the final page of the book.