So I was suppose to go to church yesterday, I’m reading the bible for fun, I’m teaching at a school that mandates CRE (Christian religious education) as a daily class, and I’ve become accepting of faith-based beliefs. Obviously I’ve come around on this religion thing. Well, not exactly.
The last time I discussed religion I talked about belief and how I should be accepting of faith-based beliefs. Now I want to discuss knowledge and how it differs from belief.
What is belief? “Belief in X” means “sincerely thinking that X is true.” So as discussed before, belief is not a matter of choice nor desire or hope. This belief could stem from rationality or faith. I concluded last time that it is ok to believe something without rational justification for the belief. But this does not mean its ok to act as though your belief is knowledge. Belief doesn’t require rational justification, but knowledge does. To understand this let us consider the concept, “knowledge.”
What do we mean when we say, “He knows the capital of France is Paris?” First of all, this implies that Paris is the capital of France. We would never say, “He knows the capital of France is Lyons.” He might believe it, but he can’t know that. So knowledge requires truth.
But truth is independent of the knower. I don’t know what the capital of Liberia is, but it does have a true capital. Belief links the human to the truth. “He knows that Paris is the capital of France” implies both that “Paris is the capital of France” and “He believes that the capital of France is Paris.” Knowledge requires truth and belief.
If truth and belief were all knowledge required we’d still be at an impasse with Christianity (and all religions). Belief doesn’t necessitate rationality and whether their beliefs are true is beyond either of our abilities, so how can I say if what they claim as knowledge is or isn’t knowledge?
Fortunately, knowledge also requires justification. This is far less obvious than the truth and belief requirements, so let’s examine an example:
Adam’s alarm goes off every morning at 7:45. Adam then showers, brushes his teeth, pees, gets dressed and has a cup of coffee before leaving his house. Across from his house in the distance is the town’s big clock-tower. As Adam pulls out of his driveway he looks up at the clock and every day it reads 8:32 and every day Adam laughs at his own OCD. He knows it’s dumb, but he secretly loves how perfectly routinized his mornings are. Adam gets home after dark everyday and enjoys less routinized nights.
One night Adam is arrested. He is told that a hit-and-run homicide occurred on his street that morning. The police know he takes that route every morning, so he’s held as a main suspect.
When his case comes to trial, evidence comes to light that the homicide occurred at 8:25am. Adam gets up as a witness in his own defense and says, “I could not have done it. I know I left home at 8:32 that morning; I always leave my house at 8:32. I know because I always laugh when I pull out and the town’s clock reads 8:32.”
As he finishes his statement the whole courtroom bursts out in laughter. Judge Ping leans over and says, “Adam, that clock has been stuck on 8:32 for over a year.”
Fortunately for Adam, his next-door neighbor Eve testifies next. Eve says she knows Adam left at 8:32 that day because she was cutting the grass when her alarm went off just as Adam was leaving. Her alarm is set for 8:32 because her favorite program starts at 8:35 and she wants 3 minutes warning.
It is found that Eve’s watch is set to the correct time and that she wasn’t lying, so all charges are dropped against Adam. Yay! The End.
Let’s rewind the clock (haha) to the moment when Adam testified, “I know I left at 8:32 that morning.” Now if knowledge only required truth and belief then Adam did indeed know he left at 8:32: he believed he left at 8:32; and he did leave at 8:32. So how do we define the concept of knowledge? What do you think?
I would not say that Adam knew he left at 8:32 because the link between his belief and the truth (the clock-tower) was fallible. Knowledge requires justification (the link between belief and truth).
Likewise I would not say a Christian knows the Bible is the word of God (even if it is) if his belief is faith-based. Consider if Adam testified, “I know I left at 8:32 because I have faith that I did.” Is this a proper use of the concept of knowledge? I would say it is not, even though his belief is sincere and true. Knowledge requires rational justification.
To reiterate, belief alone does not require justification, but the type of belief that is to be claimed as knowledge does. So it’s totally cool for a person to say he believes that the Bible is the word of God, but it is not cool for a person to say he knows the Bible is the word of God … even if it is!
The next obvious question is how much justification should be required for a belief in a truth to be knowledge? I think this could probably be argued about forever, but it does seem clear that it is more than zero and that faith is strictly a cause of belief and not a form of justification of knowledge (the proof of this is left as an exercise for the reader :).
To recap, so far we have discovered that: belief is not a matter of choice; and that knowledge requires some rational justification. The combination of these two could deal a fatal blow to the continuation of religion in the rational community.
To be continued …
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
February 24th (2)
Had traditional Maasai Soup today. I decided to try it before asking
what it was. "For desert: Monkey Brains!" Just kidding; it was goat
brains.
Here's the recipe for you at home: immediately after slaughtering the
goat, chop off its head, cleave it in half and place it in a pot with
boiling water. Add salt and coriander and let it cook until the
water, blood and brain juice mixture comes to a boil again. Then
filter out the skull and brain chunks and enjoy the liquid remains.
Of all the strange things I've eaten in the past year only this
tasted as bad as it sounds. I had two sips and felt like vomiting …
and that was before asking what it was.
You should never disrespect your host, but I felt being honest was
less disrespectful than regurgitating cranial fluids all over the
dining room.
On this continent I've also had:
Ostrich (Amazingly delicious)
Goat Stomach (edible)
Crocodile (Texture of chicken, taste of sardines … not a good combination).
what it was. "For desert: Monkey Brains!" Just kidding; it was goat
brains.
Here's the recipe for you at home: immediately after slaughtering the
goat, chop off its head, cleave it in half and place it in a pot with
boiling water. Add salt and coriander and let it cook until the
water, blood and brain juice mixture comes to a boil again. Then
filter out the skull and brain chunks and enjoy the liquid remains.
Of all the strange things I've eaten in the past year only this
tasted as bad as it sounds. I had two sips and felt like vomiting …
and that was before asking what it was.
You should never disrespect your host, but I felt being honest was
less disrespectful than regurgitating cranial fluids all over the
dining room.
On this continent I've also had:
Ostrich (Amazingly delicious)
Goat Stomach (edible)
Crocodile (Texture of chicken, taste of sardines … not a good combination).
February 24th
I was planning on going to church today, but nobody in my host family went, so I went for a hike by myself instead. I traveled a few miles to the southwest to climb this peculiar range of hills in the middle of the rift valley.
Now I made it to the top of Kilimanjaro, but I only made it to within 50 meters of the top of this hill. I was stopped by the fear of death.
I was walking back the other day from Ngong and passed 15-20 wild giraffe, just chillin. So cool. I asked my host brother if this meant that there were other wild animals around like lions or cheetah. He said no. I beg to differ.
50 meters from the top of the hill today I stepped down off a stone and around a bush and whoosh … a dicdic or small gazelle sidestepped me at full speed followed instantaneously by a f***ing huge adult cheetah, hot in pursuit. I fell back in the bush and before I could think the two were gone down the hillside. I am not making this up; a wild cheetah came with in two feet of me and only avoided a head-to-hip collision through its cat-like agility. Oh my god.
I stayed in that spot maybe ten minutes paralyzed by the pounding of my chest. I then hightailed down (in a different direction than the two animals went) with a baseball sized rock in one hand and my swiss army knife in the other, jumping at the sound of every rustling bush. Oh my god, I promise thee oh lord I will go to church next week.
Now I made it to the top of Kilimanjaro, but I only made it to within 50 meters of the top of this hill. I was stopped by the fear of death.
I was walking back the other day from Ngong and passed 15-20 wild giraffe, just chillin. So cool. I asked my host brother if this meant that there were other wild animals around like lions or cheetah. He said no. I beg to differ.
50 meters from the top of the hill today I stepped down off a stone and around a bush and whoosh … a dicdic or small gazelle sidestepped me at full speed followed instantaneously by a f***ing huge adult cheetah, hot in pursuit. I fell back in the bush and before I could think the two were gone down the hillside. I am not making this up; a wild cheetah came with in two feet of me and only avoided a head-to-hip collision through its cat-like agility. Oh my god.
I stayed in that spot maybe ten minutes paralyzed by the pounding of my chest. I then hightailed down (in a different direction than the two animals went) with a baseball sized rock in one hand and my swiss army knife in the other, jumping at the sound of every rustling bush. Oh my god, I promise thee oh lord I will go to church next week.
Friday, February 22, 2008
February 23
Took the Matatu in again. I had a much safer position this time and again had an African seatbelt. At one point I felt someone pulling at my leg hair. I figured it was the kid in my lap (the kids here are fascinated by leg and arm hair). But no, it was a 40 year old woman. I don't know if she was amused, confused or just checking to see if it was real. She kept at it for like 15 minutes. [Shrug]
February 21st
The country had quarterly exams today. Before I graded the 8th grade math exam I did the exam because you never know if the answer book provided by the state can be trusted. The test was significantly harder than any of the homeworks the kids have been doing. They had 2 hours to complete the 50-question multiple-choice exam. I finished in about an hour; not a good sign for them. I got one question wrong, but still outperformed the state's answer key 49 to 48 haha [Rafe: 0 .... Kenya: -1].
The median and mean for the students were both 18 out of 50. The highest was a 31 and 7 of the 33 kids scored lower than the expected score from random guessing.
So obviously I'm thinking that this is terrible, but the other teachers weren't so worried. Turns out missing 2 questions out of 50 on their own 8th grade math exam administered nationwide was not the dumbest part of it all on the Ministry of Education's behalf. The test was so hard for the kids because the state tests on the entire curriculum on the first quarter, midterm, third quarter and final exams. So they are only expected to know 1/4 of the material now.
I guess the good part is the kids see improvement, but it makes grading these exams completely frivolous. Their luck in guessing on the 3/4 of the test they aren't suppose to know yet almost completely masks their ability on the 1/4 of the test they should know. One kid answered "C" on about 30 of the 50 questions. Some of these were true attempts, but its hard to know which. He got 14 of the Cs correct (well within the likely range of randomness) ... he got 5 of the other 20 correct indicating when he made an honest attempt, he had no clue. But he got 19 questions correct putting him in the top 50% of the class and above others who likely knew the 1/4 of the material well and guessed poorly on the other questions (e.g. all Ds). So ridiculous haha.
The median and mean for the students were both 18 out of 50. The highest was a 31 and 7 of the 33 kids scored lower than the expected score from random guessing.
So obviously I'm thinking that this is terrible, but the other teachers weren't so worried. Turns out missing 2 questions out of 50 on their own 8th grade math exam administered nationwide was not the dumbest part of it all on the Ministry of Education's behalf. The test was so hard for the kids because the state tests on the entire curriculum on the first quarter, midterm, third quarter and final exams. So they are only expected to know 1/4 of the material now.
I guess the good part is the kids see improvement, but it makes grading these exams completely frivolous. Their luck in guessing on the 3/4 of the test they aren't suppose to know yet almost completely masks their ability on the 1/4 of the test they should know. One kid answered "C" on about 30 of the 50 questions. Some of these were true attempts, but its hard to know which. He got 14 of the Cs correct (well within the likely range of randomness) ... he got 5 of the other 20 correct indicating when he made an honest attempt, he had no clue. But he got 19 questions correct putting him in the top 50% of the class and above others who likely knew the 1/4 of the material well and guessed poorly on the other questions (e.g. all Ds). So ridiculous haha.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Febraury 17
Yesterday’s Matatu experience still ranks #1 on my all time surreal and unsafe experience lists, but after today each list has a close second place (although from separate events).
I missed the Matatu back to Maasailand yesterday (although it wasn’t really my fault). So I wound up going out with my host brother and his cousin and friends. My host brother, Alfred, is 19 and as nice as can be, but his friends are a little shady, his cousin included. Alfred kept reminding me to keep my wallet safe. “My friends are nice, but they’re hustlers y’know,” he would say. I only had two beers, so as to keep my wits, but I played the role of rich whitey well buying them several pitchers ($2 a piece). I also paid some of their cover charges at the bar/club we went to to watch the Man U – Arsenal FA cup showdown (what happened there, Dustin?).
So we all got along well … perhaps too well. Around 1am, I hit a wall and discovered they were planning on all-nighting. In my youth, I might have been able to do it, but no longer. I’m also sensitive about weakening my system with all the diseases supposedly around. The club was in the basement of a hotel, so I asked about rooms … $13 for a sweet with two bedrooms and a living room. I took one bedroom, and Alfred the other. I locked my door, but left the door to the sweet open in case his friends wanted to crash on the floor there later.
Around 5am I hear a knock on my door. “Raf … RAF … open up.” It was the cousin Emmanuel.
I groggily open up to see he’s with a woman. “No way am I being sexiled now,” I’m thinking, but I respond “what do you want?”
“She’s for you.” He says as he turns to her and says, “go in there with the Mazungu [white person].”
I kid you not, he actually brought a girl for me. Now Emmanuel’s not a pimp, and she wasn’t a prostitute. I think it was just a thank-you gift for treating him well all night.
What is proper etiquette in this situation? On one hand I want to say, “What the hell are you thinking?” But he just thought he was doing me a favor (and she was either doing him a favor, or just wanted to sleep with a white man … which is not uncommon here I hear). So I just told them I was tired and going back to bed. They got the message.
As I shut and locked the door and laid back to bed I stayed awake for another 10 minutes simple shaking my head and giggling. So Surreal.
The #2 on my unsafe list was how me and Alfred got home. There are no matatus on Sunday to Maasailand. I wanted to walk the few hours (what else is there to do Sunday morning), but we ended up taking a dirt-bike taxi … one of them. Even though it probably was more safe than the Matatu, I was far more afraid. Three people on one bike with no helmets cruising along a bumpy African road. My eyes were tearing from the wind in my face, but I could have easily been crying out of fear haha.
[I have no choice whether to do the Matatu again or not, but I’m never doing the dirt-bike taxi again. And neither should you kids reading at home!]
I missed the Matatu back to Maasailand yesterday (although it wasn’t really my fault). So I wound up going out with my host brother and his cousin and friends. My host brother, Alfred, is 19 and as nice as can be, but his friends are a little shady, his cousin included. Alfred kept reminding me to keep my wallet safe. “My friends are nice, but they’re hustlers y’know,” he would say. I only had two beers, so as to keep my wits, but I played the role of rich whitey well buying them several pitchers ($2 a piece). I also paid some of their cover charges at the bar/club we went to to watch the Man U – Arsenal FA cup showdown (what happened there, Dustin?).
So we all got along well … perhaps too well. Around 1am, I hit a wall and discovered they were planning on all-nighting. In my youth, I might have been able to do it, but no longer. I’m also sensitive about weakening my system with all the diseases supposedly around. The club was in the basement of a hotel, so I asked about rooms … $13 for a sweet with two bedrooms and a living room. I took one bedroom, and Alfred the other. I locked my door, but left the door to the sweet open in case his friends wanted to crash on the floor there later.
Around 5am I hear a knock on my door. “Raf … RAF … open up.” It was the cousin Emmanuel.
I groggily open up to see he’s with a woman. “No way am I being sexiled now,” I’m thinking, but I respond “what do you want?”
“She’s for you.” He says as he turns to her and says, “go in there with the Mazungu [white person].”
I kid you not, he actually brought a girl for me. Now Emmanuel’s not a pimp, and she wasn’t a prostitute. I think it was just a thank-you gift for treating him well all night.
What is proper etiquette in this situation? On one hand I want to say, “What the hell are you thinking?” But he just thought he was doing me a favor (and she was either doing him a favor, or just wanted to sleep with a white man … which is not uncommon here I hear). So I just told them I was tired and going back to bed. They got the message.
As I shut and locked the door and laid back to bed I stayed awake for another 10 minutes simple shaking my head and giggling. So Surreal.
The #2 on my unsafe list was how me and Alfred got home. There are no matatus on Sunday to Maasailand. I wanted to walk the few hours (what else is there to do Sunday morning), but we ended up taking a dirt-bike taxi … one of them. Even though it probably was more safe than the Matatu, I was far more afraid. Three people on one bike with no helmets cruising along a bumpy African road. My eyes were tearing from the wind in my face, but I could have easily been crying out of fear haha.
[I have no choice whether to do the Matatu again or not, but I’m never doing the dirt-bike taxi again. And neither should you kids reading at home!]
Saturday, February 16, 2008
February 16th
Wow. A surreal experience to top them all.
The matatus are what Kenya has instead of buses. They are 15-person vans that can fit 24 people if organized correctly (aka, seeming completely disorganized).
It’s straight out of a cartoon. Two guys work it, the driver and the money collector, who is often not inside the matatu but rather standing with his toes on the edge of the open side door. The passengers fortunate enough to be last-in also stand, but inside the van and sort of leaning across people’s laps. To indicate it is ok to go, the money-guy will bang a coin on the roof of the van, so the driver can hear it over the blarring hip-hop or Christian reggae music. The matatu will then whiz off down the road. It’s hilariously fantastic.
But today I had a matatu experience to top all others. The matatu from Maasailand to Ngong only runs in at 7:45 each morning. There are 3 on Saturdays because the whole town goes in for market. It was a real smalltown experience getting on and seeing 5 of the other 8 teachers at the school also on the same matatu.
But this matatu was not like the others. It was a mid-sized 1990 Toyota Pick-up truck. There were two benches along the bed of the pick-up. Not the safest mode of transport in the world, but ok. When my host family and I got on, we made 13. 5 squeezed tightly along each bench and three standing at the front of the bed. By the time the other passengers implored the driver to stop picking people up and make a second trip, we were 26 in the bed of the truck!! I still don’t understand how this was possible, but I counted several times.
Last night, my host mother was condemning skydiving as too dangerous. This morning she had no qualms with me sitting on the rail of a pickup traveling up to 65kph (40mph) down an unpaved African road (which is slightly smoother than a paved African road). Yes, my spot was the front right rail of the pickup bed. This meant my right knee was directly behind the driver’s head (they drive British-style here) and my right hand was inside the driver’s window holding onto the roof above his head. The rail I was sitting on was where my gluts meet my hamstrings, which meant two things: If I were to drop a #2 the car would not be soiled (aka my entire body excluding my legs was above ground); and because of the positioning of the rail, no blood was able to get to my legs the entire 40-minute trip, so I literally could not stand when we got to Ngong. Everyone found it hysterical as I held onto the truck for a couple minutes enduring crazy pins and needles.
I really wish I had a picture of this; it was far and away the most danger my life has ever been in. The only thing keeping my inside the truck was the strength of my two hands and a kid sitting in my lap [I’m coining the term “African seatbelt” to mean when somebody is sitting in your lap … a common occurrence].
I touched the side-view mirror at one point just to prove I could amidst laughable disbelief. But I am alive .. at least until next time.
The matatus are what Kenya has instead of buses. They are 15-person vans that can fit 24 people if organized correctly (aka, seeming completely disorganized).
It’s straight out of a cartoon. Two guys work it, the driver and the money collector, who is often not inside the matatu but rather standing with his toes on the edge of the open side door. The passengers fortunate enough to be last-in also stand, but inside the van and sort of leaning across people’s laps. To indicate it is ok to go, the money-guy will bang a coin on the roof of the van, so the driver can hear it over the blarring hip-hop or Christian reggae music. The matatu will then whiz off down the road. It’s hilariously fantastic.
But today I had a matatu experience to top all others. The matatu from Maasailand to Ngong only runs in at 7:45 each morning. There are 3 on Saturdays because the whole town goes in for market. It was a real smalltown experience getting on and seeing 5 of the other 8 teachers at the school also on the same matatu.
But this matatu was not like the others. It was a mid-sized 1990 Toyota Pick-up truck. There were two benches along the bed of the pick-up. Not the safest mode of transport in the world, but ok. When my host family and I got on, we made 13. 5 squeezed tightly along each bench and three standing at the front of the bed. By the time the other passengers implored the driver to stop picking people up and make a second trip, we were 26 in the bed of the truck!! I still don’t understand how this was possible, but I counted several times.
Last night, my host mother was condemning skydiving as too dangerous. This morning she had no qualms with me sitting on the rail of a pickup traveling up to 65kph (40mph) down an unpaved African road (which is slightly smoother than a paved African road). Yes, my spot was the front right rail of the pickup bed. This meant my right knee was directly behind the driver’s head (they drive British-style here) and my right hand was inside the driver’s window holding onto the roof above his head. The rail I was sitting on was where my gluts meet my hamstrings, which meant two things: If I were to drop a #2 the car would not be soiled (aka my entire body excluding my legs was above ground); and because of the positioning of the rail, no blood was able to get to my legs the entire 40-minute trip, so I literally could not stand when we got to Ngong. Everyone found it hysterical as I held onto the truck for a couple minutes enduring crazy pins and needles.
I really wish I had a picture of this; it was far and away the most danger my life has ever been in. The only thing keeping my inside the truck was the strength of my two hands and a kid sitting in my lap [I’m coining the term “African seatbelt” to mean when somebody is sitting in your lap … a common occurrence].
I touched the side-view mirror at one point just to prove I could amidst laughable disbelief. But I am alive .. at least until next time.
February 14th-16th
Happy Valentine's Day!!!!
New posts are up starting at February 7th.
I'll only have internet on Saturdays until March. I hope everyone's well,
-Rafe
New posts are up starting at February 7th.
I'll only have internet on Saturdays until March. I hope everyone's well,
-Rafe
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
February 13th
How does the saying go? “Sometimes you dig for stones and find gold?”
I came home from work today and turned on my phone to find I had received three text messages from my host sister, Jean, all exactly the same, sent 5 minutes apart from one another. I asked her about it and she claimed it must have been a glitch in Safaricom’s service.
An hour later I texted another volunteer, Carla, to forward to Jean the text, “This is Safaricom. There is a glitch in your SIM card, please replace it to avoid further problems.” An inane enough act that morphed into unmatched entertainment for the rest of the night.
Carla wrote back to tell me that Jean responded to the text with, “Go to Hell.” Obviously I’m thinking Jean knows it was me (why wouldn’t she, we were just talking about Safaricom glitches) and chose to respond via text even though we were sitting across from each other in the living room (along with the rest of the family).
Then Jean got a call and answered it, “This is Harriet [lie].” And proceeded to tell the person on the other line, “Yes, I live in Nairobi [lie] and spend many weekends in Nakuru [lie] … yes … I’ll be up in Nakuru next weekend [lie] … ok … bye.” As she hung up her siblings burst out laughing. I texted Carla to reply to Jean’s last text, “Only liars go to hell, Harriet.”
When Jean received it, she flipped out. Turns out she never knew I was behind it and still didn’t. The guy she was on the line with was DJ Sniper, a potential love interest who she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see, so she gave a false name so she’d be harder to track down. Now she was afraid that Carla’s number belonged to a friend of the DJ who was onto her game.
Jean then called Carla’s number to get to the bottom of the situation. When Carla answered in an obviously feminine voice Jean screamed, hung up, and went into full panic mode. She got into a frantic Swahili exchange with her sister, while her brother (who knew I was behind it all), amidst uncontrollable laughter translated, “She thinks it’s his wife!”
Now normally I don’t enjoy causing people to suffer [lie], but when the target is a potential home-wrecking liar … well, let’s just say I almost suffocated on my own laughter.
The whole charade of panic and laughter continued for a couple hours until Jean used my phone to call Carla’s number. I had wisely deleted Carla’s entry in my phone and warned her she may be called to prepare for this scenario. But Carla let down her guard and asked to speak to “Raf” and the gig was up.
Jean vowed never to talk to me again. Well worth it.
I came home from work today and turned on my phone to find I had received three text messages from my host sister, Jean, all exactly the same, sent 5 minutes apart from one another. I asked her about it and she claimed it must have been a glitch in Safaricom’s service.
An hour later I texted another volunteer, Carla, to forward to Jean the text, “This is Safaricom. There is a glitch in your SIM card, please replace it to avoid further problems.” An inane enough act that morphed into unmatched entertainment for the rest of the night.
Carla wrote back to tell me that Jean responded to the text with, “Go to Hell.” Obviously I’m thinking Jean knows it was me (why wouldn’t she, we were just talking about Safaricom glitches) and chose to respond via text even though we were sitting across from each other in the living room (along with the rest of the family).
Then Jean got a call and answered it, “This is Harriet [lie].” And proceeded to tell the person on the other line, “Yes, I live in Nairobi [lie] and spend many weekends in Nakuru [lie] … yes … I’ll be up in Nakuru next weekend [lie] … ok … bye.” As she hung up her siblings burst out laughing. I texted Carla to reply to Jean’s last text, “Only liars go to hell, Harriet.”
When Jean received it, she flipped out. Turns out she never knew I was behind it and still didn’t. The guy she was on the line with was DJ Sniper, a potential love interest who she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see, so she gave a false name so she’d be harder to track down. Now she was afraid that Carla’s number belonged to a friend of the DJ who was onto her game.
Jean then called Carla’s number to get to the bottom of the situation. When Carla answered in an obviously feminine voice Jean screamed, hung up, and went into full panic mode. She got into a frantic Swahili exchange with her sister, while her brother (who knew I was behind it all), amidst uncontrollable laughter translated, “She thinks it’s his wife!”
Now normally I don’t enjoy causing people to suffer [lie], but when the target is a potential home-wrecking liar … well, let’s just say I almost suffocated on my own laughter.
The whole charade of panic and laughter continued for a couple hours until Jean used my phone to call Carla’s number. I had wisely deleted Carla’s entry in my phone and warned her she may be called to prepare for this scenario. But Carla let down her guard and asked to speak to “Raf” and the gig was up.
Jean vowed never to talk to me again. Well worth it.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
February 12th
Was speaking to other volunteers the other day about what we miss most from home (other than friends and family of course ;)). They both pined for food from home, but I haven’t had a craving for anything. The food here is fantastic. All the other Mzungus (whiteys) complain it’s too bland, which is probably why I love it. It’s all very simple: rice, pasta, chapatti (like a crepe) or ugali (thick, white square of dough) accompanying cabbage and some sort of stew of vegetables, lentils and occasionally meat. And Fruit! Oh man, I love the fruit here. Everyday in Nairobi I’d have at least 3 bananas, a mango and usually a pineapple as well, because there was a stand on my way to work. And it’s so cheap. I made a fruit salad for 6 people the other night for 95 shilling ($1.25).
I did have a boiled fermented wheat drink today that was a little strange, but everything else has been great. I drink Chai 3 or 4 times a day (half hot-water, half hot milk, some sort of tea and a lot of sugar); it’s quite good.
I guess I have craved big salads at times …. I miss Frist haha.
So the food is great, but I’d pay a lot for a 20-minute hot shower. At the volunteer house in Nairobi it was either a luke-warm trickle, or a powerful cold. A great day was a powerful luke-warm shower. Here in Maasialand, there are no showers, so at least I don’t have to suffer through a cold one haha.
I did have a boiled fermented wheat drink today that was a little strange, but everything else has been great. I drink Chai 3 or 4 times a day (half hot-water, half hot milk, some sort of tea and a lot of sugar); it’s quite good.
I guess I have craved big salads at times …. I miss Frist haha.
So the food is great, but I’d pay a lot for a 20-minute hot shower. At the volunteer house in Nairobi it was either a luke-warm trickle, or a powerful cold. A great day was a powerful luke-warm shower. Here in Maasialand, there are no showers, so at least I don’t have to suffer through a cold one haha.
Monday, February 11, 2008
February 11th
Arrived in Maasailand today. I’m just behind Ngong Hills in the Rift Valley (if you want to goolge-earth it haha). It’s an extremely picturesque spot. My host family is great and speaks perfect English. It’s a single-mother home with 2 daughters, 2 nieces, a son and a house-help. The house is modern (so no traditional Maasai mud/dung hut). It’s right off the only road in the area, but the school is a ten-minute walk from the road through the acacia trees. There are 300 students at the school, but there are no houses anywhere around it. There’s no real village. It’s just a school, a church and an infirmary in the middle of the woods haha. The school is the only one in this area of the Rift Valley, so the kids walk to school from up to 15Km (9 miles) away.
The house I’m at is an interesting mix of Maasai and Western culture. The decorations range from traditional Sausage Tree canteens to a picture frame that reads, “Wall Street, NYC.” The family is very Christian, so I have to pray with them before dinner, yet one of their posters reads, “Our prayers should be for blessings in general, for only Allah knows what is best for us.” I asked my host mom if Allah just meant a generic god in Swahili (Swahili is influenced by Arabic a lot). She said no, so I asked about the poster. Apparently she had never read it. She laughed and proceeded to take it down. I’m causing trouble already.
The oddities don’t stop there. There’s no electricity in the Rift Valley, so the house has no lights. It does, however, have a TV which is powered by two solar batteries. So we ate dinner via a mix of lantern and TV light.
The windows of the house are just left open, so there are a ton of flies. I’ll either get used to being covered by house flies, or I’ll be eaten whole by March. There’s also no running water, so I’m going to stink in three weeks, not that I don’t already. There are two pit-latrines outside for bathrooms.
I contracted a nasty cold-sore from the refugee camp. It takes up half of my lower lip, so I did a lot of drooling during my first meal with my new family haha. There’s no Byroleum in this country . But I’d rather have a drool-inducing cold-sore than traveler’s diarrhea, malaria or the 17-second-fire-stomach (you don’t want to know), so I’m still happy with my body’s adjustment to the third world (knock on wood).
The house I’m at is an interesting mix of Maasai and Western culture. The decorations range from traditional Sausage Tree canteens to a picture frame that reads, “Wall Street, NYC.” The family is very Christian, so I have to pray with them before dinner, yet one of their posters reads, “Our prayers should be for blessings in general, for only Allah knows what is best for us.” I asked my host mom if Allah just meant a generic god in Swahili (Swahili is influenced by Arabic a lot). She said no, so I asked about the poster. Apparently she had never read it. She laughed and proceeded to take it down. I’m causing trouble already.
The oddities don’t stop there. There’s no electricity in the Rift Valley, so the house has no lights. It does, however, have a TV which is powered by two solar batteries. So we ate dinner via a mix of lantern and TV light.
The windows of the house are just left open, so there are a ton of flies. I’ll either get used to being covered by house flies, or I’ll be eaten whole by March. There’s also no running water, so I’m going to stink in three weeks, not that I don’t already. There are two pit-latrines outside for bathrooms.
I contracted a nasty cold-sore from the refugee camp. It takes up half of my lower lip, so I did a lot of drooling during my first meal with my new family haha. There’s no Byroleum in this country . But I’d rather have a drool-inducing cold-sore than traveler’s diarrhea, malaria or the 17-second-fire-stomach (you don’t want to know), so I’m still happy with my body’s adjustment to the third world (knock on wood).
Sunday, February 10, 2008
February 10th
Dammit,
I'm off to Maasailand tomorrow morning and just got to the i-cafe 15 minutes before closing (damn sunday hours). Bummer as I have a ton of stuff to post.
It's possible I'll have internet access in the next 3 weeks, as everything's a little more modern than my program description let on. But I may not, who knows. My number is +254 711 999 227 if you should want to call. If you have the ability to call, I'd love to hear from you. We're 8 hours ahead of NY time. I'll be back to posting regardless in March.
Ta,
-Rafe
I'm off to Maasailand tomorrow morning and just got to the i-cafe 15 minutes before closing (damn sunday hours). Bummer as I have a ton of stuff to post.
It's possible I'll have internet access in the next 3 weeks, as everything's a little more modern than my program description let on. But I may not, who knows. My number is +254 711 999 227 if you should want to call. If you have the ability to call, I'd love to hear from you. We're 8 hours ahead of NY time. I'll be back to posting regardless in March.
Ta,
-Rafe
Friday, February 8, 2008
February 8th
Very early start to get our shopping on … which took forever. We filled the rental truck with 30 mattresses and blankets (for elderly and expecting mothers), kettles for boiling water and cooking, and more food than I’ve ever seen in my life. 50Kg (110lbs) of beans or maize cost roughly $11, so we bought about 22,000lbs of food. So the money does go a long way even though it’s not “sustainable.”
The unloading went smoothly. I spent that time climbing trees around the camp to get epic shots to send to donors. Once everything was out of the truck, we turned it over to the unofficial leaders of the camp. When the people lined up for rations, there was some squabbling, so we took all the little kids to a different part of the grounds and did the hokey-pokey with them 50 times.
We left at 4pm to get through Naivasha before dusk (the Kenyan members of our group were Kikuyu … the persecuted tribe).
Overall the experience wasn’t too traumatizing, mostly because I think I was preparing for the worst. I only saw one dead person on the trip, a victim of vehicular carelessness, rather than racial violence. The only roadblocks we hit were run by the military and not angry mobs.
The most disturbing thing about the experience was the victims’ immediate change in wealth, rather than the absolute level of penury. The elections were little over a month ago at which point these people owned houses, went to school, and worked jobs. Now they clung to a bag of rags or a single lemon as their only possession.
As the violence is subsiding a bit, many have the option to leave the camp without fear of homicide. But to go where? There are no jobs in the region and no land or homes available to people without money. Even if they held bank accounts, the ATMs in the region are bone-dry. In the camp they get medical supplies and food every so often, even if it means living with 1100 people on a couple acres.
But more that anything, I think the difference is here they get respect. They get respect from each other as members of a community and they get respect from outsiders as people who had something and tragically now have nothing. If they leave the camp, they’ll be street-bums and will get the respect street-bums get. I think this, more that the violence, is why many people remain here to live, even amongst extreme discomfort and death.
The unloading went smoothly. I spent that time climbing trees around the camp to get epic shots to send to donors. Once everything was out of the truck, we turned it over to the unofficial leaders of the camp. When the people lined up for rations, there was some squabbling, so we took all the little kids to a different part of the grounds and did the hokey-pokey with them 50 times.
We left at 4pm to get through Naivasha before dusk (the Kenyan members of our group were Kikuyu … the persecuted tribe).
Overall the experience wasn’t too traumatizing, mostly because I think I was preparing for the worst. I only saw one dead person on the trip, a victim of vehicular carelessness, rather than racial violence. The only roadblocks we hit were run by the military and not angry mobs.
The most disturbing thing about the experience was the victims’ immediate change in wealth, rather than the absolute level of penury. The elections were little over a month ago at which point these people owned houses, went to school, and worked jobs. Now they clung to a bag of rags or a single lemon as their only possession.
As the violence is subsiding a bit, many have the option to leave the camp without fear of homicide. But to go where? There are no jobs in the region and no land or homes available to people without money. Even if they held bank accounts, the ATMs in the region are bone-dry. In the camp they get medical supplies and food every so often, even if it means living with 1100 people on a couple acres.
But more that anything, I think the difference is here they get respect. They get respect from each other as members of a community and they get respect from outsiders as people who had something and tragically now have nothing. If they leave the camp, they’ll be street-bums and will get the respect street-bums get. I think this, more that the violence, is why many people remain here to live, even amongst extreme discomfort and death.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
February 7th
In Nakuru (the violence-ridden area). Six of us (three from GVN, three from the partner organization) spent the day at a refugee camp. There were 1100 people who had been there for 2 weeks (since the first member of parliament was killed). Our organization raised $3,500 in the past week for us to work with. All we did today was assess the situation. It was amazing how orderly everybody was. It took maybe 4 minutes for the 400 refugees there (the other 700 were out during the day, but return at night) to sit and be completely silent for individuals to speak about the camp’s needs. Merlin had been the only organization to visit this camp. Merlin deals almost exclusively with medical supplies, so the refugees were well taken care of in that regard, but the adults hadn’t eaten in four days and there were only two pit latrines for 1100 people.
Even before food, sanitation is the most important thing. Without sanitation, disease will spread and the medical supplies will no longer be sufficient. The local government agreed to build 4 more latrines tomorrow. A fact which was relayed to the Kenyans in our group, but was not relayed to us from GVN (who controlled the fate of the money). So when we spent all the time in the late afternoon figuring out what we needed to buy to build latrines our Kenyan partners were getting noticeably angry and kept telling us that we need the money for food while we insisted on taking care of sanitation first. So tensions got high in our group. Turns out that “we need this money for food” meant “we pre-ordered the food and we’re committed to buying it” and “food’s more important than sanitation” means “food’s more important because the local government is taking care of sanitation … not that you could know that, because we didn’t tell you that.” It’s really frustration how stuff gets lost in translation even with people who speak perfect English.
Fortunately I got to speak on the phone with the local official right before we purchased everything, so only time (and not money) was wasted. But the woman in charge of the partner organization was visibly angry that we wasted the whole afternoon and only bought a few tarps for shelter. When I apologized for wasting time (not that it was in any way our fault), she was completely silent. I caught eyes with the GVN rep in charge and we exchanged half-bemused/half-petrified furrowed eyebrows, while the silence persisted. Hopefully it was just a cultural thing (I doubt it).
Everything seemed to smooth over by dinner, which was a fun, laughter-filled meal for all.
Even before food, sanitation is the most important thing. Without sanitation, disease will spread and the medical supplies will no longer be sufficient. The local government agreed to build 4 more latrines tomorrow. A fact which was relayed to the Kenyans in our group, but was not relayed to us from GVN (who controlled the fate of the money). So when we spent all the time in the late afternoon figuring out what we needed to buy to build latrines our Kenyan partners were getting noticeably angry and kept telling us that we need the money for food while we insisted on taking care of sanitation first. So tensions got high in our group. Turns out that “we need this money for food” meant “we pre-ordered the food and we’re committed to buying it” and “food’s more important than sanitation” means “food’s more important because the local government is taking care of sanitation … not that you could know that, because we didn’t tell you that.” It’s really frustration how stuff gets lost in translation even with people who speak perfect English.
Fortunately I got to speak on the phone with the local official right before we purchased everything, so only time (and not money) was wasted. But the woman in charge of the partner organization was visibly angry that we wasted the whole afternoon and only bought a few tarps for shelter. When I apologized for wasting time (not that it was in any way our fault), she was completely silent. I caught eyes with the GVN rep in charge and we exchanged half-bemused/half-petrified furrowed eyebrows, while the silence persisted. Hopefully it was just a cultural thing (I doubt it).
Everything seemed to smooth over by dinner, which was a fun, laughter-filled meal for all.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
February 6 (2)
Hardly get any international news here and internet's real slow. I saw a little bit about "super tuesday" but have no idea what it means. Does anyone have a guess at the odds now that Obama will win? Is there a line from Vegas?
Thanks
Thanks
February 6
Had my first two days of class. So when I said there were four other teachers, I guess I meant that there's suppose to be four other teachers. In actuality most of the time the kids sit in their class by themselves doing nothing, because the teachers just don't show up. The classes I had were all ok. I was suppose to be doing division of fractions with the 8th graders, which requires knowing mulitplication of fractions, reducing fractions, multiplication of whole numbers etc. Some knew this stuff, others didn't, but we hammered it out none-the-less.
The bells (by which I mean the one cow-bell that's rung by one of the 8th grades) were confusing me today. I thought I was showing up for math 25 minutes early to put stuff on the board, but the kids were already there ... and wanting to leave 25 minutes before the class ended (because the kid rang the bell). I then realised that the entire school (including the other teacher) go completely off of the one clock in the 8th grade classroom, which is not even on the wall, but passed around as kids want to see it. The wheel in the back must have been hit thus sending the whole school 25 minutes into the future. How quaint.
The bells (by which I mean the one cow-bell that's rung by one of the 8th grades) were confusing me today. I thought I was showing up for math 25 minutes early to put stuff on the board, but the kids were already there ... and wanting to leave 25 minutes before the class ended (because the kid rang the bell). I then realised that the entire school (including the other teacher) go completely off of the one clock in the 8th grade classroom, which is not even on the wall, but passed around as kids want to see it. The wheel in the back must have been hit thus sending the whole school 25 minutes into the future. How quaint.
February 4
First day of work. I'm teaching at a boys rehabilitation center. There are 63 kids there (some orphans, others not), because they were caught commiting non-violent crimes. They are there until they graduate 8th grade. Although the kids are grades 5-8, they range in age from 10-17. Upon graduation they are sent to boarding high schools. If they don't graduate by 18 they are released.
I'm only working there for this week and then all of March (with the Maasai Teaching program in between). I'm teaching 8th grade math, 7th grade English and 5th-8th grade Phys Ed. There are 4 teachers for 4 grades and 8 periods each day, so I make 5 providing some relief for the others. There are actual texts for math and english, which is great. For P.E. the good news is there are two full-sized soccer fields (altho not in great shape) with goals and without any glass or garbage on them. The bad news is the extent of the equipment is one deflated ball and some donated uniforms. I plan on doing soccer exclusively in PE, but I could really use some balls and cones. I'm going to purchase them regardless, but if you'd like to pledge a ball ($12) or cone ($1.50) to cut down on my personal expesnses, that's be great!
First day was a little rough, because the principle thought it would be a good idea to give me all 63 kids for two 2-hour sessions for me to get to know them. I think he was just getting the teachers a break. This was bad because the only way for me to prevent complete chaos was to be very strict, so I don't think I made a great impression. Not to mention this obviously didn't help me get to know them at all.
Refereed a game to end the day. They are very good dribblers and good with 2-person teamwork, but there's no semblence of a gameplan nor of shooting/trapping/lefty skills. Got a lot of work to do if they're going to base a cookie-cutter cheesy sports movie on my stay with them (not to mention we need a team of bad guys who have won the national cup 8 years in arrow. Maybe the rehab center accross the street for kids who committed violent crimes would fit the bill).
I'm only working there for this week and then all of March (with the Maasai Teaching program in between). I'm teaching 8th grade math, 7th grade English and 5th-8th grade Phys Ed. There are 4 teachers for 4 grades and 8 periods each day, so I make 5 providing some relief for the others. There are actual texts for math and english, which is great. For P.E. the good news is there are two full-sized soccer fields (altho not in great shape) with goals and without any glass or garbage on them. The bad news is the extent of the equipment is one deflated ball and some donated uniforms. I plan on doing soccer exclusively in PE, but I could really use some balls and cones. I'm going to purchase them regardless, but if you'd like to pledge a ball ($12) or cone ($1.50) to cut down on my personal expesnses, that's be great!
First day was a little rough, because the principle thought it would be a good idea to give me all 63 kids for two 2-hour sessions for me to get to know them. I think he was just getting the teachers a break. This was bad because the only way for me to prevent complete chaos was to be very strict, so I don't think I made a great impression. Not to mention this obviously didn't help me get to know them at all.
Refereed a game to end the day. They are very good dribblers and good with 2-person teamwork, but there's no semblence of a gameplan nor of shooting/trapping/lefty skills. Got a lot of work to do if they're going to base a cookie-cutter cheesy sports movie on my stay with them (not to mention we need a team of bad guys who have won the national cup 8 years in arrow. Maybe the rehab center accross the street for kids who committed violent crimes would fit the bill).
Saturday, February 2, 2008
February 2nd
Went to the Nairobian Safari Walk (zoo) today with other volunteers. We were the ONLY people there, so the staff let us enter the cheetah pen and pet a domesticated grown cheetah. So surreal.
Friday, February 1, 2008
February 1st (2)
Why Post Introspection?
The true reason I started posting this stuff is that I wrote it in my journal alongside the hiking entries I was planning on posting. When I chose to post it all, my thinking was “what the hell; let’s see what happens.”
But in retrospect, I’m happy I’m going in this direction. Most importantly, without posting everything it’s too easy to convince myself of BS. It’ll hopefully hone my thinking knowing it’s all going to be subject to criticism.
Secondly, I think I can come across as an enigma at times even to some of my closest friends. Although I perversely enjoy this sometimes, enigmas irk me. Like everyone else, I like figuring out how other people think, why they act the way they do and what drives them. But there are a couple of people I know well for whom I’ve completely given up trying to understand how they make decisions and how they came to be the way they are. Man would I love to read about their introspections and thought process. So I hope this detailed introspection is actually interesting to read (otherwise I shouldn’t bother posting it).
A couple of friends once expressed the opinion that I forewent Finance because I’m some sort of idealist. This is far from the truth. So maybe these essays will help people figure out how I see myself.
If this stuff isn’t interesting, or could be more interesting, let me know. Feedback about the blog as a whole is most beneficial at his juncture haha.
If you’re interested in past thought-experiments I’ve taken (such as why forego finance, why act ethically, or epistemology’s relation to climate change) let me know.
The true reason I started posting this stuff is that I wrote it in my journal alongside the hiking entries I was planning on posting. When I chose to post it all, my thinking was “what the hell; let’s see what happens.”
But in retrospect, I’m happy I’m going in this direction. Most importantly, without posting everything it’s too easy to convince myself of BS. It’ll hopefully hone my thinking knowing it’s all going to be subject to criticism.
Secondly, I think I can come across as an enigma at times even to some of my closest friends. Although I perversely enjoy this sometimes, enigmas irk me. Like everyone else, I like figuring out how other people think, why they act the way they do and what drives them. But there are a couple of people I know well for whom I’ve completely given up trying to understand how they make decisions and how they came to be the way they are. Man would I love to read about their introspections and thought process. So I hope this detailed introspection is actually interesting to read (otherwise I shouldn’t bother posting it).
A couple of friends once expressed the opinion that I forewent Finance because I’m some sort of idealist. This is far from the truth. So maybe these essays will help people figure out how I see myself.
If this stuff isn’t interesting, or could be more interesting, let me know. Feedback about the blog as a whole is most beneficial at his juncture haha.
If you’re interested in past thought-experiments I’ve taken (such as why forego finance, why act ethically, or epistemology’s relation to climate change) let me know.
February 1st
Why be Introspective?
In reading the replies to my earlier posts I think I need to discuss why I believe this sort of philosophical introspection to be worthwhile.
First of all, I enjoy it. I love discussing philosophy and thought it would be interesting to keep it all directed inward for this trip.
Secondly, I think it is useful. I disagree completely with the “the harder you look, the less you find” theory.” I used to go by the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” mentality, but that’s equally harmful. I only have one life (sorry, Buddhists); shouldn’t optimality be the goal?
Here’s how I believe introspection and perspective (which I define here as “an understanding of one’s self and how it interacts with the world”) to be useful. In economics we studied a typical person’s utility as a function of leisure and consumption. (Overly simplified,) the basic idea is the more money and free time you have the better your quality of life … everyone’s curve is slightly different. This is far too crude a model, but imagine something that models everything that you experience (quality of friends, health, hotness of wife etc.) The key thing to note is that before anything leads to happiness it must first be experienced. You don’t become happier when the 6 ping-pong balls corresponding to the numbers on your lotto ticket pop-up; you become happier only when you discover that they did. And you’ll be even happier when you’re driving your new Bugatti around. In a theoretical sense humans are machines. Experiences (life) are the input; utility is the output. But sometimes we run like Bugattis, other times we run like Nairobian taxis. I view perspective as the oil. You could treat perspective just like money and graph Utility vs. Perspective. But because perspective deals with the mechanism itself, I treat perspective like a shift in the curve of Utility vs. everything else. How ever much utility your machine pumps out from a life with a $200,000/year income, with a little extra perspective it’ll pump out the equivalent of a $250,000/year income (all else being equal).
Look, my life is amazing; I love it. I’m not some 21st century Catcher in the Rye toiling through my disillusioned early 20s in Africa trying to find meaning for my existence. I do these thought-experiments because they excite me and I learn from them. This tool about treating humans as utility-pumping machines as an aid for understanding perspective is an old discovery for me. I’ve posted it now to help those who haven’t been subjected to my utilitarian rants catch up with how and why I think. But everything else in the blog so far (and hopefully from now on) is all fresh stuff for me (which is why I’m very thankful for any and all comments and criticisms posted).
As an example for how these thought-experiments help consider the one about faith and rationality. I used to rail against faith-based beliefs. “How can someone believe something even if they have no reasons for why it is true? It’s fine if their reasons are false and they just don’t see it; that’s why debate is progress. But how can someone just remove himself from debate because he doesn’t care whether reason justifies his position? The problem is faith doesn’t care about self-affirmation. ‘Abortion is immoral because the Pope knows God says it is, and the Pope knows what God thinks, because the Pope knows what God thinks … duh’” I once would have ranted. But as of 17 days ago, I discovered that I too hold very tightly to a self-affirming belief (induction and deduction are the only valid means of justification). So how would I answer my hypothetical Catholic now? He has faith the Pope knows what God deems ethical and I have faith that rationality deems what’s ethical. An impasse [at least in terms of philosophy; in practical terms the law mandates the separation of church and state, so he has to venture into the realm of rationality if he wants to stop me from getting an abortion. FYI: I’m preggerz and I’m keeping it).
In any case, the result of that mental jaunt has made me more aware of my own beliefs, forcing me to be more accepting of others’. Not to mention how ridiculously fun it was ;).
In reading the replies to my earlier posts I think I need to discuss why I believe this sort of philosophical introspection to be worthwhile.
First of all, I enjoy it. I love discussing philosophy and thought it would be interesting to keep it all directed inward for this trip.
Secondly, I think it is useful. I disagree completely with the “the harder you look, the less you find” theory.” I used to go by the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” mentality, but that’s equally harmful. I only have one life (sorry, Buddhists); shouldn’t optimality be the goal?
Here’s how I believe introspection and perspective (which I define here as “an understanding of one’s self and how it interacts with the world”) to be useful. In economics we studied a typical person’s utility as a function of leisure and consumption. (Overly simplified,) the basic idea is the more money and free time you have the better your quality of life … everyone’s curve is slightly different. This is far too crude a model, but imagine something that models everything that you experience (quality of friends, health, hotness of wife etc.) The key thing to note is that before anything leads to happiness it must first be experienced. You don’t become happier when the 6 ping-pong balls corresponding to the numbers on your lotto ticket pop-up; you become happier only when you discover that they did. And you’ll be even happier when you’re driving your new Bugatti around. In a theoretical sense humans are machines. Experiences (life) are the input; utility is the output. But sometimes we run like Bugattis, other times we run like Nairobian taxis. I view perspective as the oil. You could treat perspective just like money and graph Utility vs. Perspective. But because perspective deals with the mechanism itself, I treat perspective like a shift in the curve of Utility vs. everything else. How ever much utility your machine pumps out from a life with a $200,000/year income, with a little extra perspective it’ll pump out the equivalent of a $250,000/year income (all else being equal).
Look, my life is amazing; I love it. I’m not some 21st century Catcher in the Rye toiling through my disillusioned early 20s in Africa trying to find meaning for my existence. I do these thought-experiments because they excite me and I learn from them. This tool about treating humans as utility-pumping machines as an aid for understanding perspective is an old discovery for me. I’ve posted it now to help those who haven’t been subjected to my utilitarian rants catch up with how and why I think. But everything else in the blog so far (and hopefully from now on) is all fresh stuff for me (which is why I’m very thankful for any and all comments and criticisms posted).
As an example for how these thought-experiments help consider the one about faith and rationality. I used to rail against faith-based beliefs. “How can someone believe something even if they have no reasons for why it is true? It’s fine if their reasons are false and they just don’t see it; that’s why debate is progress. But how can someone just remove himself from debate because he doesn’t care whether reason justifies his position? The problem is faith doesn’t care about self-affirmation. ‘Abortion is immoral because the Pope knows God says it is, and the Pope knows what God thinks, because the Pope knows what God thinks … duh’” I once would have ranted. But as of 17 days ago, I discovered that I too hold very tightly to a self-affirming belief (induction and deduction are the only valid means of justification). So how would I answer my hypothetical Catholic now? He has faith the Pope knows what God deems ethical and I have faith that rationality deems what’s ethical. An impasse [at least in terms of philosophy; in practical terms the law mandates the separation of church and state, so he has to venture into the realm of rationality if he wants to stop me from getting an abortion. FYI: I’m preggerz and I’m keeping it).
In any case, the result of that mental jaunt has made me more aware of my own beliefs, forcing me to be more accepting of others’. Not to mention how ridiculously fun it was ;).
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