truth is a black hole

Truth in its absolute form is a black hole. It consists of the All, and what All truly is, in its utter entirety. It pulls me in, like a faint magnet, whenever words become nothing but sounds. Like music. Music which plays over a void of nothingness—a nothingness that is truly All.

We prance around the surface of Truth in ignorance—a willing ignorance, as we are too distracted by our world of noise. We watch the music above the ground so much that we never see that the ground we step on is a black so deep and so empty. A sight devoid of all life and any meaning. I know because I saw it.

Curiosity tripped me, and I accidentally saw it. So I rushed to pick myself back up and continued to walk among those who play their sounds. Among those who dwell within the music of life. Because I am afraid that if I were to fall into the depths of this hole, I might implode and reach lethal and life-ending insanity.

Life is much too valuable for blackness; it must be lived in colorful ignorance instead. Truth is Life’s greatest fear, for if Life met Truth, Life would cease to exist.


the seeds of my ethical theory—the ethics of empathy

Consider the following moral dilemma:
You are at your best friend’s wedding just an hour before the ceremony is to start. Earlier that day, you came across definitive proof that your best friend’s spouse-to-be is having an affair with the best man/maid of honor, and you catch them sneaking out of a room together looking disheveled. If you tell your friend about the affair, their day will be ruined, but you don’t want them to marry a cheater. What do you do? (x)

In this situation, it is important to be fully understanding of each individual relevant in the matter. What you say to or do with each participating individual must be fully reasoned and thought out. Although I have personal obligations to my best friend—and am perhaps obligated to better consider my friend’s emotions and values—I must also take into full consideration the emotions and values of the cheater. For how would I be solving anything if I were biased to the extent that all I seek to do is maintain our friendship? Precisely because I care for my friend, I ought to take other factors into consideration.

For instance, I must ask, why does the cheater cheat? Perhaps, when I find the root of the conflict, I realize that it was not the cheater at fault; rather, it was my friend who had prompted the action. And when I realize that the fault rested more on the collective emotions and beliefs of my friend (rather than those of the cheater), I must then take this into significant consideration when deciding on what to do in the matter.

Fault, further, must be attributed to a certain aspect of my friend’s character. If I find that the fault belonging to my friend, and which has caused the cheater to cheat, may be detrimental to my friend in the long run, I must take action to remedy it. Even if it requires acquitting myself to some cruelties. Even if it requires telling her of the atrocity done to my friend by the cheater, given that doing so is the best course of action to take. But in seeking to remedy it, I must again be considerate and caring in my manner of doing so. For if my friend sees that I am lecturing her, and she has been offended from me doing so, my attempts to remedy anything become fruitless. This is where empathy plays a critical role. What sort of countenance must I adapt in order to persuade my friend towards bettering her character, and directing her more towards the good?

Additionally, I must take into consideration the limitations of my own powers and ability to control the situation myself. How much control, if any, do I have in directing any participating and relevant individuals towards the ideal outcome? Because I have such limitations, I ought to realize the extent of my abilities. The extent of my abilities therefore determine the extent to which I have the obligation to take action. If a situation in which all action I take are ultimately fruitless (though unlikely, as often most actions we take have some morally significant effect on at least one individual relevant to any moral dilemma), I ought, morally, to care, but I ought not to feel obligated to take any action.

mathematics of morality

I think that morality can be quantified. Since Truth is absolute and objective, surely there must be some concrete mathematics to attain it. The mathematics behind morality, however, inevitably becomes convoluted with the natural subjectivism of words. And where morality must be quantified with words and concepts, the mathematics of it becomes even more intangible with the natural tendencies of these words to be obscured, or de-universalized. For instance, the concept of “selfishness” is one that is subjected to individual unique interpretations. Therefore placing selfishness in any moral formula, or theory, always becomes muddled with too many different interpretations of it. The idea of “happiness,” further, more often becomes subjected to too many different definitions, and we seem never to reach any agreement surrounding it. Because of this, it becomes even more difficult to reach a conclusive formula for happiness.

And so I think that we must attempt to first reach a conclusive agreement on the more basic concepts involving morality in order to move on to more abstract concepts. Just like how mathematics must first work with basic additions in order to move on to more complex procedures.

Though I may say these things, I myself wouldn’t even know where to start. For instance, what constitutes a “basic” concept? Happiness would at first seem to be a basic concept, until further looked into. And so shall we look into the contents of happiness? For instance, the idea of wealth, which again seems already so simple until further investigated into. From the concept of wealth we may then categorize different types of wealth. For instance: material wealth; wealth in terms of time, of the number of acquaintances that I have, of the number of people I’ve positively affected, and so on.

Like this, I’ve created smaller units able to be quantified within the entire paradigm of morality. Perhaps it is through doing this we’ll be able to reach some objective agreements on certain things surrounding morality. And through doing this, we may work our way up to more complex concepts.

Still, everything that has to do with words always and inevitably falls into an abstraction, as even the most basic words fall into interpretation. If we were to quantify anything with words, there will always be some room for abstraction. But what if we were to quantify words with the mathematics of possession? For instance, basic material wealth is possessing at least this much currency in a given society (involving the currency that would be gained if the assets of the individual were liquified), and so we create some formulaic expression that creates a relation between currency and the society that would produce what would constitute basic material wealth. So we then use “material wealth” in its most modest form to attempt to define what would constitute another basic concept.

I am fully aware of what a grand and probably impossible venture this is. I myself already see too many loopholes within it, and because of it, it may be a fruitless endeavor. But it is an idea nonetheless, and an interesting oneat least to me. Though I may never come back to fully developing this.

more on the conceptual idea of love

When we define love as the total acceptance of something for exactly what it was, is, and will be, it then becomes an impossible concept, for the concept becomes much too perfect and beyond our capacities. We can never understand anything in its entirety after all. We only know things partially, and we fill in everything else with our own ideas. Like puzzles with imagined pieces used to make up for missing pieces, conjured from already-existing pieces. But even with the pieces that are already there—that we’ve already found—such pieces of information may not even be true. In this way, the entire puzzle is perpetuated with imperfection. Although I may love cheez-its, I only refer to my love for its taste. Note that I am not expressing my love for its entirety, for it is impossible for me to know everything about it. I don’t know exactly how it was made, processed, etc. etc. I only assume it was made in a way that is not harmful to anyone or anything, or that it contains ingredients that are entirely acceptable to me. But had I known that it was made or processed in a way that somehow harms me, someone else, or something; my love for it may diminish, or even disappear entirely.

But my realization of these flaws does not now invalidate the love that I had for cheez-its. That is: although my love for cheez-its may cease in light of its shortcoming(s), my love that had existed before realizing its shortcoming(s) remains valid. I can still claim that I had loved it. This explains why people tend to fall out of love. They realize something unfavorable about the subject of their love (e.g. a person) that taints everything else about that person—in other words, the rest of the puzzle. Yet, they still loved and fully experienced it nonetheless.

So, although love in its purest most absolute form may not be possible, I can still validly claim that I did love, albeit flawed in that I did not know everything about what I loved. Which makes all love that is both experienced and given, flawed. Not that all of the love that I’ve experienced doesn’t exist entirely; just that they are imperfect. And all the love that I will ever experience in my lifetime is conceptually imperfect.

In this sense, imperfection may now even serve beneficial to me, for the less I know, the more I can love. Conversely, the more I know, the less I can love. I do not mean for anyone to pursue this sort of ignorance, because I do not believe that ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is not bliss, because the more ignorance we have the more expectations we have. And to have expectations is to pave and often shorten our paths to our own downfalls. We must instead pursue knowledge—pursue knowledge about the things we love. The more we know about the something or someone, the less likely we are to be disappointed with the things that we don’t know about them.

Queued thought: does this then make love at first sight possible?

Part I: on losing and possessing (people)

Recently, I’ve been losing several friends and close ones, both out of necessity, out of their will and my own. Because of it, I’ve learned to not be afraid of the possibility of “losing” anyone.

But in truth, there is no such thing as “losing” anyone, for the simple fact that I can never “possess” anyone. To “possess,” in the word’s most perfect form, would mean to have total control over something. To control, further, requires knowing something in its entirety. That is, to know it in its whole being, from its beginning to its end. To know every single detail about it, so that I am able to predict exactly what happens to that something until it ceases to exist. Which then carries with it expectations–expectations for precisely how that something will continue to exist, and the context by which that something will no longer exist. To possess something then, would essentially mean that I would be the god to that something.

From this, it becomes impossible for myself–for anyone–to truly possess anything, because I cannot fully know the course and end of anything. I cannot truly “possess” a pen, because that pen is susceptible to misplacement, theft, or breakage, and I cannot predict such occurrences. I cannot possess money, because likewise, money is susceptible to the same courses and outcomes. Even more so, I cannot validly claim that I possess another person, because I have too limited comprehension of that person.

People (and objects) only fall within our sphere of influence–we cross paths with each other, and (as crude as it sounds) we merely experience these people. Therefore, we cannot lose anyone; in other words, we cannot validly claim that we have, because we cannot lose something that we never even possessed in the first place.

When someone can no longer be near us, and when we can no longer experience the person, we may mourn for what can no longer be, and in appreciation for what was. We can mourn in such a way, and to do so is totally plausible, in fact we should; but we cannot be angry. To be angry would have meant that something has failed, or that something did not go the way we intended it to go, which implies that we had something in control which we failed to control, when in fact there was nothing to control. Controlling anything is god-like, and thus impossible; we can only influence.

We all point to Truth differently

I’ve noticed increasingly that when people speak of certain aspects of the Truth—especially with matters involving right and wrong—a lot of times we are in fact speaking the truth, only that we have different ways of pointing to it, having different skins to do so as well.

Oftentimes, if not all the time, this applies to religion too. Whether it involves those who are of different religious backgrounds, or those who do not possess a religious background whatsoever. Both the religious and the scientific of various upbringings.

It is as if we are all pointing to a figure, resting at our center. I may say that this figure is a simple physical static object, incapable of emotion; while another might see an animate figure, capable of emotions, and power (such fundamental polarity lies at the root of much conflict in interpretation of the Truth). The other can call this figure, “It,” while I call it a block. We are both essentially pointing to the same exact thing, only that both of us see it differently. Why can’t we agree that it is a figure, that it’s something to love and appreciate, and that it’s something overwhelmingly amazing and beyond us? Regardless of what we see, this figure causes the world to work in such and such ways—why can’t we just discuss the workings of this world rather than waste time disagreeing who or what makes this world work?

By discussing those things, there is truly much more to agree on than there is to disagree on. We only seem to be blinded from any conclusive agreements because we see too much the surface matters we cannot agree on. But wipe out, for a moment, how the cover of our books appear, and read the deeper contents. We then find that there are several parallels between our world-views and beliefs.