(See all posts related to Electra's ongoing treatment)
It's been nearly two months. That's weird to me. Like so many big events in life, the time since Electra died (I'm trying to make myself say this instead of "passed on" or some other euphemism) has maintained that weird dichotomy of seeming like it was just yesterday, and yet that it was ages ago. I don't know whether it's shock that does this, or we just don't really grasp the passing of time as much as we think we do. But in terms of progress, it's been a rather eventful two months. I've attended two memorials on two continents, emptied a flat, visited friends and family (mine and Electra's), had a visit paid to me by my brother, moped around the house for a few weeks and returned to work. It's been an intense period, but I'm increasingly aware that this period is drawing to a close. Normalcy is beginning to dawn anew, and though a rocky path lies between that sense of regularity and myself, it's a good destination to have.
You see, any sense of normalcy I once had (and let's be honest, I had a tenuous grasp at best on the concept at even the best of time) has been rather shattered. I made a point throughout Electra's treatment to spend time in London with friends to avoid becoming completely mired in sickness and despair. So I've not been totally disconnected. But for nearly a year and a half, my life has been split firmly between two cities to an even greater extent than when we were in a committed but long-distance relationship. Moving between two locations makes it hard to truly settle or feel at home. Moreover, the sword of Damocles was ever-present: even when things were going comparatively well, the spectre of sickness and death loomed large. So "normal" was quietly packed away in the closet. It's now time to dust off that box and try it on for size once more.
This comes in many forms. Work is a big feature. Although I'm glad to have taken off the full four weeks that I did, I'm very much ready for a return to routine. The first few days and even weeks of my time off were filled with things that needed to be done-organising the memorial, emptying Electra's flat, and so forth. The last week of my time off was spent with my brother and was a fantastic time. But in-between those two was the thoughtful time. The time to collect thoughts and come to grips. That was vital, and again I'm glad to have had it. But near the end, it started to settle firmly into mopey territory. Suddenly the days were spent lying in bed or drifting around my empty house. And that's not good.
I know myself pretty well, and one of my failings is a periodic tendency for what I lovingly call "low mood" periods, but are realistically slightly depressive episodes. These used to be nearly crippling when I was younger and have mostly faded from memory. However, every few months, one will rear its head and I will get "blue", often for no reason. And this makes me susceptible to getting even more down in response to events like those of recent months. And I know that moping around does me no good as I will spiral further into depression. Instead, I need to get out; see people; do some work; sleep and eat to a schedule. So I'm very much glad to be back to work and to my social circles.
On the other hand, I know this is an ongoing process, and that I should–and do–expect periodic resurgences of emotion and depression, and need to brace for those. This will take me awhile to process. I've already seen some effects of this. A few too many drinks and I can expound and rant and get overly emotional to close friends who deserve better. Quiet periods or certain songs, shows or thoughts can trigger memories and emotions. But that's all part of the process, and I'm dealing with it OK. And I'm trying to get some good from the experience.
If there is to be a silver lining from the hell of the last year and a half, I feel it is this: life is short. I know how much of a cliché it is to come to this realisation after a tragic loss, but there's a good reason why it's a cliché: it damned true. In his amazing and moving Stanford commencement speech in 2005, Steve Jobs touches on this issue, stating that knowing you are going to die frees you to do what you want, and it is this message I am trying to embrace. You see, I rarely just do what I want. I think. I ponder. I over-analyse and weigh up options. I get second, third and fourth opinions and ponder more. I rarely make a truly awful decision, but I miss out on many great opportunities because my indecision drags me into the quagmire of inaction. And I want to change this.
Deliberation has a vital place. Decisions should be made carefully, and risk mitigated. But to become so risk-averse as to not take chances deprives you of some of the best occurrences of your life. And it fills you with regrets. Mark Twain once said "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." And he was right. When I think back to my regrets, I rarely think of that which I tried and failed at. I think of the times I didn't even step up to the plate, and just let the pitch go by. Those are the things that eat at me.
So I'm resolving to do better, and have done so to some degree already. The results haven't been perfect, and neither will they be in the future. I have faith, however, in my closest friends. Even when I make a misstep and go too far or make a poor decision, I trust in those around me to help support and love me and with their strength I will persevere. My friends are precious to me and their love and care has buoyed me through the most turbulent seas I've traversed; I know they will continue to do so, just as they will tell me when I'm dangerous waters above my head, when my carpe diem attitude takes me perhaps too far.
But I will try. Because the trying is the important thing. I'm young, in one of the greatest cities in the world and have good people around me. Now is the time to try. I know I will fail sometimes. I know I will do things that seem stupid in retrospect or make things difficult or uncomfortable. But I will try them. I have too. I'm sick of wondering "what if?". Even when the outcome isn't what I hope for, the attempt and the asking is what's important, sometimes more so than the outcome itself.
Electra had a bubbly, cheerful enthusiasm which was infectious. I lament how much of our time was spent with me tied to a Ph.D. I wasn't fond of and how much of our time was limited by geographical or financial constraints. I don't want to make that mistake again. I want to make new mistakes. Fun mistakes. I want to go out on a limb more, to strive for the freshest fruit on the furthest boughs. This is how I will force myself to return to normalcy: I will push for a better normalcy. This is how I will treasure Electra's memory: I will forego fear and will live my life fuller than before.
Regrets are about lamenting a past that cannot be changed. That's not helpful; what is helpful is to mourn, to remember but above all else, to learn. We learn from what we've done and we grow from pain and tragedy. And as long as we are in the land of the living, we have a duty to enjoy that. To live, to laugh and to love. 2012 is off to a pretty shitty start. But I will be doing myself, and Electra's memory, a disservice to dwell and hate and mope. Like Canute, I can command the tides of history to recede as much as I want, but it will never happen. Instead, I will embrace life and do my best to honour and cherish the memories I have and to push forward to the next, better, memories. Or–if things go crazy enough–at least I'll get some cool stories out of it.
Showing posts with label philosophising. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophising. Show all posts
Friday, May 11, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Electra & AML: The Asymptote
(See all posts related to Electra's ongoing treatment)
There is a concept in math that-though seemingly obvious-actually took millennia to invent: the concept of zero. The reason is that the difference between one and zero is unlike the difference between any other two numbers. The concept of a vacuum is so disconcerting to our minds that it actually inspired a debate amongst Greek philosophers as to whether such a concept even had merit. So, zero is kind of a big deal. The difference between something and nothing is monumental.
One of the many ways in which this comes into play is the idea of an asymptote. Without getting too math-nerdy, an asymptote is a curve which forever approaches a number (often, but not necessarily zero), but never touches it. For example, think of starting with a pile of money and cutting it in half every day. On day one, you have $100. Then $50, $25, $12.50, $6.25, etc. With each step, you get closer and closer to zero, but you will never really get there. An asymptote is a mathematical concept for a progression that always seems to be very very close to something, but never actually arrives.
Why am I talking about this? Because our asymptote is approaching zero. But ours will hit zero, unlike the math's. And I've only just realised, I was treating this illness like a true asymptote. I knew our ordeal would be long and that a decline was inevitable. I knew that we would approach death, getting closer and closer with each passing day, and near the end coming so close that the difference was barely observable. But in a very real way, I'm only just now realising that Electra is going to hit zero, and she's going to hit it soon. And I've not really realised what that means until now. Because I thought I was ready for what was to come; but really, I was only ready for the asymptote.
You see, we knew from the outset that this was going to be a long haul struggle, and it has been. Even when the outcome was certain, the hope finally dissipated, the prognosis was a slow slide into oblivion. So, you get used to the slide, you adjust to the asymptote. Things get worse, but you expect them to, and you realign your expectations accordingly. We got a wheelchair when Electra found walking tiring. We changed her meds as she reacted better or worse to her regimen. We added in meal replacements, adjusted furniture and got medical aids to accomodate her declining state. We've been carers of a sick person for over a year now and that simply became the norm. And when it got worse, that was simply another adjustment. As she got more and more tired, our norm shifted, but stayed in the same ballpark.
Now it's different. Electra is almost completely gone at this point. I don't know exactly what constitutes a coma as opposed to an ongoing and deep sleep, so I don't know if she's technically in a coma or not, but she might as well be if she isn't. She hasn't been awake in any meaningful way in the past day. She stirred at times, even spoke periodically as recently as this morning (asking for water and taking her medications). But today was the end of any responsiveness. As I write this, Electra is beside me. Her breathing is ragged and shallow, her eyes open a slit and unfocused. She is fully immobile, her limbs and extremities flaccid and motionless. She hasn't responded to being spoken to in hours. She is breathing and has a pulse, but everything that made her who she is, everything that defines the woman I fell in love with, is gone.
It turns out, the difference between something and nothing is bigger than I was ready for.
Objectively, I know that you can never be truly ready for something like this. You can prepare. You can make plans and discuss outcomes and intents. You can say "death" out loud to force yourself to accept that this is the reality. You can talk about what to do before and what to do after. You can-and I did-feel like you're ready. You're not. You can't be. Because you're only truly preparing for a further slide closer to zero and not for the drop to nothing.
We haven't yet hit zero, but it feels like we have. Electra is gone in every sense but the most fundamental biological functioning and she's not coming back. There is no hope of a last-minute turn-around, no chance that this is just another step along the decline. This is the beginning of the truest end, the end that awaits all of us. And it turns out I'm not ready for that.
I want another day, another week, another month or another year. I want to bounce up on the bed and blow a raspberry on her tummy until she convulses in laughter. I want to plan our next vacation. I want to adopt the puppies we longed for and even named (Gaius and Caprica, FYI). I want to see her giggle and clap her hands in glee like a child when she's excited about something. I want to rant to her about the latest Apple vs Microsoft development. I want to complain about the train fare and show her the new lights I affixed to my bike. I want to collect the keys to the first house we share. I want to take her for the first ride in the first car I'll buy. I want to cook her another batch of pancakes. I want our life together to truly begin. But that will never happen.
Let me use another, arguably even nerdier analogy. One of the fundamental concepts in quantum theory is the idea of the superposition. The idea says that for very small objects, we can never truly tell where they are at the same time as we can tell their momentum. The location of (for example) an electron orbiting a nucleus is defined by a 3D probability functions called a wavefunction. There is a certain chance it is in any given location, but nothing guaranteed. One of the weirder sides to this is that at any given time, the electron actually exists in all locations simultaneously. Only when its location is measured in some way does the wavefunction "collapse" and the actual location is set. The most famous thought experiment that stems from this is Shrödinger's Cat. I'll leave the details of the thought experiment to the reader, but the upshot is this: at one point, the cat is simultaneously dead and alive; only when the box is opened does the wavefunction collapse and the cat's nature become measurable.
Electra's wavefunction is collapsing. Even when her diagnosis was confirmed, I guess I instinctively felt there was a tiny sliver of hope. Technically, there is a chance, infinitesimal though it is, that an electron bound to a carbon atom in your thumb is actually located on the surface of the moon. It's unlikely but the possibility exists. Similarly, although I knew Electra's fate, a part of me clung to that most minute of hopes. That some twist would yet emerge. That as long as she was awake and conscious that it could still turn around. A zero-day cure could be found, or a dramatic reversal of fortune caused by a resurgent immune system. But moreover, just the vague, undirected hope that this wasn't it. That we'd have more time. And now, before my eyes, I can see that wavefunction collapse. There is nothing left but waiting for her breath to stop and her heart to be still. The essence of who she is has gone.
Many of the people who have written me to express support and condolences, (and I thank you all for doing so), have stated how they cannot even beging to understand how I feel. The reality is this: I can't either. I am empty and lonely and hopeless in a way I've never experienced. I feel broken and desolate. But beyond that, I just don't know. I don't think I can put a label on it beyond feeling wrong. The notion of a world without Electra in it is inconceivable, like waking up one day to find out that one plus one equals three. And yet here we are; for the first time, that world truly is upon us. I don't know how to react to a world so familiar, yet so completely alien. I'm not ready for this. I thought the asymptote would stretch on forever.
There is a concept in math that-though seemingly obvious-actually took millennia to invent: the concept of zero. The reason is that the difference between one and zero is unlike the difference between any other two numbers. The concept of a vacuum is so disconcerting to our minds that it actually inspired a debate amongst Greek philosophers as to whether such a concept even had merit. So, zero is kind of a big deal. The difference between something and nothing is monumental.
One of the many ways in which this comes into play is the idea of an asymptote. Without getting too math-nerdy, an asymptote is a curve which forever approaches a number (often, but not necessarily zero), but never touches it. For example, think of starting with a pile of money and cutting it in half every day. On day one, you have $100. Then $50, $25, $12.50, $6.25, etc. With each step, you get closer and closer to zero, but you will never really get there. An asymptote is a mathematical concept for a progression that always seems to be very very close to something, but never actually arrives.
Why am I talking about this? Because our asymptote is approaching zero. But ours will hit zero, unlike the math's. And I've only just realised, I was treating this illness like a true asymptote. I knew our ordeal would be long and that a decline was inevitable. I knew that we would approach death, getting closer and closer with each passing day, and near the end coming so close that the difference was barely observable. But in a very real way, I'm only just now realising that Electra is going to hit zero, and she's going to hit it soon. And I've not really realised what that means until now. Because I thought I was ready for what was to come; but really, I was only ready for the asymptote.
You see, we knew from the outset that this was going to be a long haul struggle, and it has been. Even when the outcome was certain, the hope finally dissipated, the prognosis was a slow slide into oblivion. So, you get used to the slide, you adjust to the asymptote. Things get worse, but you expect them to, and you realign your expectations accordingly. We got a wheelchair when Electra found walking tiring. We changed her meds as she reacted better or worse to her regimen. We added in meal replacements, adjusted furniture and got medical aids to accomodate her declining state. We've been carers of a sick person for over a year now and that simply became the norm. And when it got worse, that was simply another adjustment. As she got more and more tired, our norm shifted, but stayed in the same ballpark.
Now it's different. Electra is almost completely gone at this point. I don't know exactly what constitutes a coma as opposed to an ongoing and deep sleep, so I don't know if she's technically in a coma or not, but she might as well be if she isn't. She hasn't been awake in any meaningful way in the past day. She stirred at times, even spoke periodically as recently as this morning (asking for water and taking her medications). But today was the end of any responsiveness. As I write this, Electra is beside me. Her breathing is ragged and shallow, her eyes open a slit and unfocused. She is fully immobile, her limbs and extremities flaccid and motionless. She hasn't responded to being spoken to in hours. She is breathing and has a pulse, but everything that made her who she is, everything that defines the woman I fell in love with, is gone.
It turns out, the difference between something and nothing is bigger than I was ready for.
Objectively, I know that you can never be truly ready for something like this. You can prepare. You can make plans and discuss outcomes and intents. You can say "death" out loud to force yourself to accept that this is the reality. You can talk about what to do before and what to do after. You can-and I did-feel like you're ready. You're not. You can't be. Because you're only truly preparing for a further slide closer to zero and not for the drop to nothing.
We haven't yet hit zero, but it feels like we have. Electra is gone in every sense but the most fundamental biological functioning and she's not coming back. There is no hope of a last-minute turn-around, no chance that this is just another step along the decline. This is the beginning of the truest end, the end that awaits all of us. And it turns out I'm not ready for that.
I want another day, another week, another month or another year. I want to bounce up on the bed and blow a raspberry on her tummy until she convulses in laughter. I want to plan our next vacation. I want to adopt the puppies we longed for and even named (Gaius and Caprica, FYI). I want to see her giggle and clap her hands in glee like a child when she's excited about something. I want to rant to her about the latest Apple vs Microsoft development. I want to complain about the train fare and show her the new lights I affixed to my bike. I want to collect the keys to the first house we share. I want to take her for the first ride in the first car I'll buy. I want to cook her another batch of pancakes. I want our life together to truly begin. But that will never happen.
Let me use another, arguably even nerdier analogy. One of the fundamental concepts in quantum theory is the idea of the superposition. The idea says that for very small objects, we can never truly tell where they are at the same time as we can tell their momentum. The location of (for example) an electron orbiting a nucleus is defined by a 3D probability functions called a wavefunction. There is a certain chance it is in any given location, but nothing guaranteed. One of the weirder sides to this is that at any given time, the electron actually exists in all locations simultaneously. Only when its location is measured in some way does the wavefunction "collapse" and the actual location is set. The most famous thought experiment that stems from this is Shrödinger's Cat. I'll leave the details of the thought experiment to the reader, but the upshot is this: at one point, the cat is simultaneously dead and alive; only when the box is opened does the wavefunction collapse and the cat's nature become measurable.
Electra's wavefunction is collapsing. Even when her diagnosis was confirmed, I guess I instinctively felt there was a tiny sliver of hope. Technically, there is a chance, infinitesimal though it is, that an electron bound to a carbon atom in your thumb is actually located on the surface of the moon. It's unlikely but the possibility exists. Similarly, although I knew Electra's fate, a part of me clung to that most minute of hopes. That some twist would yet emerge. That as long as she was awake and conscious that it could still turn around. A zero-day cure could be found, or a dramatic reversal of fortune caused by a resurgent immune system. But moreover, just the vague, undirected hope that this wasn't it. That we'd have more time. And now, before my eyes, I can see that wavefunction collapse. There is nothing left but waiting for her breath to stop and her heart to be still. The essence of who she is has gone.
Many of the people who have written me to express support and condolences, (and I thank you all for doing so), have stated how they cannot even beging to understand how I feel. The reality is this: I can't either. I am empty and lonely and hopeless in a way I've never experienced. I feel broken and desolate. But beyond that, I just don't know. I don't think I can put a label on it beyond feeling wrong. The notion of a world without Electra in it is inconceivable, like waking up one day to find out that one plus one equals three. And yet here we are; for the first time, that world truly is upon us. I don't know how to react to a world so familiar, yet so completely alien. I'm not ready for this. I thought the asymptote would stretch on forever.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Electra & AML: Absence
(See all posts related to Electra's ongoing treatment)
I am writing this post from my friend's apartment in Toronto. You see, for some time, I've had a trip to Canada planned. This is specifically for my friend Howard's wedding (for which I'm best man) but more generally, I've orchestrated a vacation and series of visits around that one event. As a result, I've been back in Canada for nearly a week now, with another week and a half to go.
This is my first time being truly away from Electra since her diagnosis. I've been in London much of the time, of course, but not truly away to the degree I am now. Though we're in frequent contact by Skype, it is the longest we will have gone without in-person time (from the last time I was in Birmingham to the earliest time I'll be even able to get back will be roughly a month) and also by far the greatest distance between us. This is simultaneously very difficult and somewhat relieving.
It is difficult, because I know that a Skype call isn't the same as a visit or even a phone call, and it's difficult not to feel like I'm failing to provide adequate support during her recovery. One of my philosophies in life has been that you can't do everything, but you should that which you can. In this instance, I cannot do anything medically, but the support and comfort I can give allows me to contribute, and so I do what I can and provide that where possible. At the moment, I cannot do that. I still call daily, and try to call right before her bedtime, but the latter isn't always possible, and I cannot guarantee the former will be at all times. So it can feel like I'm unable to provide the one type of assistance I've been able to give thus far. It's also difficult to hear about progress, both good and bad, and not be acutely aware of the fact that I'm not there to witness it.
However, I do feel that it's providing me some much-needed respite for myself. Over the past few weeks I've started to see myself getting more and more tired, more and more stressed. This too makes me a poor carer, and is why everyone (including Electra) is careful to remind me to take care of myself. So getting away from the situation and responsibilities, if only for awhile (and while still being in contact) allows me to recharge my batteries a little bit. I've greatly enjoyed catching up with friends here, sleeping and eating and just generally being able to relax and reflect a little bit. With cancer, there is a tendency for it to dominate your thoughts to such an extent that it's difficult to avoid it weighing heavily on your mind. So to be able to have some time away is important to one's sanity and a welcome change.
But I think, despite these potentially conflicting emotions, that I can maximise this opportunity. I'm here for a total of two and a half weeks. In the grad scheme of things, not that long. But enough to reinvigorate myself rather dramatically and get some much-needed R&R. I am still in touch daily as I've said, so I don't feel negligent or too far removed. And I know that in the end, this will give me the strength to return twice as strong to the UK, and that I will be much better equipped to provide the necessary support if I let myself relax a little and truly enjoy my time here. And that's what I've been doing so far.
Status Update: Electra is currently out of hospital, and recuperating at home in the rental flat in Birmingham. She was released from the hospital far earlier than expected, and has been able to arrange a less-frequent visit schedule, due to her rapid recovery. She'd been expected to have to go to the hospital thrice weekly for six weeks, but that wasn't much more than a week and a half, and she's now down to weekly visits. This is due to the doctor's confidence in her recovery. So all signs are pointing up.
However, the process itself is still quite unpleasant. This time around, the biggest problem has been a general sense of discomfort and being ill-at-ease. Electra cannot seem to find any position, sitting or laying, in which she is comfortable. As you can imagine, this makes sleeping difficult. She's also started to get hit by the acute boredom of one trapped at home for extended periods of time. However, her fatigue and trouble focusing (which we call "chemo brain") has made it such that any activity that would alleviate such boredom, including TV, reading or even listing to the radio, is taxing. So it's a bit of a paradox: bored by the lack of anything to do, but unable to do anything to alleviate the boredom.
Also, within the last few days, we've seen the first signs of what is potentially Graft Versus Host Disease, or GVHD. Acute GVHD is the big worry at this stage, as it is the body turning against the new bone marrow, with catastrophic results. However, the doctors have said that a small degree of GVHD is actually good, as it essentially kicks the new immune system into gear. She's had it looked at and the docs were confident enough that she wasn't required to stay in hospital. So while it's unfortunate that's she's experienced this (in the form of a rash on her arm), it appears that it's not too alarming, so I'm confident in her progress.
At this point, though the process is unpleasant and the days difficult, all the key metrics seem to point towards as speedy a recovery as possible, given the treatment she's undergone. Fingers crossed!
I am writing this post from my friend's apartment in Toronto. You see, for some time, I've had a trip to Canada planned. This is specifically for my friend Howard's wedding (for which I'm best man) but more generally, I've orchestrated a vacation and series of visits around that one event. As a result, I've been back in Canada for nearly a week now, with another week and a half to go.
This is my first time being truly away from Electra since her diagnosis. I've been in London much of the time, of course, but not truly away to the degree I am now. Though we're in frequent contact by Skype, it is the longest we will have gone without in-person time (from the last time I was in Birmingham to the earliest time I'll be even able to get back will be roughly a month) and also by far the greatest distance between us. This is simultaneously very difficult and somewhat relieving.
It is difficult, because I know that a Skype call isn't the same as a visit or even a phone call, and it's difficult not to feel like I'm failing to provide adequate support during her recovery. One of my philosophies in life has been that you can't do everything, but you should that which you can. In this instance, I cannot do anything medically, but the support and comfort I can give allows me to contribute, and so I do what I can and provide that where possible. At the moment, I cannot do that. I still call daily, and try to call right before her bedtime, but the latter isn't always possible, and I cannot guarantee the former will be at all times. So it can feel like I'm unable to provide the one type of assistance I've been able to give thus far. It's also difficult to hear about progress, both good and bad, and not be acutely aware of the fact that I'm not there to witness it.
However, I do feel that it's providing me some much-needed respite for myself. Over the past few weeks I've started to see myself getting more and more tired, more and more stressed. This too makes me a poor carer, and is why everyone (including Electra) is careful to remind me to take care of myself. So getting away from the situation and responsibilities, if only for awhile (and while still being in contact) allows me to recharge my batteries a little bit. I've greatly enjoyed catching up with friends here, sleeping and eating and just generally being able to relax and reflect a little bit. With cancer, there is a tendency for it to dominate your thoughts to such an extent that it's difficult to avoid it weighing heavily on your mind. So to be able to have some time away is important to one's sanity and a welcome change.
But I think, despite these potentially conflicting emotions, that I can maximise this opportunity. I'm here for a total of two and a half weeks. In the grad scheme of things, not that long. But enough to reinvigorate myself rather dramatically and get some much-needed R&R. I am still in touch daily as I've said, so I don't feel negligent or too far removed. And I know that in the end, this will give me the strength to return twice as strong to the UK, and that I will be much better equipped to provide the necessary support if I let myself relax a little and truly enjoy my time here. And that's what I've been doing so far.
Status Update: Electra is currently out of hospital, and recuperating at home in the rental flat in Birmingham. She was released from the hospital far earlier than expected, and has been able to arrange a less-frequent visit schedule, due to her rapid recovery. She'd been expected to have to go to the hospital thrice weekly for six weeks, but that wasn't much more than a week and a half, and she's now down to weekly visits. This is due to the doctor's confidence in her recovery. So all signs are pointing up.
However, the process itself is still quite unpleasant. This time around, the biggest problem has been a general sense of discomfort and being ill-at-ease. Electra cannot seem to find any position, sitting or laying, in which she is comfortable. As you can imagine, this makes sleeping difficult. She's also started to get hit by the acute boredom of one trapped at home for extended periods of time. However, her fatigue and trouble focusing (which we call "chemo brain") has made it such that any activity that would alleviate such boredom, including TV, reading or even listing to the radio, is taxing. So it's a bit of a paradox: bored by the lack of anything to do, but unable to do anything to alleviate the boredom.
Also, within the last few days, we've seen the first signs of what is potentially Graft Versus Host Disease, or GVHD. Acute GVHD is the big worry at this stage, as it is the body turning against the new bone marrow, with catastrophic results. However, the doctors have said that a small degree of GVHD is actually good, as it essentially kicks the new immune system into gear. She's had it looked at and the docs were confident enough that she wasn't required to stay in hospital. So while it's unfortunate that's she's experienced this (in the form of a rash on her arm), it appears that it's not too alarming, so I'm confident in her progress.
At this point, though the process is unpleasant and the days difficult, all the key metrics seem to point towards as speedy a recovery as possible, given the treatment she's undergone. Fingers crossed!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Electra & AML: The Big D
(See all posts related to Electra's ongoing treatment)
So, there's a certain topic I have thus far avoided delving into: death. You'll have to excuse me if this post is a little less structured than some of the others, but that is a reflection of my thoughts, which are themselves a little unclear.
The fact of the matter is that this affliction is very serious. I know that's obvious, but I try to focus on the positives as much as possible: the advances in treatment, the high rate of success, the progress that Electra has made so far. But left untreated, AML has a mortality rate of 100%, often within months. The treatments have come a long way (a colleague of mine told me of her aunt who was treated several decades ago at a time when all they could do was a full blood transfusion every week or so). But they are not perfect, and as we've seen with recent revelations, things do not always go as smoothly as one would hope.
At the end of the day, the odds are good in this case, but nothing is guaranteed. Electra and I had "the death talk" the last time I was up, and she has been pushing me to make sure that I truly accept the possibility; that I genuinely take to heart that the worst possible outcome is possible, no matter how unlikely. She asked me whether I truly accepted that, and to be honest… I just don't know.
In a philosophical sense of the word, of course, we're all dying. Death really is the only thing we can be sure of in life, trite though that might be. And I engage in activities on a regular basis that dramatically increase my chances of dying (I'm thinking specifically of cycling in London, though I have no doubt there are others). So to be in denial about mortality seems foolish. But there's acknowledging that in a logical, academic way, and then there's really taking it to heart. And I don't know if I've done the latter.
I know I don't like to think about it, and definitely don't like to talk about it. Writing this blog post is a way of forcing myself to discuss the topic, and perhaps that's what it'll take to make me really internalise the concept. I guess I'm somewhat in a form of intentional denial; like the proverbial ostrich, perhaps if I refuse to acknowledge the possibility, that chance will disappear. Or perhaps it's simpler than that: I know what's possible, and know how easy it can be to get hung up on that idea and the accompanying fear, and am trying to avoid that. Because I am scared; whether I truly accept it or not, I do know the possible outcomes and there are some I don't want to consider. It may not be the healthiest way of dealing with it, though.
I'm generally a pretty good guy to have around in a crisis. When things go very wrong, I keep my cool, I assess the situation and I tackle things rationally and calmly. I freak out and get stressed by small to medium issues, but when the shit really hits the fan, I tend to become very focused. The upshot of this is that I tend to tackle logistics: what needs to be done, by when, what is the best way to achieve it, etc. My concern, I suppose, is that this coping mechanism may allow me to gloss over the bigger issues, the greater fears and perpetuate my denial, intentional or otherwise. And I'm clever enough to know that's not the healthiest approach in the long run. So I will try to accept it, whatever that means.
I am confident that Electra will pull through this ordeal with flying colours. Two years from now, I expect we will be stronger, healthier and happier than before, and will deal with the long-term ramifications of her treatment as they come (regular checkups, possible long-term medication requirements, etc.) I really do feel this is the case. But the shadow of that grim spectre does loom, quietly and forebodingly in the corner of my awareness, and it's time for me to accept his presence. I am confident that we will stave off his advances, but I should not (nay, cannot) ignore his existence.
So, there's a certain topic I have thus far avoided delving into: death. You'll have to excuse me if this post is a little less structured than some of the others, but that is a reflection of my thoughts, which are themselves a little unclear.
The fact of the matter is that this affliction is very serious. I know that's obvious, but I try to focus on the positives as much as possible: the advances in treatment, the high rate of success, the progress that Electra has made so far. But left untreated, AML has a mortality rate of 100%, often within months. The treatments have come a long way (a colleague of mine told me of her aunt who was treated several decades ago at a time when all they could do was a full blood transfusion every week or so). But they are not perfect, and as we've seen with recent revelations, things do not always go as smoothly as one would hope.
At the end of the day, the odds are good in this case, but nothing is guaranteed. Electra and I had "the death talk" the last time I was up, and she has been pushing me to make sure that I truly accept the possibility; that I genuinely take to heart that the worst possible outcome is possible, no matter how unlikely. She asked me whether I truly accepted that, and to be honest… I just don't know.
In a philosophical sense of the word, of course, we're all dying. Death really is the only thing we can be sure of in life, trite though that might be. And I engage in activities on a regular basis that dramatically increase my chances of dying (I'm thinking specifically of cycling in London, though I have no doubt there are others). So to be in denial about mortality seems foolish. But there's acknowledging that in a logical, academic way, and then there's really taking it to heart. And I don't know if I've done the latter.
I know I don't like to think about it, and definitely don't like to talk about it. Writing this blog post is a way of forcing myself to discuss the topic, and perhaps that's what it'll take to make me really internalise the concept. I guess I'm somewhat in a form of intentional denial; like the proverbial ostrich, perhaps if I refuse to acknowledge the possibility, that chance will disappear. Or perhaps it's simpler than that: I know what's possible, and know how easy it can be to get hung up on that idea and the accompanying fear, and am trying to avoid that. Because I am scared; whether I truly accept it or not, I do know the possible outcomes and there are some I don't want to consider. It may not be the healthiest way of dealing with it, though.
I'm generally a pretty good guy to have around in a crisis. When things go very wrong, I keep my cool, I assess the situation and I tackle things rationally and calmly. I freak out and get stressed by small to medium issues, but when the shit really hits the fan, I tend to become very focused. The upshot of this is that I tend to tackle logistics: what needs to be done, by when, what is the best way to achieve it, etc. My concern, I suppose, is that this coping mechanism may allow me to gloss over the bigger issues, the greater fears and perpetuate my denial, intentional or otherwise. And I'm clever enough to know that's not the healthiest approach in the long run. So I will try to accept it, whatever that means.
I am confident that Electra will pull through this ordeal with flying colours. Two years from now, I expect we will be stronger, healthier and happier than before, and will deal with the long-term ramifications of her treatment as they come (regular checkups, possible long-term medication requirements, etc.) I really do feel this is the case. But the shadow of that grim spectre does loom, quietly and forebodingly in the corner of my awareness, and it's time for me to accept his presence. I am confident that we will stave off his advances, but I should not (nay, cannot) ignore his existence.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Electra & AML: Healthy Person's Guilt
(See all posts related to Electra's ongoing treatment)
You'll have to pardon a bit of self-indulgence at this point, as this is a bit of a philosophical wander. If you wish to skip this borderline narcissistic self-analysis, please feel free to jump to the update, below.
There is a concept in trauma psychology called survivor's guilt. In short (largely because I don't 100% know what I'm talking about and have no psych qualifications whatsoever), survivor's guilt is guilt experienced by those who survive (counter-intuitive, I know!). In the event of a major tragedy, let's say a plane crash, those who survive are often wracked with guilt, doubly so if loved ones perished in the tragedy. Typical thoughts are along the lines of "Why did they die and I survived?". Even though that person had no control over their fate, nor the fate of others, they feel guilty at the thought that their loved ones did nothing wrong, and often nothing different, yet perished in the incident.
Sometimes, I think the same thing applies in a case like this one. Electra is a very healthy person. She eats better than I do, exercises more than I do, avoids alcohol more fastidiously than I do and just generally maintains a better lifestyle in many ways than I. In other areas, we're on par: we don't smoke, do drugs, work with hazardous chemicals, etc. So by any measure, she should be healthier than I. Yet I sit in her hospital room alert, fairly well-rested and healthy, while she struggles with fatigue, nausea and other ailments, all down to her cancer, or the treatment thereof. For no rhyme or reason, she is sick and I am not.
I know life isn't fair, and I certainly don't expect that it should be so. I don't believe in fate, or god. I don't think there is a grand plan for the universe, and so the concept of a cosmic balance is anathema to my view of life. Yet as much as I may know this to be the case, I can find it hard to believe, to really internalise. And so I do feel guilty sometimes, and I suspect many others who love her feel likewise. The main way in which this guilt manifests itself is the feeling that I'm not doing enough. I call this "healthy person's guilt".
Now, before I go further, let me be crystal clear: this is absolutely not a fishing-for-compliments attempt. I know logically that I am helping and am not looking for reassurances of that fact. Further, for reasons I'm not entirely clear on, I don't take compliments terribly well, so I sincerely am not looking for any kind of ego boost from this, so please do not construe it as such.
Instead, the point I'm trying to make is that this feeling is endemic to these types of situations. Part of it is my own tendency to set lofty goals and then follow-through poorly. When Electra's condition came to light, I had visions of doing reams of research into the condition, the treatment, case studies and support groups, and intended to work towards becoming an AML expert, insofar as is possible for someone untrained in human biology and medical science. Instead, I've done none of this. I still provide care and support, the research side has gone nowhere.
Secondly, it can be tough for me when I'm down south. Now, I hesitate to write this, because I will be reading it to Electra shortly and I don't want her to think for a minute that she's imposing on me in any way or that I'm resentful of the time I spend here. I'm not at all, but Electra isn't exactly immune to needless feelings of guilt. Instead, my point is that while I know (again, in the logical part of my brain) that I need to spend time away for my own well-being and mental health, it can be hard to internalise and I do sometimes feel guilty when I am absent. This visit was preceded by a two-and-a-half-week block in the south, due to work commitments and a doctor's appointment of my own which I couldn't easily reschedule. But 18 days is too long and I won't be away for such an extended period again. I have also been late in arriving the past two days, and have forgotten to bring certain items (books etc.) with me, something else for which I feel guilty.
In the end, this is something I need to work through, and I am. It is hard for me to be away, but it's also re-energising. And I do know that I'm helping, even if that is just to be here, cut her hair, hold her hand and sneak her some chips. A patient's mental well-being is vital to recovery and I know that I am aiding in this way, to some degree. So the important thing to scope out is where I am right and can/should be doing more (i.e. arriving on time for my visits) and where I'm being irrational and self-immolating. In the latter instance, I need to let my logical brain rule more and make peace with the fact that while I cannot wave a magic wand and cure Electra, that I am doing that which is in my power to do in order to help. I just wish I felt like I was doing enough.
UPDATE
So, a general update on progress. Electra is now well and truly in the neutrapenic phase of her second cycle. She finished the chemo a week ago (Saturday the 19th to be specific), and her neutrophils dropped to zero mid-week. She was allowed a brief respite out of the hospital from Monday through Thursday, and has been back in since Thursday morning.
This cycle has been a bit of a mixed bag. The treatment itself was more traumatic (in cycle one, she felt relatively few ill-effects during the first week of the actual application of the chemo, this time around she was weak and nauseous frequently). However, the neutrapenic recovery period has been more varied. In the first cycle, she was walloped pretty hard. I wasn't present but was in frequent touch and I know how tough it truly was for her. Fatigue was constant, nausea frequent and infections common. This time around has been much better. Her energy levels are often OK and her appetite has been pretty good overall. She's been able to be more alert and enthusiastic, both in person and on the phone. However, there are still some serious down points. She is frequented by bouts of discomfort and a general unwell feeling. Eating can often be draining, and she's still not sleeping perfectly. Though she's avoided major infections, she's spiked fevers from time-to-time and has been sweaty or clammy on occasion. But overall, it does give confidence that she can react well to the treatment. Whereas the last neutrapenic phase was an all-out thrashing, this one has played out more like an even-handed battle.
She should be coming out of the neautrapenic phase in a week or so and will hopefully get the following week out of the hospital. I'll be returning to London on Tuesday with the intent of coming up as soon as she's out so we can spend some time together in an environment that's more hospitable (and less hospital heh heh heh).
And I really will try to post more, I promise.
You'll have to pardon a bit of self-indulgence at this point, as this is a bit of a philosophical wander. If you wish to skip this borderline narcissistic self-analysis, please feel free to jump to the update, below.
There is a concept in trauma psychology called survivor's guilt. In short (largely because I don't 100% know what I'm talking about and have no psych qualifications whatsoever), survivor's guilt is guilt experienced by those who survive (counter-intuitive, I know!). In the event of a major tragedy, let's say a plane crash, those who survive are often wracked with guilt, doubly so if loved ones perished in the tragedy. Typical thoughts are along the lines of "Why did they die and I survived?". Even though that person had no control over their fate, nor the fate of others, they feel guilty at the thought that their loved ones did nothing wrong, and often nothing different, yet perished in the incident.
Sometimes, I think the same thing applies in a case like this one. Electra is a very healthy person. She eats better than I do, exercises more than I do, avoids alcohol more fastidiously than I do and just generally maintains a better lifestyle in many ways than I. In other areas, we're on par: we don't smoke, do drugs, work with hazardous chemicals, etc. So by any measure, she should be healthier than I. Yet I sit in her hospital room alert, fairly well-rested and healthy, while she struggles with fatigue, nausea and other ailments, all down to her cancer, or the treatment thereof. For no rhyme or reason, she is sick and I am not.
I know life isn't fair, and I certainly don't expect that it should be so. I don't believe in fate, or god. I don't think there is a grand plan for the universe, and so the concept of a cosmic balance is anathema to my view of life. Yet as much as I may know this to be the case, I can find it hard to believe, to really internalise. And so I do feel guilty sometimes, and I suspect many others who love her feel likewise. The main way in which this guilt manifests itself is the feeling that I'm not doing enough. I call this "healthy person's guilt".
Now, before I go further, let me be crystal clear: this is absolutely not a fishing-for-compliments attempt. I know logically that I am helping and am not looking for reassurances of that fact. Further, for reasons I'm not entirely clear on, I don't take compliments terribly well, so I sincerely am not looking for any kind of ego boost from this, so please do not construe it as such.
Instead, the point I'm trying to make is that this feeling is endemic to these types of situations. Part of it is my own tendency to set lofty goals and then follow-through poorly. When Electra's condition came to light, I had visions of doing reams of research into the condition, the treatment, case studies and support groups, and intended to work towards becoming an AML expert, insofar as is possible for someone untrained in human biology and medical science. Instead, I've done none of this. I still provide care and support, the research side has gone nowhere.
Secondly, it can be tough for me when I'm down south. Now, I hesitate to write this, because I will be reading it to Electra shortly and I don't want her to think for a minute that she's imposing on me in any way or that I'm resentful of the time I spend here. I'm not at all, but Electra isn't exactly immune to needless feelings of guilt. Instead, my point is that while I know (again, in the logical part of my brain) that I need to spend time away for my own well-being and mental health, it can be hard to internalise and I do sometimes feel guilty when I am absent. This visit was preceded by a two-and-a-half-week block in the south, due to work commitments and a doctor's appointment of my own which I couldn't easily reschedule. But 18 days is too long and I won't be away for such an extended period again. I have also been late in arriving the past two days, and have forgotten to bring certain items (books etc.) with me, something else for which I feel guilty.
In the end, this is something I need to work through, and I am. It is hard for me to be away, but it's also re-energising. And I do know that I'm helping, even if that is just to be here, cut her hair, hold her hand and sneak her some chips. A patient's mental well-being is vital to recovery and I know that I am aiding in this way, to some degree. So the important thing to scope out is where I am right and can/should be doing more (i.e. arriving on time for my visits) and where I'm being irrational and self-immolating. In the latter instance, I need to let my logical brain rule more and make peace with the fact that while I cannot wave a magic wand and cure Electra, that I am doing that which is in my power to do in order to help. I just wish I felt like I was doing enough.
UPDATE
So, a general update on progress. Electra is now well and truly in the neutrapenic phase of her second cycle. She finished the chemo a week ago (Saturday the 19th to be specific), and her neutrophils dropped to zero mid-week. She was allowed a brief respite out of the hospital from Monday through Thursday, and has been back in since Thursday morning.
This cycle has been a bit of a mixed bag. The treatment itself was more traumatic (in cycle one, she felt relatively few ill-effects during the first week of the actual application of the chemo, this time around she was weak and nauseous frequently). However, the neutrapenic recovery period has been more varied. In the first cycle, she was walloped pretty hard. I wasn't present but was in frequent touch and I know how tough it truly was for her. Fatigue was constant, nausea frequent and infections common. This time around has been much better. Her energy levels are often OK and her appetite has been pretty good overall. She's been able to be more alert and enthusiastic, both in person and on the phone. However, there are still some serious down points. She is frequented by bouts of discomfort and a general unwell feeling. Eating can often be draining, and she's still not sleeping perfectly. Though she's avoided major infections, she's spiked fevers from time-to-time and has been sweaty or clammy on occasion. But overall, it does give confidence that she can react well to the treatment. Whereas the last neutrapenic phase was an all-out thrashing, this one has played out more like an even-handed battle.
She should be coming out of the neautrapenic phase in a week or so and will hopefully get the following week out of the hospital. I'll be returning to London on Tuesday with the intent of coming up as soon as she's out so we can spend some time together in an environment that's more hospitable (and less hospital heh heh heh).
And I really will try to post more, I promise.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Electra & AML: The Eye of the Storm
(See all posts related to Electra's ongoing treatment)
This week has been one of respite, a nice change from the tedium, monotony and frustration of the hospital life: since last Friday (January 28th), Electra has been home from the hospital. Her neutrophils are up (as I mentioned earlier, these are the most common type of white blood cell and the chief weapon in the body's immune system). The measured level was sufficiently high that the hospital decided they'd had enough of her and kicked her out for some much-needed R&R (I may be paraphrasing the reasoning a little).
Unfortunately, due to a series of prior commitments I'd made when we'd assumed she'd be in the hospital much longer, I was confined to London for the weekend and Monday (I had an immovable presentation on Monday morning). So to my chagrin, I would miss the first weekend that Electra was to spend in comparative freedom, a rare gift in these times. We had various things to look forward to in home time-pancakes, sleeping in and movie nights principle amongst them. But alas, it was not to be. The schedule, as dictated by the hospital, was a blood test Monday, followed by a bone marrow test Tuesday and readmission to the hospital Thursday.
Monday went comparatively as planned, save for a return of the sore throat which originally triggered the tests leading to Electra's diagnosis. However, an examination showed this as nothing to be terribly worried about, and indeed it has faded since then. The car ride to and from the hospital drained Electra a lot, and she cancelled her planned evening with friends on Monday. That same day, I left directly from work and drove back up to Worcestershire, not the safest drive I've ever made as a result of my fatigue (another rant for another day), but I made it.
On Tuesday, Electra's imagination got the better of her. See, the first bone marrow test was intensely unpleasant for her, hardly surprising since it involves a large-gauge needle poking a hole in the back of one's hip bones. The problem is that while the test really is unpleasant, the thought of that unpleasantness can be daunting, and Electra found it difficult to go through a second time and asked the doctor if it were possible to be sedated. It was, but it meant she'd have to come back Thursday. This in turn meant she wouldn't be readmitted until Monday. When faced with the choice of pain and fear or free sedatives and another weekend at home (with me this time!), the choice was pretty straightforward. Even when I'm being hardest on myself, I still generally believe I'm preferable to a giant hip needle.
Yesterday (Wednesday) was a lovely evening out with four of Electra's friends. I haven't asked them for permission to use their names so they'll stay anonymous for not, but it was two couples, Electra's father and Electra & I. We went to a lovely little pub up the road from Electra's place, and had a very nice evening. It was also Electra's first time wearing the wig she got on the NHS scheme. It's very similar to her natural colour, though perhaps a touch more red in the highlights. It's semi-wavy and just to the shoulder. She looks good in it, and you wouldn't know it was a wig except that she hasn't figured out how to scratch her head without shifting around dramatically.
Today, then, was the revised date for the bone marrow biopsy. It all went well except that the sedatives didn't really kick in until about half an hour after the procedure. So Electra was lucid and somewhat pained by the procedure then loopy and happy and fun after the fact. Electra after sedation is similar to Electra after a few G&T's: friendly, loving, excited to see everyone, waving to passersby, and with a tendency to ramble on a bit, specifically about people and things she loves. Very endearing across the board.
Weeks like this are vital to the healing process, in my feeling. When dealing with something like cancer, there is a tendency for it to overwhelm every aspect of one's life. As a carer, I find this tough to escape: I take time for myself and spend some time just living and not thinking about cancer to whatever extent I can. But my thoughts wander as thoughts so often do. And they often drift back. In some ways, it's like when I was working on my Ph.D.; even when I took a night off, the shadow of my thesis loomed large, forever in the periphery of whatever I did. Some of this comes from wanting to keep people updated, and people checking in. And I really love that people care enough to want updates and don't ever want anyone to stop asking, but of course it makes forgetting about cancer-even for a day-difficult. Again, this is like the inevitable question I got during my postgrad ("How's the research/thesis going?" followed by the more-inevitable answer: "Rubbish. More beer please!").
So that makes this limited calm-in-between-storms all the more important. Because the shadow looms as dark and large as ever, but for awhile, we get to turn on an extra light or two and banish the dusk to the very corners of our lives. We get to watch mediocre TV, eat real meals, fall asleep and wake up together. And that break, that evanescent suspension of disbelief that life is as it was two months ago, helps provide the fortitude to persevere through the bad times. It is the security blanket of hope and reassurance that this, too, will end and normalcy and health will be restored. I only wish we had longer before the next onslaught.
On a more "meta" note, I'm hoping to slightly shift the way I make these posts. The dilemma of the lengthier posts such as this one is that writing them takes sufficiently long that I tend to put it off. Which of course gives me more to report one. So my new plan is to post more frequently, but shorter. So please stay tuned, and I'll try to fulfil that promise.
This week has been one of respite, a nice change from the tedium, monotony and frustration of the hospital life: since last Friday (January 28th), Electra has been home from the hospital. Her neutrophils are up (as I mentioned earlier, these are the most common type of white blood cell and the chief weapon in the body's immune system). The measured level was sufficiently high that the hospital decided they'd had enough of her and kicked her out for some much-needed R&R (I may be paraphrasing the reasoning a little).
Unfortunately, due to a series of prior commitments I'd made when we'd assumed she'd be in the hospital much longer, I was confined to London for the weekend and Monday (I had an immovable presentation on Monday morning). So to my chagrin, I would miss the first weekend that Electra was to spend in comparative freedom, a rare gift in these times. We had various things to look forward to in home time-pancakes, sleeping in and movie nights principle amongst them. But alas, it was not to be. The schedule, as dictated by the hospital, was a blood test Monday, followed by a bone marrow test Tuesday and readmission to the hospital Thursday.
Monday went comparatively as planned, save for a return of the sore throat which originally triggered the tests leading to Electra's diagnosis. However, an examination showed this as nothing to be terribly worried about, and indeed it has faded since then. The car ride to and from the hospital drained Electra a lot, and she cancelled her planned evening with friends on Monday. That same day, I left directly from work and drove back up to Worcestershire, not the safest drive I've ever made as a result of my fatigue (another rant for another day), but I made it.
On Tuesday, Electra's imagination got the better of her. See, the first bone marrow test was intensely unpleasant for her, hardly surprising since it involves a large-gauge needle poking a hole in the back of one's hip bones. The problem is that while the test really is unpleasant, the thought of that unpleasantness can be daunting, and Electra found it difficult to go through a second time and asked the doctor if it were possible to be sedated. It was, but it meant she'd have to come back Thursday. This in turn meant she wouldn't be readmitted until Monday. When faced with the choice of pain and fear or free sedatives and another weekend at home (with me this time!), the choice was pretty straightforward. Even when I'm being hardest on myself, I still generally believe I'm preferable to a giant hip needle.
Yesterday (Wednesday) was a lovely evening out with four of Electra's friends. I haven't asked them for permission to use their names so they'll stay anonymous for not, but it was two couples, Electra's father and Electra & I. We went to a lovely little pub up the road from Electra's place, and had a very nice evening. It was also Electra's first time wearing the wig she got on the NHS scheme. It's very similar to her natural colour, though perhaps a touch more red in the highlights. It's semi-wavy and just to the shoulder. She looks good in it, and you wouldn't know it was a wig except that she hasn't figured out how to scratch her head without shifting around dramatically.
Today, then, was the revised date for the bone marrow biopsy. It all went well except that the sedatives didn't really kick in until about half an hour after the procedure. So Electra was lucid and somewhat pained by the procedure then loopy and happy and fun after the fact. Electra after sedation is similar to Electra after a few G&T's: friendly, loving, excited to see everyone, waving to passersby, and with a tendency to ramble on a bit, specifically about people and things she loves. Very endearing across the board.
Weeks like this are vital to the healing process, in my feeling. When dealing with something like cancer, there is a tendency for it to overwhelm every aspect of one's life. As a carer, I find this tough to escape: I take time for myself and spend some time just living and not thinking about cancer to whatever extent I can. But my thoughts wander as thoughts so often do. And they often drift back. In some ways, it's like when I was working on my Ph.D.; even when I took a night off, the shadow of my thesis loomed large, forever in the periphery of whatever I did. Some of this comes from wanting to keep people updated, and people checking in. And I really love that people care enough to want updates and don't ever want anyone to stop asking, but of course it makes forgetting about cancer-even for a day-difficult. Again, this is like the inevitable question I got during my postgrad ("How's the research/thesis going?" followed by the more-inevitable answer: "Rubbish. More beer please!").
So that makes this limited calm-in-between-storms all the more important. Because the shadow looms as dark and large as ever, but for awhile, we get to turn on an extra light or two and banish the dusk to the very corners of our lives. We get to watch mediocre TV, eat real meals, fall asleep and wake up together. And that break, that evanescent suspension of disbelief that life is as it was two months ago, helps provide the fortitude to persevere through the bad times. It is the security blanket of hope and reassurance that this, too, will end and normalcy and health will be restored. I only wish we had longer before the next onslaught.
On a more "meta" note, I'm hoping to slightly shift the way I make these posts. The dilemma of the lengthier posts such as this one is that writing them takes sufficiently long that I tend to put it off. Which of course gives me more to report one. So my new plan is to post more frequently, but shorter. So please stay tuned, and I'll try to fulfil that promise.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Democracy=capitalism=evolution part 2: The Good
This is part 2 of this series of articles. Part 1 can be found here.
OK, so assuming you've read part one of this article, you will hopefully be more or less on my side as to the whole idea that democracy, political thought and capitalism work in fundamentally the same manner. That is, they change and adapt over time, not necessarily getting better, just more complex and better-suited to the current environment. There are some flaws in this, specifically in terms of collusion between political parties or companies, and I will address those, but that's more in the third part of this article. This article instead focuses on why I think this is a good thing, and we why "like" the ideas of democracy and the free market as much as we do.
The fundamental way in which I feel all three systems are similar (for those too lazy to read the first article), is that small changes, taken in aggregate, can affect the course of progress. Buyers, voters and external influences each only affect the entire ecosystem in minute ways, the overall effect is major, and can sculpt the future of a species, a company or a political party.
This, then, represents the first way that all three systems are a good thing. Each voice matters. Every vote, every sale (or lack thereof) every life, death and procreation, matters. In a situation where we feel irrelevant or meaningless, or that we have no sway over anything, we do. We are the drivers of change. And this is huge. Compare it to a command economy where the decisions are made wholly by the party in charge of the country, and you can see the appeal of a democratic system. Even though the people might make terrible choices and vote in a terrible leader (and his even-worse son), at least it was their choice. It give the average person ownership in a way that no other system does as well. We get the leaders we want, and the leaders we deserve.
SImilarly, in a commercial setting, people often misunderstand the concept of value. They'll look at a product and say "that product totally isn't worth it", and they might be right... for them. But if a company does overprice a product, the consumers will "vote" with their wallets, not buy it and the company will either lower the prices or pull the product. One of the most fundamental misunderstandings about the market is that the price of a product bears any relation to the cost of producing it. Other than giving a minimum cost that the company will charge for that product, it's simply wrong to think of the retail price of something as a cost price plus markup. The retail price is set by what the company think customers are willing to pay. We get the prices we deserve.
An interesting off-shot to this is corporate governance. Another misunderstanding in the marketplace is that companies are required to do everything they can to make profit for their shareholders. They're not; they're required to do exactly what their shareholders really want. If every Microsoft shareholder turned up tomorrow and voted for Microsoft to become a non-profit company that donated its time and resources to making open-source software given away free to the third-world, that's exactly what Microsoft would have to do. Shareholders are voters, too, and in a very direct way. The only problem with that is that if you want enough votes to make even the slightest blip on the company's radar, you need to be insanely wealthy. It's a voting system with a very high barrier to entry.
The second reason that these systems can be a good thing is the idea of proportional representation. Now, obviously, most major systems of government don't use proportional representation, but the theory is sound, and is often even reflected in the systems of government we do use. The idea is that if a certain value is held by a certain percentage of the populace, that value will be represented by the government to the same level. For example, if 30% of the population wants looser gun control, in theory 30% of the elected officials should support that position. As I've said, this isn't true in practice; however, in many cases, it can be reflected, especially in multi-party systems. Even within the American two-party system, different senators or congresspeople within one party can have differing views, and these often end up presenting a good cross-section of the public opinion.
In evolution, this is represented by how useful a trait is, and the level at which is becomes mutually advantageous. There are some traits that would not be useful for every member of a species to have. For example, Robin Baker's book Sperm Wars discusses the comparative evolutionary advantages and disadvantages to bisexuality. Because it gives one a more-varied sexual experience, it can make a bisexual individual more competent sexually, and thus more attractive. However, it can also increase the risk of STDs, and if everyone were to be bisexual the increased experience advantage would dissipate. As such, there is a natural balance where some members of the species are bisexual, giving them an advantage, but the remainder gleam different advantages by being heterosexual (in a glaring omission, the book doesn't discuss homosexuality). There are other traits that follow this pattern well. In commerce, of course, the link is even more obvious: the more accurately a product represents the public's desire, the more it will be bought. If 20% of people absolutely want an FM radio on their MP3 player, those 20% will never be iPod owners.
The final benefit to these systems is closely related to the last point: the niche market. The Galapagos Islands is the ultimate niche markets, those tiny, far-of islands that so enthralled Darwin. In that remote location, a plethora of species existed which lived nowhere else in the world. Each had been tuned by evolution specifically to that environment, and likely would perish if it had to compete with species in the rest of the planet, just as external species would quite possibly have been out-competed in the Galapagos. Those species had found their niches and dominated therein. Again, this has parallels elsewhere. Single-issue political parties can garner enough support to influence the debate, or a small group of concerned citizens or special interest groups can make their voices heard on the national level or a local one, filling their niche with the political recognition it might never get elsewhere. Products of course, often have niche appeal. Apple's sales pale in comparison to those of Dell or HP, much less the entirety of the Windows PC ecosystem; but they have aggressively targeted specific niches like the home, student and creative markets and have done very well (for example, they dominate the graphic and video design industries). As a result, their success in these niches have allowed them to prosper, albeit in a more-limited way than Microsoft.
The other "good" thing about all these systems is their seemingly intrinsic appeal to us. Don't get me wrong, getting to democracy and a free market has not been an easy path. At times, it's been a veritable slog. But I think we find the concept of democracy to be intrinsically appealing. I think that's why it's taken such a firm hold over our consciousness, and why we hope to see it spread. Usually, in cases where democracy has failed to take root, it's the actions of a few individuals with a lot of power that has prevented it, not the will of the citizenry. The question is, why do we feel that appeal? Well, all the reasons I listed above demonstrate the advantages of democracy, but I think there's another aspect to it. You see, we often evolve to like things that are good for us. We find the taste of most harmful or poisonous foods to be disgusting, because those of us who like the taste of poisonous mushrooms tend to die off before we can pass on our genes. The reason we like the taste of fatty and sugary foods (much ot the chagrin of our waistlines) is because our cavemen ancestors needed those ingredients to survive treks across the ice-age planet which could often last for weeks before the next food source could be found. So we intrinsically "like" things that are overall "good" for us.
Thus, I think the appeal of democracy, and of the free market, stems from its similarity to evolution. I think that we feel an affinity for those processes because they so closely mimic the natural course of our own evolution. One of the big boons of evolutionary theory is that it's very easy to understand (residents of Kansas aside). You don't need fancy computers, you don't need complex equations. The basic principle of evolution just makes sense: advantageous traits get passed on, disadvantageous ones cause the individuals with those traits to die early and are thus not passed on. So I think we recognise, on a subconscious level, that the other systems bear striking similarity to evolution, and it is that which gives them their greatest appeal, even though we might not identify it as the reason. Nature has voted us into prominence, and we have modeled our most successful financial and political systems after its own mechanisms. Kind of a poetic tip of the hat, if you will.
Ironic sidebar:
A funny thing occurred to me while I was writing this. I paralleled democracy and a free market system to evolution, because the naturally advantageous traits tend to bubble to the top through a series of seemingly meaningless individual "votes". But look at the archetypal rival to a free market democracy: a communist/socialist command economy. In this situation, an elite group of party members runs the whole thing from on high. They decide who gets what, how much, and the denizens of that society are expected to follow an implicit moral code that they will work for the betterment of society, regardless of the lack of personal remunerative benefits (i.e. if they work harder, they still get paid the same). You know what that sounds like to me? Religion. God imparting his views and controlling the world from on high, with an implicit code of behaviours, monitored and enforced by the threat of damnation if the code is broken. How ironic that the system of governance that has most fervently sought to ban religion is the one it most closely resembles?
Democracy is the worst form of government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.-Winston Churchill
OK, so assuming you've read part one of this article, you will hopefully be more or less on my side as to the whole idea that democracy, political thought and capitalism work in fundamentally the same manner. That is, they change and adapt over time, not necessarily getting better, just more complex and better-suited to the current environment. There are some flaws in this, specifically in terms of collusion between political parties or companies, and I will address those, but that's more in the third part of this article. This article instead focuses on why I think this is a good thing, and we why "like" the ideas of democracy and the free market as much as we do.
The fundamental way in which I feel all three systems are similar (for those too lazy to read the first article), is that small changes, taken in aggregate, can affect the course of progress. Buyers, voters and external influences each only affect the entire ecosystem in minute ways, the overall effect is major, and can sculpt the future of a species, a company or a political party.
This, then, represents the first way that all three systems are a good thing. Each voice matters. Every vote, every sale (or lack thereof) every life, death and procreation, matters. In a situation where we feel irrelevant or meaningless, or that we have no sway over anything, we do. We are the drivers of change. And this is huge. Compare it to a command economy where the decisions are made wholly by the party in charge of the country, and you can see the appeal of a democratic system. Even though the people might make terrible choices and vote in a terrible leader (and his even-worse son), at least it was their choice. It give the average person ownership in a way that no other system does as well. We get the leaders we want, and the leaders we deserve.
SImilarly, in a commercial setting, people often misunderstand the concept of value. They'll look at a product and say "that product totally isn't worth it", and they might be right... for them. But if a company does overprice a product, the consumers will "vote" with their wallets, not buy it and the company will either lower the prices or pull the product. One of the most fundamental misunderstandings about the market is that the price of a product bears any relation to the cost of producing it. Other than giving a minimum cost that the company will charge for that product, it's simply wrong to think of the retail price of something as a cost price plus markup. The retail price is set by what the company think customers are willing to pay. We get the prices we deserve.
An interesting off-shot to this is corporate governance. Another misunderstanding in the marketplace is that companies are required to do everything they can to make profit for their shareholders. They're not; they're required to do exactly what their shareholders really want. If every Microsoft shareholder turned up tomorrow and voted for Microsoft to become a non-profit company that donated its time and resources to making open-source software given away free to the third-world, that's exactly what Microsoft would have to do. Shareholders are voters, too, and in a very direct way. The only problem with that is that if you want enough votes to make even the slightest blip on the company's radar, you need to be insanely wealthy. It's a voting system with a very high barrier to entry.
The second reason that these systems can be a good thing is the idea of proportional representation. Now, obviously, most major systems of government don't use proportional representation, but the theory is sound, and is often even reflected in the systems of government we do use. The idea is that if a certain value is held by a certain percentage of the populace, that value will be represented by the government to the same level. For example, if 30% of the population wants looser gun control, in theory 30% of the elected officials should support that position. As I've said, this isn't true in practice; however, in many cases, it can be reflected, especially in multi-party systems. Even within the American two-party system, different senators or congresspeople within one party can have differing views, and these often end up presenting a good cross-section of the public opinion.
In evolution, this is represented by how useful a trait is, and the level at which is becomes mutually advantageous. There are some traits that would not be useful for every member of a species to have. For example, Robin Baker's book Sperm Wars discusses the comparative evolutionary advantages and disadvantages to bisexuality. Because it gives one a more-varied sexual experience, it can make a bisexual individual more competent sexually, and thus more attractive. However, it can also increase the risk of STDs, and if everyone were to be bisexual the increased experience advantage would dissipate. As such, there is a natural balance where some members of the species are bisexual, giving them an advantage, but the remainder gleam different advantages by being heterosexual (in a glaring omission, the book doesn't discuss homosexuality). There are other traits that follow this pattern well. In commerce, of course, the link is even more obvious: the more accurately a product represents the public's desire, the more it will be bought. If 20% of people absolutely want an FM radio on their MP3 player, those 20% will never be iPod owners.
The final benefit to these systems is closely related to the last point: the niche market. The Galapagos Islands is the ultimate niche markets, those tiny, far-of islands that so enthralled Darwin. In that remote location, a plethora of species existed which lived nowhere else in the world. Each had been tuned by evolution specifically to that environment, and likely would perish if it had to compete with species in the rest of the planet, just as external species would quite possibly have been out-competed in the Galapagos. Those species had found their niches and dominated therein. Again, this has parallels elsewhere. Single-issue political parties can garner enough support to influence the debate, or a small group of concerned citizens or special interest groups can make their voices heard on the national level or a local one, filling their niche with the political recognition it might never get elsewhere. Products of course, often have niche appeal. Apple's sales pale in comparison to those of Dell or HP, much less the entirety of the Windows PC ecosystem; but they have aggressively targeted specific niches like the home, student and creative markets and have done very well (for example, they dominate the graphic and video design industries). As a result, their success in these niches have allowed them to prosper, albeit in a more-limited way than Microsoft.
The other "good" thing about all these systems is their seemingly intrinsic appeal to us. Don't get me wrong, getting to democracy and a free market has not been an easy path. At times, it's been a veritable slog. But I think we find the concept of democracy to be intrinsically appealing. I think that's why it's taken such a firm hold over our consciousness, and why we hope to see it spread. Usually, in cases where democracy has failed to take root, it's the actions of a few individuals with a lot of power that has prevented it, not the will of the citizenry. The question is, why do we feel that appeal? Well, all the reasons I listed above demonstrate the advantages of democracy, but I think there's another aspect to it. You see, we often evolve to like things that are good for us. We find the taste of most harmful or poisonous foods to be disgusting, because those of us who like the taste of poisonous mushrooms tend to die off before we can pass on our genes. The reason we like the taste of fatty and sugary foods (much ot the chagrin of our waistlines) is because our cavemen ancestors needed those ingredients to survive treks across the ice-age planet which could often last for weeks before the next food source could be found. So we intrinsically "like" things that are overall "good" for us.
Thus, I think the appeal of democracy, and of the free market, stems from its similarity to evolution. I think that we feel an affinity for those processes because they so closely mimic the natural course of our own evolution. One of the big boons of evolutionary theory is that it's very easy to understand (residents of Kansas aside). You don't need fancy computers, you don't need complex equations. The basic principle of evolution just makes sense: advantageous traits get passed on, disadvantageous ones cause the individuals with those traits to die early and are thus not passed on. So I think we recognise, on a subconscious level, that the other systems bear striking similarity to evolution, and it is that which gives them their greatest appeal, even though we might not identify it as the reason. Nature has voted us into prominence, and we have modeled our most successful financial and political systems after its own mechanisms. Kind of a poetic tip of the hat, if you will.
Ironic sidebar:
A funny thing occurred to me while I was writing this. I paralleled democracy and a free market system to evolution, because the naturally advantageous traits tend to bubble to the top through a series of seemingly meaningless individual "votes". But look at the archetypal rival to a free market democracy: a communist/socialist command economy. In this situation, an elite group of party members runs the whole thing from on high. They decide who gets what, how much, and the denizens of that society are expected to follow an implicit moral code that they will work for the betterment of society, regardless of the lack of personal remunerative benefits (i.e. if they work harder, they still get paid the same). You know what that sounds like to me? Religion. God imparting his views and controlling the world from on high, with an implicit code of behaviours, monitored and enforced by the threat of damnation if the code is broken. How ironic that the system of governance that has most fervently sought to ban religion is the one it most closely resembles?
"Democracy is nothing but the Tyranny of Majorities, the most abominable tyranny of all, for it is not based on the authority of a religion, not upon the nobility of a race, not on the merits of talents and of riches. It merely rests upon numbers and hides behind the name of the people."-Proudhon
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Democracy=capitalism=evolution
"It is almost as if the human brain were specifically designed to misunderstand Darwinism, and to find it hard to believe."-Richard Dawkins
This is part 1 of a series, which will probably go to three parts. Part 2 can be found here, part 3 will be linked when written.
A thought occurred to me the other week, and I thought to myself "where better to articulate this idea than my blog that nobody reads and I haven't updated in ages?" So, here I am. The thought that occurred to me is this: democracy, free-market capitalism and evolution are the same. Obviously, they apply to different areas of the world, but the main principles that underlie their operation are the same. This lends itself to a shared appeal and shared risks, and I think that if we observe the way things work in one area, we can often draw useful parallels to the others.
To keep this organised, because I think it might go a little long for a single post, I'm going to break this up into three areas. The first (this one) is going to be an outline of my hypothesis, and an explanation on why I feel this is the case. My intent is that by the end of this post, you will agree with my overall idea. The second post will discuss the benefits that this can bring, and also why this symmetry is inherently appealing to us. Finally, in the third post I will discuss the often-overlooked dangers and risks that arise as a result of this, especially in economics; I will also posit some potential solutions, if I'm feeling bold enough.
Evolution, capitalism and democracy are ultimately three forms of natural selection, each applies to different areas of life, obviously, but to address their similarities, there are are a few areas that stand out. If we examine the progress of the entire ecosystem, we see trends emerge in the complexity of individual species, species differentiation and species selection (the manner in which species thrive in certain environments or falter and die out). It is these areas that parallel one another in the three areas of life.
Species Selection: In every case, a variety of new "species" enter into the field of interest over time. In the case of evolution, these are different plant, animal and microbe species, introduced by random genetic variations on existing species; in capitalism, they are new business ideas and products, introduced by individuals out to make a profit; in democracy they are both new political ideas and entirely new political parties. In each case the new species is often a minor twist on an existing one, but is sometimes a radically different entity. In each case, myriad species throughout the biosphere/marketplace/political landscape compete, and over time each species will succeed or fail to differing degrees. The process by which this happens is through competition, and through a large number of small, externally influenced choices. A new biological species will compete for limited resources such as food and water with the existing species. Whatever trait makes them different from their predecessors will allow them to either out-compete the other species, or they will suffer as a result of it. Humankind's opposable thumbs allowed us to use tools in a way that gave us an advantage over those species lacking such a trait-this gave us greater access to food. In the marketplace, a product will either appeal to a wide range of people (the iPod, for example) or will sink miserably (the Ford Edsel). Individual transactions are each very small-one iPod purchase doesn't markedly change Apple's fortunes. But it is the aggregate advantages or disadvantages that allow them to compete. Similarly, in politics, a party's popularity depends on how it differentiates itself from its competitors; if you come out strongly against taxes, and that is an issue of great importance to people, your party will thrive through the aggregate of millions of individual votes.
In each case, it is the sum of a vast number of minute actions that allows a change to propagate throughout the landscape. If many individuals buy a product based on a specific feature, that feature will often spread to other products; at the same time, the progenitor of that feature will prosper. A party's politics garner it more or fewer votes, and this,taken at large, is the instrument of their success. As a new biological feature provides a benefit to a specific arena, it will become more common, or even omnipresent within that locale. However, in each case, what works in one place often doesn't translate elsewhere. Camels are biologically well-suited to desserts and have thrived there; however the trade-offs made to survive there make them poorly suited to colder climes. The politics of one country would be perpetually ill-suited to the different culture of another, and those same ideas will forever fail to take root. And products on the marketplace are often popular in only one region, as adhering to the tastes and preferences of that culture. Thriving in one area often requires trade-offs that make a species ill-suited to another climate.
Furthermore, the process of evolution involves the flaring up and dying out of different species. Many lines of animals and plants have gone completely extinct (dinosaurs, etc.). In this case, an external event changed the environment such that the unique attributes of that species made them ill-suited to their habitat. In the political world, ideologies come and go depending on the changing needs of its people. Communism and fascism, though both still in existence, lack the sway they once had. Feudalism is almost completely extinct in much of the world. These ideas-once more-are not inherently terrible; it's just that the environment changed such that they were no longer good fits. The marketplace is littered with dead products-when was the last time you bought a manual loom, a suit of plate mail armour or an eight-track player? As new products have arisen and been better suited to the then-current zeitgeist, entire lineages of products have fallen by the wayside.
An offshoot to this is the niche species. In each venue, niche species can exist. There exist certain animals that thrive in a very specific part of the world, or under very specific conditions. In that domain, they are king; outside of that domain, they rarely exist; the aforementioned camels are a perfect example of this. In products, companies will often target specific niches: Apple has gone after the home and consumer market with its computers, largely ignoring the enterprise/large business market. Again, they have been successful by doing this one thing well, which contrasts to Microsoft's strategy which is to spread Windows far and wide: business, home, Xbox, phone, cars, battleships, televisions, and more. The fact that Microsoft has obtained success in these myriad arenas shouldn't detract from Apple's success: though their overall size and finances are dwarfed by Microsoft, they make billions of dollars every year by targeting their niche, and doing it well. In the political arena, fringe political parties and ideas, and single-issue candidates can often achieve a measure of success by focusing, with pinpoint accuracy on a specific niche.
Species Complexity: It is a common misconception that in evolution, later ideas are somehow intrinsically "better". This implies a value judgment that's simply impossible to make in each case, as there is no universal indicator of "good" vs. "bad". Furthermore it implies a morality that doesn't make sense on a biological scale. However, there is an overall trend that can be observed throughout the history of biological evolution: increasing complexity. From basic protein chains and amino acids to single-celled creatures such as paramecia and bacteria, on up through multi-cellular microbes, to invertebrates, then vertebrates, through to today's multi-system, intelligent, blog-writing organisms. There are exceptions of course, and simple unicellular organisms obviously still exist, but the overall trend has been towards an increase in complexity.
The same is true of politics and commercial products. Three hundred years ago, there was no electricity, no computers; everything could be made by a small team of people or even individual blacksmiths, etc. Modern products are much more complex on average-they require teams with scores of people to design and build them; factories that cost billions of dollars. More and more products are unrepairable due to their complexity. This doesn't necessarily mean that the products are better than the old ones, but nobody can contest that an iPod is more complex than a gramophone. Simple products still exist-a fork today isn't terribly different than a fork 100 years ago, but the overall trend is clearly one of increasing complexity. Politics were a little faster, but the further back you go, the more simplistic the political platforms: taxes have always been an issue, but recent events such as internationalisation, terrorism, and the issues of race, religion and more have lent an importance and complexity to political platforms that simply didn't exist hundreds of years ago. It's not enough to have a view on local issues, taxes and whether slavery is a good thing or not (hint: no, it isn't); you now need to be well-versed in global issues, the effects of free trade and economic deregulation, international conflicts between nations big and small. Again, there are single-issues political parties that still exist (e.g. the Marijuana Party of Canada), but the overall trend has been towards increasingly-complex political platforms.
In every case, successive generations are modified versions of their predecessors. As a result, new features and designs have been incorporated into the existing motif. As a result, the trend is to increasingly complex and feature-rich products, political theories and species. Each betrays the history of its lineage: our history is written into our DNA, showing the fingerprints of our ancestors; modern products' complexity is due to their past advancements and the platform of a modern political party is a testament to those who came before.
Species Differentiation: In all three arenas, differentiation between species can happen in a myriad of ways. The first creatures to leave the oceans prospered because of their ability to breathe oxygen and survive outside water. Some species develop traits that allow then to eat foods others cannot access (e.g. giraffes) while others develop more predatory or defensive mechanisms (lions and armadillos, respectively). In politics, parties will choose single issues in which to plant their flag, or will target specific audiences that others ignore. Differentiation is even more pronounced in the marketplace. Apple, for example, has placed its bets on style and panache: the iPod lacks features such as an FM tuner, Windows Media support and built-in voice recording that other products have; yet Apple's style, fashionability and slick marketing have differentiated them in a way that other music players have been unable to match, to great success.
This links back to the first point, in that species selection happens based on the overall picture of a given species. However, it's important to note that whether the change happens from a product planning meeting, a genetic mutation or a new political strategy, that each species can differentiate itself in myriad ways. Some will be advantageous to the current climate, and the species will prosper, maintaining that trait. In other cases, they will have picked a trait that hurts them or gives no advantage, and the change will not take root.
End Result: At the end of the day, the goal of any species is survival-to expand, to prosper and to pass its genes on. A company wants to increase its profits. A political party wants to get more votses, and thus obtain more power. Richard Dawkins speaks of the "Selfish Gene", the idea that we are but vessels for our genes. Any trait that can be passed on will propagate if it is beneficial for the current situation and will fade away if not. This same idea exists in other forms in the other two arenas. Adam smith spoke of the "unseen hand" of the market place: that economic forces would naturally push the better-adapted ideas to the top and subvert those poorly adapted to the current consumer climate. Politically, this is the entire concept of democracy: that votes represent individual endorsements, and that the ideas with the most pertinence to the wider society will prosper.
And this, then, is the crux of my argument. A vote is like a purchase which is like the survival of an individual member of a species. Each contributes only a little to the grander picture. Nobody can look at a single vote, or a single product sold, or an individual animal or plant that survives and see what will come in the future. But the sum total of the individuals that survive, over time, will dictate the nature of any and all future species; products that sell well give indications of the public's wants and needs and companies will respond in kind, creating more products with those features, ensuring that the successful and well-adapted features spread across the market; political forces respond not to single votes, but to the overall feeling of the nation. If an idea is insanely popular with 20% of the public, the party that espouses that idea should get 20% of the votes. The result is a government comprised in equal parts of the wishes and desires of the public (in theory-obviously other factors can and do influence this). Similarly the public receives exactly the products they most desire because any company releasing a product ill-suited to common desires will be ignominiously shunted from the marketplace. It's a vicious world in many ways, but one in which each individual matters. Though our contributions may be small, we vote-whether at the ballot box or the cash register. And just as a species' future is dictated by how well it responds to nature's votes (the lives or deaths of individuals of that species) so too do our products and our political representation evolve, adapt and grow ever more complex to meet the demands of the public. The selfish gene, the invisible hand and the "one man, one vote" policy all give a system where small, seemingly insignificant pushes and prods add up to powerful forces, capable of swaying the fates of entire species.
"Democracy is the worst form of government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time."-Winston Churchill
Friday, April 11, 2008
Not all atheists are snobs
"We are all atheists about most of the gods that societies have ever believed in. Some of us just go one god further."-Richard Dawkins
There's a blog I read with great regularity (whenever a new article pops up on my RSS feed), called Violent Acres; I like it so much, it's one of the few links in my sidebar. Generally, V (as the author is known) is astute and clever; often controversial, but generally she at least makes good points. But I feel that her recent post, Atheists are Snobs, misses the mark in a way very few of her others ever had. It's not because I'm an atheist myself (I am); it's because I think she falls prey to the exact same generalisations she preaches against.
Take this quotation, for example:
Atheists think they’re being clever with their spaghetti monster analogies and fairy tale rhetoric, but at the end of the day, they come off sound like condescending pricks.
This is where I think the first flaw comes in. She paints all atheists with the same brush. This includes zealots (and there are atheistic zealots) and moderates, intellectuals and dumbasses. She paints Richard Dawkins-a well-spoken, erudite opponent of organised religion-with the same brush as the mouth-breathers who decide that a facebook forum about Apple computers is the right place to rehash the same old creationism-vs-evolution argument again and again in stilted English and poorly-constructed critiques.
The problem is, there are many of us, and we're just as diverse as any other group. I'm an atheist, but I've been to Baptist, Catholic, Anglican, Presbyterian and Protestant churches. I've been in love twice-once with a Mennonite and once with a Catholic, and have dated girls who were Christian, Hindu and atheist. I discuss religion frequently with my friends, religious and atheist alike. I think religion does some wonderful things in the world (charity, preaching morals, anti-drug programs and so forth), and does some terrible things (inspiring divisiveness, crusading against science, blocking the distribution of condoms to Africa and so forth). I have no problem with someone being religious, and am actually intrigued as to what compels them to their faith. Not so I can dissuade them from it, but because I think it speaks to a core need in ourselves, something V addresses when she says:
I, myself, have not been able to claim belief in a higher power for many, many years. However, I can still see the value in Religion. Perhaps growing up without a strong parental figure in my life made me recognize the possible value of a loving Father figure up in the sky watching out for me. And hey, I try my best not forget that sometimes we all need something to believe in.So, I get it-I accept that faith in a higher power is an almost intrinsic characteristic of humanity. Hell, I often wish I could feel what religious people feel. That confidence, that peace which must accompany an unwavering belief in something bigger than us, with a plan for all of us, a glorified father figure who wants us all to be happy (despite plagues, famine war, and so on). I really do wish I could believe that. But too many things don't add up and I can't bring myself to believe (I won't go into the details here, you probably know them all by now).
Later on, V gets somewhat personal in her attacks, and pushes her stereotype further:
Most Atheists have the tendency to thumb their noses at Jesus, and then log onto World of Warcraft so they can pretend to be an orc for a couple of hours. They sneer at the Bible, but have no problem playing endless hours of vampire role playing games. The message is clear. Fantasies are OK as long as they include gratuitous violence and some sort of porn.
She has now labelled the majority of atheists as basement-dwelling anti-social troglodytes (not to mention implying that being a World of Warcraft fan makes one guilty of being just that). I don't play WoW, I don't even play much in the way of computer games. I'm a Ph.D. student in Electrical and Electronic Engineering, a nerdy profession indeed, but I nonetheless have a significant social life and the social skills to match. But again, that's not the point. The point is those last two sentences.
"The message is clear. Fantasies are OK as long as they include gratuitous violence and some sort of porn," she says smugly and-dare I say it-rather snobbishly. Putting aside the inherent superiority she touts over the 8.5 million people with the audacity to enjoy an online game, it is here that she shows her lack of comprehension. Because the message is clear, she just didn't read it right; the message is this: "Fantasies are OK, as long as everyone knows they're fantasies, and nobody tried to work them into broader life and legislation and as long as they do no harm". Nobody credible, or with any authority, believes that World of Warcraft is factual, and nobody proposes laws requiring that children be equipped with a helmet of +5 protection when leaving the house.
See, this is the main bone of contention amongst the atheists, to the extent that we can all agree on something: religion isn't science. Creationism has become one of the core battlegrounds in the brewing religious furor between the believers and we godless heathens. I have no real problem with people choosing to believe that the earth was created in seven days by an omnipotent deity. I think it's a little crazy, but I believe in their right to believe in crazy things. What bothers me is when school boards in Kansas vote to teach Intelligent Design (a thinly-veiled code-word for Creationism) in schools. What bothers me is when I get told I'm inferior and damned to an eternity of hellfire and torture because I don't believe. What bothers me is when religion gets in the way of common sense, ultimately causing harm. In short, what bothers me is the zealots, the religious extremists.
But you know what? I don't think all Christians are like this. In fact, I don't think the overwhelming majority of Christians are like this. While we're at it, I don't think the majority of Muslims are suicide bombers in waiting. I think, regardless of the religion, that the majority of the people who practise said religion are decent, moderate, often intelligent people who happen to believe something I don't. And you know what? It would be categorically wrong of me to classify all Christians as bible-thumping, evolution-denying wacknuts. But those are the ones that get the media attention; it is those squeaky wheels that get the grease and therefore many people castigate all Christians for the outlandish actions of a vocal few. And people who do paint with this broad are brush are shortsighted and quick to judgement. So why is it OK to paint all atheists with the same broad brush?
Most atheists are decent, moderate, often intelligent people. We are well-intentioned and tolerant, we work we play and we socialise. We just happen to not believe in something that religious people do. But you know what-the wacknuts, the extremists, the ones who are not just non-religious, but who are actively against religion in all its forms, and are on some misguided quest to annihilate it? They're the ones who get the attention; they're the ones you remember. But someone as smart as V should know better, should look beyond that and realise they are the vocal minority. They are the atheistic equivalent to the Creation-preaching Kansas extremist Christians, they are the atheistic equivalent to Al-Qaeda (only less well-armed and well-funded). Their reaction is natural-when confronted with a strong, vocal minority, it makes some sense to react with equal fervour, but they do the rest of us a disservice because otherwise-right-thinking people like V are misled by that very fervour into believing we're all extremist atheists. And we're just not.
V, if you somehow read this, I hope you will realise that your post describes a mere minority of atheists, albeit those you're most likely to notice and remember. Just don't make the same foibles they do, by blaming the many for the extreme actions of the few. That's ill-informed, myopic and-to be brutally honest-a little bit snobby.
"It was, of course, a lie what you read about my religious convictions, a lie which is being systematically repeated. I do not believe in a personal God and I have never denied this but have expressed it clearly. If something is in me which can be called religious then it is the unbounded admiration for the structure of the world so far as our science can reveal it."-Albert Einstein.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Dating CV
"Experience is that marvelous thing that enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again."- Franklin P. Jones
I think we need to extend this concept to the realm of dating. After all, dating is one of the areas of our lives that has the greatest bearing on our personal happiness, and yet it's basically a crapshoot. We go on dates to learn about the other person, but from the get-go we know next to nothing about them; we essentially choose randomly for something that is intrinsic to our personal contentment. Maybe it's time to start culling the herd before we leap into the fray of dating.
Just as in the job market, there is no "perfect" CV. Different skills are required for different jobs, and different attributes apply to different people. But we cannot gauge the attributes of a potential suitor until it's too late and we're dating them. What if we could pre-filter "applicants" by looking for those with skills we desire? You want someone who knows how to cook? That had better be on their CV. Prefer to date only short (or tall, thin, fat, whatever) partners? Why not have that listed right up front? It wouldn't guarantee a match, but might boost your odds.
Of course, this removes some of the spontaneity, the joy inherent in discovering the attributes that make up your partner; truly this is one of the best things about the early stages of dating, you feel like an intrepid explorer charting new territory. But this joy is tempered with a major risk of failure-you might find out something that's an absolute deal-breaker in your view, something that with adequate warning could have been noted before any risk of heartbreak. This is already done to a degree by those engaging in online dating sites: when you get a list of a potential date's likes, dislikes and more, you are already filtering people based on your criteria. So why not formalise the concept?
Of course, getting references might be tricky. How can you expect an honest reference from an ex if the relationship ended badly? Though you might have many wonderful qualities, the enmity they feel since your breakup could forever colour their feelings. And of course, like any other CV, people will stretch the truth. "I can make a frozen pizza" suddenly becomes "I have an affinity for and exemplary skill in Italian cuisine".
Who knows? Maybe one day we'll enact this, and we'll soon enough see couples on the dance floors of popular clubs, exchanging two-page CVs detailing the highlights of their dating abilities. Past partners will be called for references, and we will weigh up all those who seek our affection. After a thorough, yet expedient evaluative process, we will contact the successful applicant, and they can begin their training. And what's more romantic than bringing mindless corporate logic and efficiency to the world of dating?
So, please use the comments section below to post what you would put on your dating CV.
NOTE: If you have taken this post with even the slightest wisp of seriousness, please write the word "sarcasm" on a cricket bat and apply it forcibly and repeatedly to your forehead. Consider this holiday goofiness at it's best. I ultimately just want a way to brag about my back massaging skills.
NOTE: If you have taken this post with even the slightest wisp of seriousness, please write the word "sarcasm" on a cricket bat and apply it forcibly and repeatedly to your forehead. Consider this holiday goofiness at it's best. I ultimately just want a way to brag about my back massaging skills.
"Love is the answer, but while you're waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty interesting questions."- Woody Allen
Friday, November 23, 2007
When's "Buy more Day"?
"Some see private enterprise as a predatory target to be shot, others as a cow to be milked, but few are those who see it as a sturdy horse pulling the wagon."- Winston Churchill
Today is Buy Nothing Day. To celebrate, I'm going to buy some stuff. Because, you see, buy nothing day irritates me. It irritates me for practical reasons, it irritates me for philosophical reasons. To a degree, my concerns are quite rational, but I will admit to some illogic as well, insofar as it is largely the proponents of BND who bother me more than the concept itself. So let me address my concerns under those two headings: practical and principled.
Practical: Guess what guys? If you stick fastidiously to buying nothing over the course of today, it makes no difference. None. Because not only are you in an incredibly slim minority of people who actually adhere to the concept, but ultimately your shopping patterns don't change. You're still going to buy just as much stuff, you'll just buy more tomorrow. You can't go without food, and you won't go without the consumer goods that you want. BND is like those one-day gas boycotts that get suggested every now and again, where people hope to "send a message to the big gas companies" by not filling up their car one day: if a handful of people boycott gas stations for a day, then fill up the next day, the companies won't feel it. Ditto for BND.
Principled: I wholeheartedly agree with some of the points that AdBusters (the progenitors of BND) make. I think we have become an overly-consumeristic, wasteful society. It is sad and shocking that 20% of the world's population consumes 80% of its resources. We are causing massive environmental damage in our insatiable quest for more stuff, and that stuff often gets in the way of family, friends and actually experiencing life. But BND, and its proponents, go further. The undercurrent is that any consumerism is bad. You shouldn't care at all about things, you shouldn't want objects, just peace, happiness and friends. Bullshit. I enjoy the time I spend on the internet, and its ability to keep me connected to those friends, be they across the street or on the other side of the planet. So should I feel guilty about wanting a computer? I enjoy movies and some television shows-should I feel guilty about wanting a TV, a DVD player and a nice sound system? What about my iPod-am I a bad person because I like to listen to music on the go? That's ultimately what is insinuated by BND and its most fervent followers: capitalism=bad, consumerism=bad.
Furthermore, many go further. I've actually heard people, in the pursuit of BND, say that this is a model for how we should always operate. These people (and admittedly my undergrad was full of uber-hippies) actually espoused a return to the barter system. The barter system! You know, that thing we got rid of, because it's seriously flawed? The system that only ever works when there's a mutual and symbiotic needs arrangement between two parties? Yeah, that barter system. Forget international trade, forget a common unit of currency, we'll just trade for everything. The best part is that these selfsame people were the ones most actively pushing for the government to reduce tuition. Now I think education should be free, and I think the government should fully fund it for those qualified to attend. But unlike the BND fanatics, I understand how that can happen. The way you get a government to fund something is to have a good social policy in place, and a robust economy to support its investments. The government gets its money from taxes: income tax, sales tax and business tax. If nobody's buying anything, nobody is getting paid, so say goodbye to income tax. Plus, since there are no money-based sales, au revoir to sales tax. And of course, those businesses are no longer earning money, so farewell my good friend business tax. So, no money for the government; I guess they'll just trade the professors some apples in exchange for their teaching. Idealism is great, but when it's not balanced with a sense of reality, you end up looking like a raving loony.
Capitalism has some serious flaws, and unfettered consumerism is bad. We live in a nation consumed and oft-crippled by credit card debt and we're polluting the planet to fulfill our unquenchable thirst for more. But one of the realities of a free market is that it shows very clearly what people want. Wanting things is part of human nature; we measure standard of living not just by our health and education, but by our creature comforts and amenities. These can never replace human interaction in our lives, but they can augment it, and I'm sick and tired of being made to feel guilty because I want a fast computer and a big-screen TV one day. As soon as Visa ups my credit limit...
"A major source of objection to a free economy is precisely that it gives people what they want instead of what a particular group thinks they ought to want."-Milton Friedman
Not everyone should go to university
Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything one learned in school.-Albert Einstein
I pay a lot for my tuition. I paid a lot for my undergrad tuition in Canada. University is an expensive proposition in many parts of the world, and it shouldn’t be. University should be free to everyone who is good enough to partake, and can benefit from the experience. The problem is, at some point we assumed that those conditions applied to everyone. And they never have.
The UK government has a stated goal of 50% university enrollment. On the surface this seems like a great suggestion; after all, an educated society is a thriving one. Education really is the silver bullet that can cure a myriad of social ills. The problem is that such a goal is untenable in a world where the cost of university, be it borne by the government or the individual, is as high as it is in this world. Simply put, professors and equipment are expensive, and the more of them you need to hire and buy, respectively, the more that university bill will grow.
Let’s put it simply: imagine you have enough money in the national budget to pay the entirety of 100,000 student’s tuition. You admit 100,000 students and none of them pays a penny for the education itself; maybe you even subsidise housing, though I suppose free beer legislation shall forever remain a fantasy. Now, increase that number-admit 200,000 students. All of a sudden, the budget strains; say goodbye to subsidised housing, and say hello to tuition fees.
The first danger of this is obvious: when there is a financial cost involved with university, some people simply won’t be able to afford it. Even though the commensurate increase in potential earnings will compensate for the costs in the long-run (in most cases), the up-front cost can be crippling. Bursaries, scholarships and student loans can help, but when money is involved, there will inevitably be some people who simply cannot afford to go. Every qualified, capable student who cannot attend university is a lost opportunity and a loss to society.
The knock-on effects of such a policy, however, prove even more deleterious to wider society. 30 years ago, a high school diploma would be sufficient many jobs in the world. Today, even bus drivers and grocery store cashiers will often have university degrees. Which means that lacking such a degree cripples one’s career prospects. There are many jobs for which a university degree is unnecessary and, ultimately, a waste of time and money. Plumbers, mechanics, administrative staff can all do without spending three to four years discussing the ramifications of Sartre. But when presented with two job candidates, only one of whom lacks a degree, the situation is dire for that individual. Congratulations, you’ve made going to university mandatory for anyone with any career aspirations.
Of course, there’s more to university than simply preparing for the working world. There’s the joy of learning, the social atmosphere, and the chance to open your mind to new thoughts and ideas, and to challenge yourself at every turn. And all of these are great, and should be encouraged. But it’s an experience that just isn’t for everyone. And when you exclude capable students who could benefit from all this to make room for those who feel they must attend university, you’ve lost out again.
So what’s the solution? Stringent entrance requirements and a limit on the size of the student body. Those who attend university should do so because of the learning it can bring, and should be driven in that manner. They should be academically and intellectually gifted and open-minded. When push comes to shove, they should have a reason for wanting to be here, rather than simply feeling a coercive force to be.
If you can get into university, and have the drive to do so, you should. No tuition fees should stand in your way (and “top-up fees” are nothing but a poorly-disguised set of tuition fees). But you should want to be here. You should be driven to be here. And you should have a reason to be here. Because if you don’t, if what you want out of life is to be a plumber, then the government’s investment in your tuition is wasted. We need more plumbers. They just don’t necessarily need to hold degrees in art history.
Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.-Oscar Wilde
Friday, September 28, 2007
Why I judge you for using bad grammar
"The language denotes the man. A coarse or refined character finds its expression naturally in a coarse or refined phraseology."-Bovee
This is an opinion article I wrote for my university newspaper, Student Direct.
The English language is under siege. It is under siege not from a hostile invader or a devious interloper, but rather from sloth and a lack of care. But the result is the same: the detriment and dissolution of a once-proud establishment is evident; the war of attrition is beginning to take its toll.
The first salvo was the spelling checker. A brilliant idea, when used to augment one’s spelling ability, the spell checker has devolved into a crutch. This can be shown in two ways. We all know someone who relies on the spell checker, and its younger sibling, the auto-corrector, because they no longer truly know how to spell. But the effects of this go much deeper. More and more, people fail to understand the difference between “their” and “they’re”, between “your” are “you’re”. Even wholly disconnected words have begun to be interchangeable. On far too many messageboards and facebook walls have I seen people who cannot differentiate the words “lose” and “loose” despite their wildly different meanings.
The strongest weapon in this epic battle, however, came in the form of small messages, both SMS text messages and instant messenger clients such as MSN. A new shorthand arose, especially in the case of SMS, where a 160-character hard limit enforced a decided sense of brevity. “You’re” and “your” became not only interchangeable, but reduced to “ur”, “are” became “r” and so forth.
The real damage did not come, however, until this shorthand extended its tendrils into mainstream society. With a short message, the brevity I described is understandable, and even I cannot decry its use. But when that vile shorthand begins to appear in emails, letters and (as has become increasingly common) submitted essays in school, a serious blow has been dealt to the English language. Combined with a general decay in attention to grammar and spelling, eventual capitulation often seems inevitable.
So, why does this matter? After all, language is fluid and dynamic; the English we speak now varies dramatically from that spoken by Shakespeare and his cohort. Slang and idiomatic expressions have long shaped the face of any language and always will. We incorporate new words both into the common tongue and into our official bastion of the language, The Oxford English Dictionary. Is this not simply another evolution of the same process? I don’t think it is, and I believe this for a number of reasons.
The first is the motivation behind this shift, and the speed at which is has occurred. These changes have been inspired by laziness and imprecision, not by an organic evolutionary process. They have entered the language quickly, leaving older generations often unawares and leaving little time for a truly cohesive set of language to coalesce.
My biggest qualm, however, is that these words are neither new nor more-descriptive. In fact, they achieve quite the contrary: when you confuse “you’re” with “your” by shortening them all into “ur”, you lose (not loose) variety in the language. The context may differentiate the meaning, but the flavour of the language has gone. Language is a tool. Like any craftsman, a writer hones his art through the application of a tool, and imperfections and dullness in that tool results in an inferior end product. One would never expect a carver to work with a dull knife, yet people are increasingly writing with dulled and rusty linguistics.
It’s not a minor point that in Orwell’s 1984, Newspeak, the pride of Oceania, is hailed for its perpetually-shrinking vocabulary. That the language gets smaller every year is seen by the misguided souls who push it as a benefit. In the mock-Communist world of the novel, that lack of flavour is representative of a world under the thumb of tyranny. The meaning is there, but everything that makes a language unique and colourful has been stripped away. In such a world, Shakespeare would not write “that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, he would instead simply state “I don’t care who your family is”. The meaning remains, but the joy and depth of the phrase is forever lost.
This war rages all around us, and will do so for the foreseeable future. It does so on badly-spelt YouTube pages, it does so in hastily-checked emails. The warriors are not active participants, but merely those too lazy to care. And for this, I judge them. Because if you choose to not expend the necessary effort to craft your words with care, you help the denigration of a mellifluous tongue. You don’t need to be a linguistic perfectionist, but if you know not whether you routinely lose your keys or loose them, I will forever feel scorn towards your indifference.
"Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men."- The Boondock Saints
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Feminism and Gender Equality in the 21st Century
"Does feminist mean 'large unpleasant person who'll shout at you' or 'someone who believes women are human beings'? To me it's the latter, so I sign up."-Margaret Atwood
I recently read a very well-written and incisive blog posting written by a woman I met through debating. Though I commented on it on her blog, I wanted to expand somewhat on what I'd written, because the post adeptly elucidates much of what I've felt for some time, and does so from a position of someone with a vested interest, lending it even greater credence. The post details the concept of feminism and why the author considers herself not to be a feminist. This is something with which I have to concur. I think the concept of feminism, as commonly held and espoused by the majority who claim to preach its doctrines, is flawed. Now before my friend Liz whacks me with a 2x4, let me explain...
Let me be clear-I am by no stretch anti-female. I don't think women are inferior, I don't think they should be subjugated, oppressed or controlled. Further, I don't write off many of the concepts of feminist theory; I just think that, as a whole, the idea has been skewed by people who have taken it off the rails into ill-defined and often blithely shallow territory. So perhaps it's better to say that I take issue with what feminism has commonly come to be construed as, as well as those who claim to be shining examples of its doctrines.
I agree with the cited blog post insofar as I think that one of the greatest problems is a lack of definitive clarity as to what feminism actually means. And here I think the first kinks begin to show in the armour. Because many people would tell you it relates to equality of opportunity. This means that a man and woman, of equal qualifications and skills, should be paid the same. To me, this isn't feminism, this is humanity and common sense. So, is it an opinion that women are intrinsically superior? There are certainly those who hold that viewpoint, but I think the question is trite, primarily because superiority is itself ill-defined-superior in what sense? So what about the notion that men and women are totally identical in every potential, and it is societal influences that mould us into disparate creatures? I deny this notion-first of all, there are physical differences; men are not (by and large) bigger due to diet and gym regimes. We are bigger because testosterone grows muscle better. Similarly, I firmly believe that men and women have different intellectual and emotional strengths; I don't see anything wrong with this. So, many of the most commonly-held views of what it means to be a feminist are views with which I either disagree or agree insofar as I feel the issue is self-evident and requires no such "-ism" label. I'm not a "masculist" because I think men should have the chance to be paid as well as women; I shouldn't have to be a "feminist" to believe the reverse is true.
My second issue with most people's view on feminism is that it is a zero-sum game. A zero sum game is one in which, for one side to "win", the other must "lose". For example, sports are a zero-sum game: if one team rises in the rankings, another has fallen. Stocks, however, are an example of something that isn't. Just because Apple's stock rises, doesn't means Microsoft's falls. In fact, it's theoretically possible, through the magic of economics, for every stock in existence to rise in a given trading day. In terms of feminism, I feel many people view the issue as a zero-sum game: if you are pro-woman, it must mean you're anti-man. This is just wrong, and it this thinking that leads people to automatically equate "feminist" with "man-hater". It is simple fact that one can support women's rights without impinging on men's. But the inherent assumption behind many feminists is that you must push men down in order to be able to elevate women. All this does is galvanise both sides into a black-and-white idealogical debate that need not take place. It is similar to movements such as the Black Panther movement in the 1960s that preached black supremacy; rather than striving for integration and the elimination of barriers, all this does is energise your opposition.
The biggest issue I take with the allegedly-feminist views I've heard espoused, however, is that there is only one way to be feminist, and only one line of thought leading to that standard; that many groups have wildly disparate views of what that one way is is evidence of the very fallacy of the concept. There are those who will say that a woman should not use her looks to her advantage; there are those who preach conformity to male ideals (as evidenced in the shoulder-pad suits so prominent in the 80s and 90s). There are those who feel that every instance of the word "man" should be replaced with "person" (chairman to chairperson, congressman to congressperson and so forth). There are those who feel that men and women are fundamentally identical and therefore every position should be held by 50% women (I'll get to this ridiculous assertion in a minute, as I feel it's deleterious enough to merit its own paragraph). In a realistic, pragmatic world, there is no singular way to do anything, much less define one's identity. A perfect example of this arises in one of my favourite television shows, The West Wing. At one point Sam, one of the lead male roles, makes the comment "you'd make a good dog break his leash" to Ainsley, a recurring female lead who is both skilled and very physically attractive (and dressed in a very fetching backless ball gown at the time the comment was made). A female coworker takes offense at his "sexist" remark-she feels that Sam is degrading Ainsley by complementing her on her sexuality in lieu of her skills as a lawyer or her intelligence and general aptitudes. I disagree. I don't think that being physically attractive takes away from one's skill or power in other areas, nor do I feel that it automatically makes one an empty shell. This is the consensus that many of the other characters reach in that specific episode, but I feel that many feminists would still take offense. My point here is that neither side is automatically right. There are arguments to be made that emphasising one's sexuality decreases one's power and control or automatically makes it impossible for one to escape being merely "eye candy"; similarly, there are arguments that say one should use any and all tools at one's disposal and that complimenting a woman (or a man for that matter) on their sexuality in no way implies that you value them less as an intelligent human being.
"What's the point in feminism if I can't shave my legs when I damn well want to?"-S. Camus
Now, the matter of quotas. As I mentioned above, there is often a push amongst feminist groups to eliminate the gender split in the workforce, either in terms of wages, or in terms of the number of people who make up that role (that is to say, every job should employ 50% women, 50% men). The disparity is especially prevalent in certain fields, notably computer science and engineering. In many cases, schools are actively trying to recruit female students into these programs. In some cases (I read an article to this effect ages ago, which sadly I cannot locate), there is a stated goal of having 50% enrollment. I think this misses the point entirely. Assuming that, just because the overall ratio of women-men is 50-50 implies that any given degree or job (much less every degree or job) should match that ratio is foolish, and is a shining example of feminism gone awry. Men and women do think differently, they have different strengths and weaknesses, and different avenues of study and employment appeal to them. A simple example is highly-physical labour (firemen, construction workers etc.). Men are physically larger and stronger than women, and I see no harm in there being more firemen than firewomen. In academics, if a particular field appeals more to one gender, so be it; this happens for both genders-some programs (notably biological sciences, psychology, veterinary science and many of the fine arts) are absolutely dominated by women and yet I feel no urge to cry foul that these degrees are discriminating against men; I realise they are degrees which are simply of a greater magnetism to women, for varied and perhaps unknown reasons. What we must do is ensure there are no artificial barriers to entry to these jobs or degrees. When it comes to women in engineering and computer science, this means making sure there's no harassment of women, either overt or subtle, that there isn't a residual "old boys' club" mentality, and so forth. Unfortunately, if you're a politician it's easier to point to a number and say "50%! Success!" than it is to to a thorough audit of any lingering sexism in a system as broad as a university or workplace. And politicians will take the easy and more-publicly-visible way out whenever they can.
Similarly, an assertion that every woman should make the same as every man is ludicrous. Unluckily for women (or lucky if you think kids aren't a giant pain in the ass), women have been saddled by nature as the ones who bear children. This means that a woman who chooses to raise a family must take time off work. But what people fail to realise is that a year off work actually sets one back by well over a year: the lost training, missing out on technological advances in one's line of work, and simply forgetting some of what you've done mean that a year's diversion mid-career puts one further back in one's career than it would seem. Put another way, someone with five uninterrupted years of experience will be much better-trained and much more capable than someone who has worked every other year for the past decade, taking the alternate years completely off of training and employment. The solution to this, of course, is to enshrine the concept of paternal leave, allowing men to share the burden of child-rearing early-on, and to allow women to continue training where possible while on maternity leave. But to compare a man and a woman in the same position, each with an apparent 10 years of experience, and then point to their disparate salaries as automatically implying sexism is disingenuous. Because if in that time, the woman took a year off for each of two kids, her career has probably been set back by the equivalent of three years. Blind equality is misleading; what's needed is a true evaluation of the equivalency of two employees' potential, and salaries commensurate to that.
This leads me to what I think we need in place of feminism: a total equality of opportunity. In every case, whether it be a job application or a university education, everyone who applies, regardless of gender, race, or any other characteristic, should be presented with the same chances to excel or fail based on their individual merits. Those who are the best candidates should be admitted and prosper; those who are ill-suited should (and will) fall by the wayside. This should be held true in our hearts and enshrined in the annals of law and in academia and corporations the world over. This isn't an easy thing to achieve-distorted views, adversarial sentiments and old-fashioned sexism are often hard to detect, even within oneself. But I think that modern feminism in many ways is counter-productive. By trying to force a supremacy of women, by espousing views that are easily seen by the masses as "man hating", and by trying to pigeonhole women into any one of a number of wildly disparate "right ways to do things", you exacerbate the situation. People put their guards up, and become instantly recalcitrant to engage in the matter to a meaningful degree. You cannot reason with someone whose shackles are nor, nor with someone who feels attacked and denigrated.
So if not feminism, what is this? I think it's simply: humanism. You don't have to feel women are superior in order to feel they should have equality of opportunity. That's just human decency. You don't need to believe men and women are identical in every biological way to believe that the salaries of two people who are truly equivalent should be same, no matter what; you just need common sense. And you don't need an antiquated affirmative-action quota or ratio system to ensure that every role in the world is filled by 50% women; you just have to make sure that it settles at the natural, equilibrium level, that there is nothing preventing hopeful candidates. It's not feminism, it's humanism.
"Women: their rights, and nothing less; Men: their rights, and nothing more."-Susan B. Anthony
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