Skip to main content

Pearls of Clarity

Symbolism isn't important to me.  This can cause problems.  To many, symbolism is of great importance.  If I say that I'm not interested in participating in ritual symbolism, said people can interpret that as a round rejection - or even as scorn.  Many it seems are wired to look for symbols everywhere no matter what.  They can hardly be blamed.  Symbols permeate human interaction.  Even language as a system is symbolic.  But I'm not wired that way.  I am wired for the explicit.

I can interpret some symbols as easily as anyone else can.  Others, often common ones, confuse me.  And I frequently become confused about whether someone is employing symbolism or not.  When thus confused I make no decision in any direction.  I abandon the investigation.  Even when I understand symbolism, symbols only obscure meaning.

I don't know why people want to obscure meaning.  So I assume they do so for nefarious reasons.  If I assume this is never the case, then I risk being taken advantage of.  If I assume it's always the case, then I might think the worst of someone who means well.  But I am comfortable with that because I am more afraid of being manipulated to bad ends than I am of alienating people.  If there is a middle ground, I must reach it by a feat of learning I can't accomplish.  I'm not sophisticated enough in my cognition to learn to interpret symbols confidently.

Alienation is inevitable with me.  Because of certain specific peculiarities of my neuroanatomy I can't manage some easy cognitive tasks.  Others I struggle to manage.  If I decide not to trouble myself with symbolism anymore, I alienate those who can't communicate without symbols.  And if I try to play the interpretation game, I fail, I misunderstand, and I'm alienated anyway.  I resolve this tension by embracing alienation, leaving the symbologists to their work, and enjoying what pearls of clarity I can find on my own.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Man Is Not Great: The Evolution of Anthropocentrism

Why do humans care whether their species is special? Why are they so invested in their specialness that they're uncomfortable with the idea that they aren't? Why is it a bitter pill to swallow that humans aren't uniquely important in the universe, that they aren't the intended end of evolution, and that their wondrous and diverse subjective experiences emerge from the same physical processes observable in "lower" animals? I think that the maladaptive human tendency to insist upon their specialness in the universe is an extension of an adaptive tendency to self-advocate in their tribes. Consider fear. The predisposition to turn around when you feel like something might be behind you is likely to save you when there really is something there. Most of the time, when you can't help but turn around on the dark basement steps, there's no threat. From an evolutionary perspective, it’s better to turn unnecessarily than to do nothing in a moment of danger. That...

Threat and Opportunity

Humans see everything as either a threat or an opportunity. These are the only classifications they have. A threat could be a corporal threat, like a violent person, or it could be a threat to their attention, like a boring person or a waste of time.   You're not in control of whether something looks like a threat or an opportunity. You can certainly apply control to turn one into the other, but your first impressions of anything are unconscious. I'm a waste of time. There's nothing to be gained from socializing with me because I'm profoundly socially impaired. I have no status and no way to earn status, so I'm a threat to attention. People who choose to pay attention to me find the endeavor prohibitively expensive of their energy. Attending to me is necessarily a struggle against the Darwinian impulse to conserve energy.  We can call this a rejection response.   I've said that humans naturally have a psychological allergy to me, but that's not a good...

The Human Protocol

Humanity is a spectrum. Some people move through human society without ever belonging in it. I'm such a person. Every thought, every emotion, every sensation, everything your internal organs do, your balance, your muscle tone, your proprioception, every experience you have, from the big ones to the little ones, corresponds to something that happens in your brain: a neural event. Most neural events are beyond our direct control. Every neural event has a trigger. Someone says your name and you turn. You like a song, so you turn it up. What triggers neural events is determined by things like your genes, your upbringing, your culture, and your values. Many neural events are reserved for human-to-human interactions. If you encountered a mosquito that spoke English, you'd recategorize it, and you might change the way you went about trying to keep it from biting you. It would qualify for a kind of consideration that we don't usually offer mosquitoes. It would be more than just an ...