On Human Nature

Philosopher Thomas Hobbes held pride and vanity, and the will to dominate, to be basic and original impulses of human nature, which accounts in part for why the State of Nature is a State of War. Jean-Jacques Rousseau denies this, attributing these propensities to society. For Rousseau, in the primitive State of nature, people are moved by their nature needs (food, shelter, sex), guided by self-love, and restrained by natural compassion.

When considering the dueling conceptions of human nature, my mind immediately went to the ring of Gyges myth Glaucon challenges Socrates with in Plato’s Republic. The point is: if a man found a magic ring that rendered him invisible, what would he do? Glaucon’s implied answer is “much mischief.” Perhaps Rousseau would respond that, yes, a man would do mischief, but only because the forces of society had so misshapen his character as to favor mischief. It appears to be an impossible thought experiment, for none of us can divorce ourselves from the state, and, thus, we cannot imagine what the “true” state of nature is like and what is the true state of nature for the human animal.

What is really at stake in these disputes about human nature is the prospect for social change, according to philosopher John Rawls, and he makes a lot of sense. We find echoes of that question in the current political debates, for the extent to which you believe social change possible shapes your views on the appropriateness of the size (and activism) of the state.

It is easy to be too literal with Hobbes, Locke, or Rousseau, and, in the process, get lost in the specifics of their contract theories. What is important, it seems to me, is to understand that, by describing the state of nature, the various philosophers are setting in motion the antecedent conditions for their theories on the proper form and functioning of government. For example, if, like Hobbes, the background nature of man is nastiness and brutishness, then a political philosophy wherein one should accept any sovereign because it is preferable to the State of Nature (i.e., State of War) seems reasonable, to a degree. But, if like Locke or Rousseau, you define man’s pre-state nature to be more positive, pleasant, kind, it would seem crazy to accept any old sovereign.

It is interesting to consider that, when considering the form and function of the state, our consideration is not primarily focused on the state but, rather, on the nature of man. How you topple that first domino impacts the rest of the analysis, does it not?

On the Apple Watch

I’ve worn the Apple Watch for three months now. It’s an amazing piece of technology. Sleek. Comfortable. It even tells time! Critics focus on the battery life, the price, and the lack of a true need for the device. What holds the device back is none of those things, though. Rather, the watch’s inability to independently access the Internet is its Achilles heel, and that weakness will prevent it from becoming the next must have, mega-hit product.

Smart phones, tablets, and laptops open new worlds for users, or, at least make the known frontiers of the Internet portable and easily accessible.  With the ability to surf the web, one’s phone, tablet, or laptop is ever-changing and always holds the promise of being more than it already is. The Apple Watch doesn’t enjoy that same promise. At least not yet. The small screen and resulting lack of a keyboard limit a user to Siri and widget-like information retrieval. Nice. Helpful. Impressive, even. But you’re still constrained. The Apple Watch brings the world to us, but only in predetermined packets. How Apples solves this riddle is unclear, but, until it does so, any expectations that the Apple Watch will operate on the same tier as products like the iPhone and iPad are misplaced.

More important than any shortcoming, though, the Apple Watch’s weakness may be more a statement about our changing expectations of technology since the arrival of the mobile Internet. The upper limit is no longer to make tasks more convenient; rather, the new goalpost is to give the user easy access to the whole of human knowledge. That’s a tall order. Maybe we need to content ourselves with the humbling fact that, for now, it’s just a great watch. To get the whole of human knowledge in an easy accessible form, I guess I’ll just have to reach into my pocket.

On Mr. Stevens’ Faith

In Kazuo Ishiguro’s “The Remains of the Day,” we meet the butler Stevens as he embarks on a road trip to meet a former employee of the formerly grand Darlington Hall. Along the way, we learn that Mr. Stevens’ relationship with the former employee may not be strictly professional…even if it cruelly avoids being personal. We also learn that Stevens may be experiencing a larger crisis of faith:  did he misplace his faith in his former employer, Lord Darlington, and, if so, must he reweigh the dignity of his service against all else that he lost?

Stevens’ road trip through England represents Ishiguro’s challenge to the reader to examine their own trip through life, with the attendant successes and failures, joys and pains. What bedevils Stevens, ultimately, is not his misplaced faith in his employer, but, rather, that he abdicated the responsibility to define his life to someone else. It’s humility gone wrong, and it asks the reader to question how he or she may be abdicating that responsibility.

The dizzying pace of technological change and invasion, and our even more rapid integration of it, should give us pause. Our quiet moments are no longer quiet or solitary. We’ve solved the riddle of the long, boring grocery checkout line, but we may be answering the wrong questions. Technology and social media occupy our time, entertain us, even connect us, but is our faith, our time, our energy misplaced? Can we identify real, long-lasting gains to the value of our lives, or are most of us just more distracted?

The solution is not less technology or even less social media, for even if such solutions were possible, their absence still doesn’t require of us to identify and pursue those foundational, truly important aspects of our lives. Who and how will I love? What important work will I pursue? How will I cultivate my talents? Certainly technology and social media can assist us in these endeavors, but only when we live with intention.

Stevens has the remains of his days to define for himself dignity, value, and worth, but Ishiguro leaves unanswered whether Stevens has the capacity to do so. Luckily, Stevens’ mistakes can be a lesson for us all, and maybe, just maybe, we should post and tweet about it.

What’s in The Hidden Trunk?

Welcome to my blog.

I’ve dabbled in social media for years — Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, but I usually walk away unsatisfied or, worse yet, frustrated. Facebook can be a great way to stay connected, but the majority of the user experience seems to be a great big waste of time. After seven years on Facebook, I can’t recall Facebook uniquely adding anything wonderful to my life. I can, however, recall the exact opposite. Twitter is great for links, bite-sized information, and funny posts, but it can’t help you with deeper, more substantive thoughts or conversations. Instagram seems to exist to make everyone feel like a professional photographer…without the talent, skill, or experience.

I’d like to see if blogging can answer what’s missing, at least for me, in the social media world. I’m not looking for “likes” or attention; rather, I want a forum to explore my thoughts in written form, some personal, some not. My academic and professional writing has brought me great joy, and I’ve dreamed about a significant writing project for some time. I recently encountered the quote that “we learn what we practice.” It’s true, and, if I want to exercise my writing chops one day, I need to start stretching those muscles outside an academic or professional setting.

So, what’s in The Hidden Trunk? A little bit of everything. I’m interested in literature, sports, political philosophy, fashion, and travel. Heck, I even build a terrarium now and then. What follows — at surely irregular but hopefully frequent intervals — is my take on anything that moves me. Well, at least that’s the plan. If you like what you read, comment. If you don’t like what you read, comment. I promise, we can still be friends.