iPads, Mountains, and Optimus Prime

Apple is, first and foremost, an organization of artists. Yes, they’re scientists. Yes, they’re engineers. But people often forget what distinguishes that particular technology company from all the others. The technology itself appears to have evenly distributed itself across the industry. What sets them apart is their focus, even obsession, with design. The designers at Apple see themselves, in an almost spiritual manner, as artists overthrowing dead culture. They’re certainly artists, and technology is simply their medium.

It’s a fallacy to claim that practicality detracts from the artistic value of something. That a creation has a purpose other than just to entertain has no relation whatsoever to its ability to create an impression. In fact, that added practicality of an object such as an iPad might make it a more valuable piece of art than a simple painting hanging on a wall or a poem sitting on a shelf. The iPad, among iPhones, iPods, Macs, and Apple’s other creations, is a beautiful piece of art. It embodies the best type of design. And you might sit and look at the device for several seconds, and ask yourself, “what design?” It is noticeably simply a large screen. But that action itself is testament to why it is so great. The best type of design is the design you don’t notice. It’s the design that seems so obvious as to make you think, “well, how could there be any other way.” I’m sure if you think back several years to the tablet computers of the early 2000s, you’ll notice the “other ways” and come cowering back to your iPad within moments. The iPad’s form couldn’t be more honest with its function. It’s simplistic, it’s elegant, and it’s beautiful. There’s hardly a painting or sculpture that could consider itself more inherently art than the iPad can.

On the iPad is a landscape of a lake, several trees, and towering mountaintops. It’s certainly beautiful, but is it art? If you look at the landscape as a picture, then I would say its art. This is true to my beliefs that anything created or influenced by human hands can be considered art (this includes taking a photograph). But if we were to look at the landscape as simply a creation of nature, I may contest that it is not art. It doesn’t hold to my beliefs or qualifications for what is art. It may still be beautiful, but it may not be art.

I close out of my Photos app to check the latest movies on Netflix. I decide to watch Transformers. A movie fits in fairly firmly with even the most conservative spectrum of what is considered art. And much of that art is considered beautiful. Yet for me, I can’t exactly bring myself to use that word to describe that film. I’m sure some were definitely entertained by Michael Bay’s work, but I wasn’t one of them. It may even be my fault. I may have missed the “beautiful” in between the giant robots, explosions, and Megan Fox. Then again, the movie was essentially those three things. 

Galileo + Philosopher + Mathematician = Looking For Trouble

The philosopher and the mathematician were naturally very averse to Galileo’s suggestions for a new theory. Throughout their lives, the philosopher and the mathematician had probably come to understand the world through the Ptolemaic system (the theory that is in question). They had been taught this system many years ago by their own teachers, and they had probably pursued their own science with this theory in mind.  A change in the Ptolemaic theory would mean that all they may have pursued in the last several years amounted to nothing – that their own theories were based on unsubstantiated claims and would therefore need to be revised or scrapped. Naturally, the philosopher and the mathematician would wish to believe their original theory, even if they carried some sense of doubt.

Therefore, if I were Galileo, I would doubt that showing my telescope to the philosopher and the mathematician would have any major effect in getting them to profess any change in their beliefs. The only way for either of them to experience their own paradigm shift is by observing (on their own terms and in their own experiment) something that refutes their own sacred theory or something that proves Galileo’s new one. Conversations with powerful rhetoric and attacks on Aristotle would most likely be ineffective.

Review of David Eagleman’s Incognito: The Secret Lives of the Brain

In Incognito, neuroscientist David Eagleman attempts to dethrone the our consciousness as any dominant force of the mind, and in doing so, challenge many of humanity’s conventional beliefs on the brain and how it works. Eagleman works well to use historical allusions and scientific results to back his claims. Though he rarely explicitly mentions having a reductionist point-of-view on the mind, we can tell from the evidence he presents that this is absolutely what he is leaning towards – that the brain is a complex tool of chemical reactions and electronic stimuli. Such a belief obviously does not mean well for any traditional concept of free will. By minimizing the role of consciousness in the brain, he is effectively dismissing free will.

Eagleman spends the latter part of his book explaining how, because “free will” should not actually exist, people cannot be blamed for their actions. Blame is a key word here, because he still believes people can be held accountable to their actions. Yet if the brain is a predetermining tool that allows no room for personal input, we are not in a position to assign moral guilt upon anyone. What we can do, and what Eagleman suggests in order to maintain an effective society, is to shift focus in the judicial system away from assigning blame and onto remediation. In his view, guilt is irrelevant (the brain would have told him or her to do just the same either way). Eagleman suggests that alteration of a person’s thinking process (so that it fits the norms of society) is the most effective way of putting criminals and social outcasts back among everyone else.

While reading the book, I agreed with most of the points that Eagleman made, the most important of which are outlined above. My one challenge with Eagleman, however, was the practicality of the “law & order” system he wished to implement. A society that completely absolves its members of guilt or any sense of personal responsibility may not be the most effective. However, I should be clear that Eagleman merely mentioned this as his ideal. He was most likely aware of just how difficult it would be to implement such a system.

Eagleman certainly is a skilled writer who is able to convey his thoughts and opinions very effectively. That he made an ordinarily dull topic such as neuroscience interesting is certainly a testament to his ability to capture an audience. And he does this through relevant and unique examples. For this reason, I recommend the book to any reader, even if they don’t think they’d find themselves interested in the topic. Whether or not Incognito will “blow your mind” depends on your preexisting thoughts and beliefs on the topic. But I can say that reading the book will offer a new, very interesting perspective.

McBlog Post

There’s this one burger joint that I really love. Its décor daringly juxtaposes Picasso-esque art against neoclassical architectural backdrops. Its service is on the pulse of the industry’s latest technological achievements. And the bold simplicity of their menu holds its ground in this brave new world of culinary complexity. I, of course, am talking about McDonalds.

But when I heard of these outrageous claims suggesting that their foods, especially their beloved fries, were artificially flavored, I was shocked and appalled. So naturally, in order to calm my nerves, I decided to read and reflect philosophically on an excerpt from Eric Schlosser’s book, Fast Food Nation.

Here, Mr. Schlosser, using the central issue of how McDonalds now flavors its fries using some type of artificial flavoring in favor of the beef tallow cottonseed oil that it traditionally used, introduces us to the idea that we are constantly being deceived by the very foods that we eat – that in today’s world of super-efficiency and mass commercialization, foods barely hold onto any of their original forms or tastes and are instead enlivened via the heavy use of natural and artificial flavors. Walking around these flavoring companies’ enormous production and research facilities truly gives you a scope of just how great this seemingly-niche industry has become.

Mr. Schlosser makes several points about this topic of food flavoring. First, he makes it clear just how serious the food industry takes this (as they very well should; if they didn’t, their foods would probably be dull and tasteless, or worse… natural and healthy). Many food companies are known to train and hire hordes of food scientists meant to determine whether or not a particular chemical found in a common women’s perfume could be slightly changed and rebottled to give packaged noodles deep aromas of seafood and the ocean.

Mr. Schlosser also touches upon the fallacy of distinguishing “natural” flavors from “artificial” flavors, citing how many natural flavors share the same chemical compositions as artificial flavors (the only difference being that natural flavors embraced less-technological and more conservative methods of extraction).

Finally, Mr. Schlosser makes the very interesting point that taste was very much an evolutionary tool meant to help us choose safe things to eat, and that like our other senses, it can definitely be influenced by psychological factors and expectations. And while we can of course examine taste from a biological or chemical point of view (such as investigating how various foods interact with taste buds, or how great a factor smell is in determining taste), we should also look at it from a cognitive and perceptive point of view. Now, one of Mr. Schlosser’s most interesting stories on this topic was as follows:

“Grainger had brought a dozen small glass bottles from the lab. After he opened each bottle, I dipped a fragrance-testing filter into it -- a long white strip of paper designed to absorb aroma chemicals without producing off notes. Before placing each strip of paper in front of my nose, I closed my eyes. Then I inhaled deeply, and one food after another was conjured from the glass bottles. I smelled fresh cherries, black olives, sautéed onions, and shrimp. Grainger's most remarkable creation took me by surprise. After closing my eyes, I suddenly smelled a grilled hamburger. The aroma was uncanny, almost miraculous -- as if someone in the room were flipping burgers on a hot grill. But when I opened my eyes, I saw just a narrow strip of white paper and a flavorist with a grin.”

Had the flavorist chosen to act in a more clandestine manner, it would have been almost impossible for Schlosser to know whether or not he had experienced the “legitimate” scents of fresh cherries and a grilled hamburger. When relying on a limited number of senses (in this case, taste and smell), this becomes increasingly difficult. We have the knowledge problem of knowing whether or not something we sensed was merely an illusion or the genuine thing (and in this case, “illusion” could very much refer to all flavors added to foods that would traditionally not be there). Looking more broadly, there is then the very fundamental knowledge issue of corroborating the reliability of our very own sensory perceptions.

What Constitutes True Science?

This summer I had the privilege of taking an internship at the National Institutes of Health. At risk of sounding cliché, it was truly a fascinating experience that redefined my opinions of scientific research. In the few weeks that I spent there, I collected many memorable experiences that I could share today. But of course, we simply do not have enough time to analyze each adventure. So I will leave you with one.

I think many young Americans have the illusion that their government is so vast and so powerful that it can simply operate on an unlimited budget. And while it sometimes seems that the government believes it has an unlimited budget, the reality is far less impressive. So before I took my first steps onto the NIH campus, I held lofty expectations at what this Garden of Eden would be like. I expected paved streets lined with gleaming research building in a celestial paradise of scientific breakthroughs.

I didn’t quite expect bare sheetrock tiles. Nonetheless, the place was far from horrible and at any time could still be transformed into the world’s largest Starbucks with little renovation. In the labs, however, was a slightly different story.

Here, the environment was much more fiscally conservative. Yes, the laboratory had enough to get by, but lab technicians could not experiment indiscriminately without any consideration of cost. There was a finite budget and they had to work with it. Like a true financial microcosm, distribution of funds vested in the power of an individual – the research director. And on one humorous occasion when he heard that other laboratories were borrowing his equipment, he severed foreign aid programs to proclaim, “There is no socialism in the lab.” Unfortunately, my idea for a poster with a crossed-out Chairman Mao armed with a micropipette fell through.

Anyway, I digress. I was curious as to how funds were distributed among various labs, so I asked the research director. He explained that a central agency at the NIH reviews the scientific investigations from a laboratory to determine how valuable their contributions are and how worthy they are of the money they request.

With this comes the problem of what makes certain scientific developments more valuable than others.

If we assume that all human decisions are made with at least some element of bias, we must examine the mental maps of those who make the judgments. These people undoubtedly already have pictures of reality that includes ideas of truth and untruth, reasonable and unreasonable, right and wrong, etc. So in this case, agency workers in all likelihood, perhaps even without consciously realizing, will side with the scientific developments that fit their ideologies the best. And once this occurs, something like confirmation bias becomes rampant – they only notice evidence that supports their belief that a particular investigation is valuable or not valuable. Unconditional objectivity is thrown out the window.

But let’s say that somehow the reviewers were able to unconditional absolute objectivity. I then question if the scientists themselves can this. I say no. That there even exists an agency review admits that not all scientific investigations present pure and absolute science. Instead, most if not all paint a picture that is a blend of prior dogmatic belief, subjective primary observation, imperfect second-hand information, and inadequate justification. We are no longer left with a scientific report. We are left with an incomplete deliberation of what’s important and what’s not. And in all likelihood, how a particular scientific report is packaged using convincing or unconvincing language is bound to significantly affect those reviewing it.

And from this, we are left with the overarching knowledge issue. This is whether or not true and absolute objective science actually exists, or whether it is all influenced to some extent by the subjectivity of humans.

Thoughts on Disney Movies

I’m usually a very stubborn person. Often times in arguments I do back down and make my compromises, but this is solely out of a realization that it would be futile to continue. I know that I will continue to be adamant in my beliefs. When I know my opponent will be just as adamant in his, I yield. Their persistence crossed my threshold of “I don’t care enough to continue putting up a fight.”

So when the task was to think about something I used to think was true knowledge but subsequently changed my mind on it, I found myself in quite a dilemma. But I did think of something, possibly so abstract in how specific it is – Disney movies.

Growing up, my childhood was characterized by the lack of a childhood. Now, I wasn’t abandoned on the street and my hardship was certainly limited by any means, but I don’t think I was subject to much of the “nurturing entertainment” that many of my friends had. I didn’t read Dr. Seuss books. I didn’t have stuffed animals. I didn’t watch many cartoons. Instead, most of my time those days were spent either drawing very peculiar diagrams for a 5-year old to draw or building structurally unsound Lego structures (predetermining that I was never going to be an architect). I guess my parents found these activities more acceptable than Tom & Jerry. Looking back, it was probably a race with my parents’ friends to see who could get an SAT textbook into their kid’s hands the first.

6^th Grade…

Anyway, as I grew older and began to enjoy the wide independence that 7 year olds are known to enjoy, I found myself encountering certain films that all my friends seemed to thoroughly enjoy – Disney films. Perhaps it was because Elmo was never there to beam a rainbow of emotion into my brain when I was younger, but I didn’t get these films. I looked at them completely objectively. There was no way a tree could talk in Pocahontas. The Hunchback should probably go see a doctor in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. And I’m pretty sure I rooted for the wrong lion in The Lion King. So for many years, I dismissed these films as nothing more than “kids’ stuff” (as the mature 7-year old adult rightfully should), and thought nothing more of it. I went back to building structurally unsound buildings, this time in SimCity.

But something happened between then and middle school.

Probably girls. I’m not even kidding. They flip your life on its head and you can never think the same way again. I was somehow instilled with a dose of emotion. They picked up where Elmo evidently failed.

One summer, I decided to re-watch many of the Disney movies that I never “got” when I was younger. The films were the same, but the experiences were completely different. I was drawn into the stunning imagery and worlds that the animators had created. I wanted to learn how to play those unbelievably catchy songs. And I think this was all because I finally found myself empathizing with many of the characters. And I have tremendous respect for the artists at Disney. If you can make someone feel like they personally know a fictional character, you’re doing something right in my book. The reason Disney movies work is because they can appeal to one’s emotions. If one looked at it completely objectively, none of it would make sense. That’s what it originally was like for me.

Now, I hold Disney movies in incredibly high esteem. Ironically, my friends who used to enjoy these movies so much have moved onto Call of Duty (because who doesn’t enjoy a good shoot ‘em up game after watching Ariel regain her voice). Not only do I know believe that empathy is the key to recognizing beauty, I also believe the Disney movies taught me a great deal about idealism. By nature of being primarily for children, Disney movies commonly profess beliefs and concepts emphasizing the very high facets of idealism. If you believe in what you want, you’ll meet your goal, whether that be Prince Charming or otherwise. Cynicism rarely makes ground in these movies. But these movies have made me believe that their claims for idealism are firmly rooted in truth. Nearly all of these movies have some scene where the character almost gives up. Of course, they come to their senses and continue on their journey, eventually reaching their happy ending. Now, having an idealistic perspective like that may not always end in a happy ending, but what if they had quit. What if their cynicism overcame their hope, however distant it was. That would guarantee that they would have failed. They wouldn’t have achieved their happy ending. These movies made me realize the fruitlessness of cynicism. Idealism may not always guarantee good results, but cynicism certainly makes them impossible.