27 Years of Solitude...

... or 27 years of internet (counting as of 1990, when Tim Berners-Lee created the first website).

A week ago a friend sent me this article which claims that technology is useful for solving problems of "matter, energy, space or time" but not "human problems of the mind". It goes on to say that technology does not actually connect people but is merely a medium through which people communicate.

I wasn't going to write about this, but for my latest Chinese homework assignment, my teacher asked me to write a paragraph on "what if there were no internet". This was a very frustrating assignment because my vocabulary is nowhere near good enough to express concepts such as "loneliness", "human interaction", "humblebrag", "narcissism" &c. (The only word in this list I know knew how to say in Chinese is "&c" (I have since learnt "loneliness").) So I'm writing this to vent the built up frustration (some people go running for this purpose (i.e. for the purpose of venting frustration in general, not frustration that results of an inability to express oneself in a foreign language in particular); I hate running. I once trained to run for a race, and hated every minute of it. Hollywood has since tricked me into trying it a few more times, and every single time, five minutes in, I start thinking how much happier I'd be just walking. Which is what I end up doing - but then I think how much happier I'd be walking in normal clothes rather than a decade-old sleeveless t-shirt I got for a pub crawl back at York).

Back to the matter at hand: the author of the aforementioned article touches on an interesting (yet by no means original) point when he says that platforms like facebook actually exacerbate a need for connection instead of sating it; but, as I told my friend who sent me the article, I found the author's arguments shallow and pedantic. They (the author's arguments) are flawed from the get-go, because he (the author) cavalierly asserts that technology does not connect people, without explaining what he means by the term. Since he acknowledges that technology makes communication easier, he clearly doesn't use "connect" in its standard definition, which is to bring into contact.

But for all but the most exotic and abnormal definitions of the word, connection surely relies on, or at least is enabled by, communication. If technology therefore enables the latter, it also enables the former. It doesn't matter whether technology directly forms "connections" between humans (and in fact, it'd be weird if it (technology) or anything else for that matter instantly formed deep bonds between people (and I for one have always found facebook's "you are now friends with..." absurd: what, was my friendship's status with that person unconfirmed, and required fb's stamp of approval to become official?))

Unless of course there are qualitatively different forms of communication, some conductive towards building bonds, some not. The question then becomes, which kind of communication does technology foster? There are two ways to answer this question. The first is theoretical: we can try to determine what are the characteristics of the former kind of communication and see whether technologically-enabled communication posses them. Or we can answer the question empirically by asking people whether they feel more connected to others through their use of technology. This second approach is way easier. Now, the [work required to answer this question] to [my interest in getting an actual answer] ratio is very high in this case (as indeed it is in most cases because I'm lazy), but anecdotal evidence re the number of persons who form friendships through their interaction in IRC/forums (fora? too pretentious?)/Wikipedia/World of Warcraft/9gag/other platforms and who I believe would report having formed solid connections with people they've never even met in real life (e.g. see here for an example of a man who left his real life wife to marry his Second Life fling whom he'd never actually met in person) suggests that technology does in fact help foster deep bonds between people.

But because thinking things through is both more fun and less taxing than actually doing work (which is, I suppose, why there are so many armchair revolutionaries/caviar leftists/champagne socialists), let's try our hand at the first approach: let's try and imagine what communication that helps form profound bonds between people looks like (undetermined: the reason I sometimes use the plural pronoun and sometimes the singular one in my blog posts). Note here that I base the following on absolutely nothing empirical/scientific.

Working backwards, I would define a meaningful connection between two persons as a relationship characterised by mutual respect, affection and understanding. What we need to do now is understand how these feelings develop, and what sort of communication would foster their development; all we need to do then is make an argument as to whether technologically-enabled communication is the sort of communication that does so.

Mutual respect arises (I will avoid inserting "I believe"s and "I think"s - discount the matter-of-fact tone appropriately, as if I had (inserted these disclaimers of subjective opinion)) in two cases: a) when people share a value system and b) when each side believes the other side would stand up for their value system (even if this a non-shared system) even in adverse circumstances. For example, a lot of liberals strongly disagree with many of John McCain's positions and values; yet it is impossible not to respect a man who refused early release from a Vietcong prison where he was being tortured because of his belief in a military Code that specified POWs should be released in the order they were captured.

(To anticipate an objection here: some readers may suggest that respect also arises in cases of "success" regardless of values; I dispute that. Take a hypothetical example: some people think Travis Kalanic, Uber's CEO, deserves respect for his success even though he is, by all appearances, not a very nice person. But I think the people who would argue this are just balancing his ruthlessness with other values, such as ambition and drive, in their worldview; so values do come into play. You would never respect someone if they literally have no values in common with you, regardless of their success (except see (b) above).)

Affection mainly arises through sharing positive experiences. Understanding between two people develops through each one getting to know the other - the more intimate and personal the information shared between two people, the stronger the understanding (and probably the affection) between them.

So for two people to form a meaningful bond they need to spend a lot of (good) time together, get to know each other's principles and (honestly) share personal information with each other. I would argue that technologically-enabled communication meets these criteria. As you probably know, there are tens (if not hundreds or even thousands) of flourishing online communities of people who spend the majority of their time on their screens. There are people who identify with their online avatars to the extent of holding online funerals for people who die in real life (and jerks who stage raids on said funeral processions); people who pretend to be citizens or rules of digital micro-nations (and who take micro-nation politics seriously enough to spend real-life years infiltrating each others' nations to wreak havoc); people who create online corporations that pretty much work like real-life ones; and even nations that have created virtual embassies.

Now all these people certainly spend enough time with each other to develop feelings of affection - in fact, I guarantee that there are people who feel more affectionate towards friends they've made online and that they've never actually met than towards people they know in real life. It's also easy to argue that people will cluster together with others who share their values - given that online you have absolute freedom of choice with regards to whom you hang out with, it is more than likely that people will choose to associate with those who share their worldview.

The only debatable aspect is the genuine understanding and knowing between people. Some will argue that online communication is more likely to be dishonest: after all, OKCupid has shown that people online lie about how tall they are, how much money they make or even their sexuality. And we all know people whose online persona is more glamorous, more care-fee, more happy than they are in real life (I will revisit this point further down).

Yet I would argue that in some cases people are more honest online than they are in person. Anonymity (and temporal limitations) means that you can say whatever you like without a group of people forming a circle, pointing their fingers and laughing at you; the fact that you can seek new communities and groups of people at a click of a button means you can shed all your defenses, you can risk being vulnerable - and if people accept you in this state, you will feel closer to them; if not, you will just try your luck with another group. I am sure there are online communities of people whose members know more about each other than you (the reader) know about your close friends (spend 10 minutes on bash.org and you'll see how forthcoming people can be). One counter-argument here is that in many cases, people in such communities do not even know each other's real names; but without wishing to get too philosophical here, I'd say, why does that matter? If these people project their most raw, real personality online, and each one gets to know each other's character, don't these people form real bonds?

So I think there is a solid case to be made that technology does enable the kind of communication that builds genuine relationships. A good relationship is one that helps people escape their feeling lonely; and I genuinely believe there are thousands of people who feel less lonely because of their online interactions (consider also the myriads of blogs available: I can only think of two reasons for a person to publish their writing: a) they are incredibly arrogant and think what they have to say has 1) never been said before or 2) never been said as well as they can say it; and b) they are trying to connect with other people by sharing their thoughts (this category includes those who hope people reading their writing will satisfy their vanity). I'll leave it to the reader to guess to which category I belong, but surely a huge number of blogs exists for reason b, and (I hope) some of these blogs really do help their authors feel heard and understood).

But all this said, I do agree with the article's author that there is also a case to be made that technology exacerbates loneliness rather than combating it. This happens when people seek to misrepresent themselves. I do not need to expand too much on this point because it has been captured brilliantly by Black Mirror and Wait But Why; briefly, my own take is this: people get caught in a vicious loop of making themselves appear better looking/more interesting/fun/happy online than they are in real life. But then of course they feel they have to keep up with this image, so they spend more and more time curating their online profile than experiencing the things they are so meticulously documenting. I swear there are people visiting museums or other sights and only see the works of art or monuments or whatever it is they are looking at through their screens; in which case, what's the point of visiting the place in person? The point of course is that you then get to post the picture online so all your friends know what an exciting life you live. But the more you do this, the more lonely you feel, because you know that all these people who see your profile do not see the real you; do not see your sadness or your problems or your insecurities; they don't know you. So you feel more alone than you would if you didn't have this brilliantly maintained profile. Also, there is this other thing: you "like" other people's photos, not because you genuinely like them (I mean, honestly: does anyone, anyone, feel a genuine, positive emotion at seeing another person's dinner?) but because you expect reciprocity; and then whenever someone "likes" your stuff, you have this nagging thought at the back of your head: do they really like it, or is it just part of the game between people? (On the matter of reciprocity: its most shameless manifestation is on LinkedIn, where people endorse each others' skills even if they have never worked together. I swear I had something like 30 people to whom I hadn't spoken in years, with whom I had never worked in the same company, much less in the same team, who had endorsed me for "financial analysis" or "strategy"; worse, they would endorse one of my skills one day, then another a few days later - like they were thinking "maybe if I endorse him for a sufficiently high number of skills, he'll endorse me back; I just haven't reached that number yet". I have since disabled endorsements because vain though I am, being endorsed by people who have precisely 0 knowledge of my ability is almost sickening; what this behaviour says about the state of the world is too depressing to fully articulate.)

So in conclusion: technology can be both a cause of and an antidote to loneliness. Which one it is is entirely up to us, the users. If we use technology to talk with people we wouldn't be able to otherwise, if we use it to connect with strangers by being open and honest, we will make the best of it. If we use it to feed our vanity, if we use it as escapism by building an online self that projects our best qualities but brushes the worst under the carpet, we will feel alone. Technology: use with care.

Lunch with the FT - Jesus Christ

The Messiah discusses religion as philosophic inquiry, atheism and South Park over sole meuniere in London.

This is the first interview Christ has ever granted, so I arrive at Wilton’s early and excited. Nevertheless, when I am led to a booth towards the back of the restaurant, I find Him already waiting for me. His features are very similar to His portraits (though his complexion is slightly darker) but I wouldn’t recognise Him if it weren’t for His halo: though He has kept the beard (“beards are back in vogue,” he remarks), He has cut his hair, and has ditched the tunic in favour of a bespoke navy blue suit and blue tie with a seagulls motif.

“So,” I fire away, “what do you think of Christianity these days? How has it fared?” Hit and miss, he says, hit and miss. “I don’t like how spineless religious leaders are - very backwards, afraid to make progress. On the other hand, millions of people find solace in Christianity, and many use its teachings to become better people, which is its point in the end.”

A waiter arrives to ask if we would like a drink. I ask him whether he’s tempted by a glass of wine. “A glass?” he replies grinning. “I thought the paper is footing the bill, why not a bottle?” This surprise is welcome, given that most of the FT’s guests these days eschew alcohol altogether. We order a bottle of Pouilly-Fume, and study our menus. We both opt for lobster bisque to begin with and sole meunier for main.

As the waiter retires, I ask Christ what exactly does He mean when He accuses religious leaders of being backwards. In what ways ought they be progressive? He explains His argument is not so much about the Church’s position on any particular topic, but rather its overall dogmatic approach. “You see, Christianity was not meant to be a series of prescriptive rules, fixed for eternity. I mean, yes, sure, I did provide some guidance, but it was not meant to be set in stone - my advice was relevant for that particular era.”

Our waiter returns with our bottle of wine. Christ tries it and motions the waiter to fill our glasses. He continues elaborating on His argument. It turns out Christianity wasn’t meant to become dogma, but the beginning of a new kind of philosophic inquiry. Christ argues that as early as 0 AD philosophy had become the province of academics, an esoteric discipline with little practical applicability. “A few hundred years before then, the common citizenry would discuss the nature of morality, try to draw lessons from it and use it to become better”. This gradually stopped happening, He argues, so he came to the world to try to re-engage humanity.

If that was His purpose, I say, he didn’t quite succeed. “You don’t say”, He responds with a smile. “I tried to get people to think about what makes a person good - humility, kindness, forgiveness - yet the message, simple though it was, got lost.” He claims things are worse than ever now, which is why He is giving this interview.

“I blame our universities” I joke. “And so you should!” he agrees. “Academics seem more interested in producing incomprehensible essays on the nature of reality (without any training in physics, by the way) than in connecting with and guiding the average person.”

As our bisque arrives, I ask him whether this is related to the increase in polarisation we see in politics. “Absolutely, a hundred percent. Look, you have people arguing without listening to each other at all - why is that? It’s not because people are stupid or inherently hateful, it’s because they don’t have a common vocabulary when it comes to discussions on morality. It’s like trying to have a debate at the Cambridge Union where one side argues in Greek and the other in Arabic.” He points out that while academics write five-hundred page books on theories of justice, the average person does not even know how to begin analysing the morality of a given action. “Let me ask you this: suppose person A intentionally shoots and kills person B. Suppose also that person C gets drunk and fatally runs over a child. Are A and C both immoral? If yes, equally so? Well, some people will say yes, others will say no, but almost everyone will make a judgement based on uncalibrated, uneducated intuition.” How would He approach that question, I ask Him. He says one needs a framework, a common framework He stresses, for tackling this issue. “For instance, you could start by arguing any action can be evaluated across two dimensions - intention and efficacy. You could argue that morality is a function of intent only, not result - so, for example, if I say something that offends you, I am only immoral if I meant to hurt you; if I used clumsy language, though stupid, I’m not immoral”.

He hastens to add that this isn’t necessarily the right framework - in fact, He admits, it is demonstrably incomplete, as it can only evaluate the morality of an action, not of inaction - so, while this model is useful for, say, distinguishing between murder and a fatal accident at a shooting range, it doesn’t have anything to say about a driver’s responsibility to not drive when drunk. “But it would be a start,” He adds.

What about science, I ask. How is one to reconcile it with religion? “Science ought to guide religion, and philosophy more generally. As I said, religion was meant to help people reach their telos, to become moral, happy. Scientific disciplines like psychology, or even behavioural economics, offer insights in what makes people happy, or what they perceive as moral. Religion ought to use these insights to evolve its message. But religious leaders, and philosophers for that matter, don’t seem to pay much attention to the latest scientific thinking.”

As our mains arrive, I change topics and ask Him about His dress code. “I thought you advocated humility. How does an Hermes tie fit with that message?” “Ferragamo,” He corrects me laughing and fingering his tie. “I like how playful it is.” He explains that message was misunderstood: “I wasn’t trying to say people shouldn’t enjoy life. Why would Father create all this beauty in the world, and grant humanity the capacity for aesthetic appreciation, if such appreciation were a sin?” What He was trying to get across is that people shouldn’t accumulate material goods driven by greed and a desire to show off; “buy things if they make you happy - and don’t take them for granted!”

I also question Him on religious texts and church services. He says He is disappointed in how His Apostles wrote their Books. “Too dry, no sense of humour. Which is a shame, because in real life some of them were very jocular - I don’t know who decreed that academic, philosophic and scientific texts have to be as arid as the Sahara, but people seem to have equated dullness with seriousness and significance. Again, recall my point earlier about science being insufficiently exploited; it is a fact that humour makes a message more memorable; advertisers have exploited that, but academics? Not so much.”

Does He think going to church is important? “I think taking time to meditate is important, and I think churches provide a great environment for doing so. If, as we discussed, priests used religion as moral inquiry rather than as dogma, church could serve a very important function.” What about other religions? “I think the same criticisms I’ve leveled against Christianity apply. No religion is inherently wrong; ossified thinking and hatred are.”

Having finished our mains and our bottle of wine, we feel too heavy for dessert, so we only order two espressos. I question him on atheism - what is his view of it? He draws a distinction between atheism as an argument against the existence of a deity and as an argument against religion’s moral teachings. “I get rejecting something you cannot prove; but religion as a theory of morality ought to be evaluated on its own merits - if Christianity or Islam help people become better, if their logic is not inherently self-contradictory, why argue that they are invalid as tools of philosophic inquiry?” I raise the point that a lot of people, inspired by religion, cause pain and destruction. Surely, then, atheists are sometimes right to be polemic? “That’s not a fair argument against religion - Stalin killed a lot of people in the name of Marxism, but no-one argues economics is inherently evil.” He pauses for a minute, and then adds chuckling, “okay, some people do.”

As I pay, I ask Christ what He thinks of parodying religion. He replies that there is nothing inherently wrong with it, though it is often done badly - “in which case it’s immoral inasmuch as bad art is immoral”. He thinks comedy is a great way of criticising any concept, “from Aristophanes's comedies to The Book of Mormon - if the piece of work has something to say, and can make people laugh at the same time, I don’t see why I should object to that. By the way - going back to atheism - have you seen that South Park episode on Mormons? It ends with a little Mormon boy, admitting to another character that Mormonism may be silly, but its practitioners are nice people, and he himself is happier than the other inhabitants of the titular town, closing with ‘you have a lot of growing up to do, buddy’ - plus an obscenity. That pretty much sums up my vision for Christianity”.