Cave Creations

Archaeologists and spelunkers have discovered many examples of ancient cave art created by our human precursors, deep in the inky blackness of caverns. These drawings were done on the walls of the caves, tens of thousands of years ago.

Those who are privileged to look upon these drawings are profoundly impressed and emotionally moved by their quality. The artists obviously revered the animals they drew, and rendered stunning likenesses that are deeply stirring. They knew their subjects well—which is attested to by the realism of their work. Some of these primeval masters even used the undulating contours of the cave walls to accentuate the bulge of a deer's chest, or the muscular projection of a bear's shoulder.

It is amazing that they could have accomplished their creations, deep within the pitch-black recesses of these caves. They entered spaces that were in total darkness, bringing in some form of light (most likely oil lamps), in order to illuminate their rocky palettes. The work had to have been a sacred task, which was also quite dangerous.

Why did they retreat so far back into these caves? Were they looking to create art that would last thousands of years? That's not very likely—given their understanding of time. Was it because they could safely compose their works and expect them not to be defaced? Why would they create such magnificent drawings, that would be seen only by a tiny select few? These were not creations that were for display—but for very private purposes—even sacred intentions.

I find it fascinating that these cave artists never created drawings of humans—except in the form of primitive stick figures. While they drew beautiful and vivid portrayals of animals that create strong emotions in the viewer, they seem to have ignored humans, other than applying hand stencils. What a strong contrast to today's obsession that sees people constantly taking selfie photos, wherever they go. While contemporary humans seem enraptured by their own images, the ancient cave artists featured the animals of their world.

This seems to say something interesting about our modern priorities. Will future humans, some 40,000 years from now, excavate specimens of our world and ponder why we chose to be so narcissistic? Of course, this assumes that our ephemeral creations would last that long—an unlikely premise. More likely, those future archaeologists will be discovering our plastic trash.

Individual Inquiry

I have written before (February 2012) about how Thomas Merton—the American Trappist monk—employed a kind of personal dialectical process in his search for a deeper understanding of what it means to lead a spiritual life. Merton was exploring this technique in the mid-20^th century. His use of this approach was a bit unusual, because the dialectical method usually refers to when two or more disagreeing parties discuss their positions, in a cooperative search for a greater truth.

I find that using a personal dialectical activity can be an excellent way to work my way through philosophical questions, such as: What's most important to me? What's the meaning of life? How do I find happiness? What is my true nature?

Briefly, the personal dialectical process is: (1) Come up with your best answer to the question (called a thesis); (2) sit with your response for a while and ponder it; (3) play the devil's advocate with yourself and criticize your thesis; probe its weaknesses; seek opposing thoughts and ideas, and then offer a contradictory point of view (the antithesis); (4) sit with and ponder the two apparently incompatible responses of thesis and antithesis. Is there any common ground? Is there a truth which is deeper than either?; and finally, (5) formulate a new hypothesis that is better than the original and contains aspects of both opposing views (called the synthesis).

This use of the dialectical process as a type of individual or personal inquiry is not easy to employ. It calls for a high degree of honesty, as well as the ability to let go your treasured beliefs and open up to contending beliefs. That is especially hard to do in today's polarized atmosphere, which urges us to think that there is only one truth: that of one side or the other. We live in our silos, while viewing those who inhabit other silos as completely foolish and wrong. The gap between them is wide and seemingly absolute. Thus we come to believe that there is no common ground; no third or novel possibility. 

On the contrary, the dialectical process demands that we find a way to listen to the opposition—not to convince them that they're wrong and to see it our way—but to discover with them a new truth more valid than either of us previously would have conceived.

The personal dialectical process also calls for us to sincerely engage in it, not by creating a counter argument that is dishonest and a sham. When we do this, we come up with a phony thought that we can easily refute and destroy, in a disingenuous attempt to validate our initial thesis. This is not a way to grow, but a way to harden our initial belief. 

I think that my career as a scientist helps me to see the value of the dialectical process—whether it is between two opposing points of view of disagreeing individuals or is used as a personal growth technique. In fact, I find the scientific process to be quite similar: (1) it ponders a question, (2) it offers an answer in the form of a theory or hypothesis, (3) it puts it to test, either by experiment or by engaging with others who have different interpretations, (4) it engages in debate, and then (5) comes up with a new hypothesis, or synthesis.

This concept of stepping back and looking for gaps or weaknesses in your theory was expressed very well by an Islamic scientist (Ibn al-Hytham) over a millennium ago, when he wrote “The duty of a man who investigates the writings of scientists, if learning is the truth of his goal, is to make himself the enemy of all that he reads... attack it from every side. He should also suspect himself as he performs his critical examination of it, so that he may avoid falling into either prejudice or leniency.” That was 600 years before the European Renaissance!

The work of one's personal growth—either spiritually, as in Merton's case, or scientifically or philosophically, in order to arrive at a deeper truth—is demanding. But when did enlightenment ever come easily?

Challenging Choices—Part 2

An insidious process that sometimes is presented to us when evaluating options is the relativization or normalization of unhealthy choices. When ethics and quality gradually decrease over time, society's standards gradually fall. A generation ago parents could have some confidence that their kids wouldn't be exposed to excessive violent or sex scenes on TV or at a movie. Today, a parent stands little chance of avoiding such harmful exposure. Years past, people could be expected to be reasonably polite to each other, while today we face online attacks if we post anything slightly controversial. Another stark example of relativism: Donald Trump makes George W. Bush look almost acceptable.

A situation that can make our choice more difficult is when we are faced with a binary or dualistic offering. We in the West tend to think dualistically, so a choice is often posed as right or wrong, good or bad. With such a clear distinction, it ought to be clear which is the better selection. For example, we in the US most always have only two voting choices: either Democrat or Republican—when often, in fact, neither candidate would do a decent job in office. Furthermore, an equally-divided, polarized society seems to offer only two choices in any given situation—either of which is anathema to one side or the other.

Finally, when pondering the many choices we are faced with, it is important to recognize that, in many cases, not all people have a choice at all. Or, equally unjust, all choices are bad for them. How does a parent in a poor neighborhood find decent food or a school for her kids? How does a person with mental health problems get counseling, if they are homeless? What kind of suitable job can a person find, if they live in a rundown, crime-ridden part of a city? What does someone suffering from a debilitating disease do, when they can't afford health insurance, or it has just been capriciously canceled on them? What does a person threatened by and running from gang violence in El Salvador or the Democratic Republic of the Congo do, when safer countries refuse to let them in? For those of us who are advantaged enough to be able to make choices, what responsibility do we have to those who can't?

Yes, life is an unending series of choices. Evolution has favored those who made good choices. They usually go on to reproduce and pass that ability in their offspring. For simple animals, it is often genetic luck that enables them to choose wisely—the luck of having inherited fortunate genes.

For us humans, the challenge can be far more difficult, given that our society is so complex. We can add to the difficulty by mistreating each other and being deceitful. That's a prime reason why I left city life many years ago and chose a simple life in the country. Out here I am faced with far fewer equivocal and spurious choices.

Challenging Choices—Part 1

One could describe life as a continual process of choices. All people and all creatures face interminable choices—every moment of every day. Should I go this way or that? Should I believe this person or that one? Should I eat this food or that one? Should I mate with this individual or another one? We inherently know that we face choices which will have a major influence on our future well-being, so it behooves us to make intelligent choices, if we want to happily inhabit that future.

Animals don't possess the cognitive capabilities of humans, and thus face simpler choices than we do, for which evolution has often provided them with fairly clear options. They are not burdened with a mind that complicates the alternatives—either from convoluted thinking or from the double-think indecisiveness that we often experience, when faced with choices.

As we humans weigh our choices, we often encounter a variety of questions. What future consequences might I face, when I select a given option? Which choice will be best for me or someone else whom I care for? Do I have enough information to make an intelligent choice, and if not, how do I get more facts? Do the alternatives placed before me make sense, or might there be a better way? What choice is the more moral one?

That last question can be a crucial one to ask. A source of hesitation we can feel when choosing is that none of the options is a clear winner—let alone even a moral one. For example, when we enter the voting booth today we frequently know that neither candidate would really do an honest or ethical job. So the challenge we encounter in a case like this is, which choice is the least immoral? We too often are faced with selecting the lesser of two evils.

When we're shopping we're often faced with a similar dilemma: Aside from quality, which product is more principled (if either one actually is)? Do I buy organic potatoes or factory farmed ones? Do I buy commercial or cage-free eggs? Can I trust the seller that his claim of organic is true? Do I buy a product made in the US or select a Chinese-manufactured one? Which news source can I rely on to give me honest coverage?

Many times it can help, in sorting through all the complex aspects surrounding a choice—especially when it's not clear which one is actually honorable—to ask which is the least immoral.

But there's another way to deal with the challenge of making a choice, when none of them feel right: to ask myself, do I need to make a choice—particularly, right now? What's the rush? It may sometimes be imperative to decide quickly, but often we don't have to choose right now—especially if the choices all appear questionable. If I can delay making a choice, as I ponder the situation, I may find that a better choice soon enters the picture. Maybe, if I pause to reconsider, I can figure out a better way. Maybe I will even find that, by careful consideration, other options can be found—options that may have been there all along. 

It's one thing to ponder a choice that I've presented to myself, such as, Do I ask a favor of Fred or Joe? It's quite another, when society has presented me a choice. Do I vote for Fred or Joe? Which movie will I select tonight? Which brand of cell phone should I buy? Maybe neither Fred nor Joe would make a good representative. Maybe both movies are excessively violent. Maybe my current cell phone does a fine job, and if I think about it, it might make ecological sense not to get another phone. Even if I try to recycle my old phone, I may discover that it can get sent to Malaysia, where someone becomes exposed to toxic fumes, when they try to recover its useful materials.

In many situations like these, the most moral choice for me could be a refusal—a decision not to make a choice at all. I often wonder what would happen if they held an election that offered two unethical candidates, and nobody voted for either one? What would happen if we consumers opted not to consume in certain situations—especially when none of the options are moral? What if two outrageous websites that offered equally shallow and false information, had no one visiting them? We do not have to compliantly go along with corrupt alternatives. We can say no.

More choices next time…