frimile – Page 10 – Rare errors

The option of ‘in medias res’ learning

December 10th, 2024

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⚘ Branches: Three kinds of progress – Modular progress
Table of Contents
What is in medias res?

In medias res is traditionally regarded as a literary device, one with roots stretching back to Antiquity. It involves beginning a narrative ‘in the middle of things’, thrusting the audience directly into the action already unfolding.

A characteristic example of the employment of this device is Homer’s Illiad. The tale of Achilles’ wrath takes place in the tenth year of the Trojan war, amid the conflicts crescendo towards its conclusion with the destruction of Troy.

To be more precise, the ‘middle of things’ means that the deliberate omission of the exposition phase. Characters and contexts are not introduced in detail, nor are the initiating events that set the causal chain in motion, which generates the dramatic tension at the story’s core.

The reader is thus compelled to either arrive with prior knowledge about what happened before, or to string details and events back together with bits and pieces scattered through the story. For instance, the characters allude to things that happened briefly before but remain unnarrated: some that linger in their memories, others that torment them, others that impel them. While they shape their behaviour, whether overtly or subtly, these pivotal elements of the narrative have never been properly explained nor described to the reader.

Cumulative learning is the full novel

The discourse on effective learning abounds with maxims and methodologies. Among the most well-known are learning from first principles, gamified learning, and learning by application, whether through setting practical goals, active recall, or teaching others.

In medias res learning is just another analogy meant to help a learner decide on how to go engage with their topic or practice of choice. It draws upon the following way of broadly classifying learning processes: cumulative learning and connective learning.

Continuing the story analogy, cumulative learning is like reading a novel based upon meticulous world-building. The narrative does not emerge until the reader becomes familiarised with the circumstances that give rise to the build-up of the drama. This drama is at the heart of the story, being what drives the change in the status quo, because without transformation, however subtle, there is no story.

The novel Dune is a quintessential example of this, where the exposition phase does more than only set the stage that allows the story to take flight. It also describes the intricate geopolitical and cultural conditions that cause the story’s central conflict to develop. These forces not only define the world in which the characters move, but also condition their motivations and decisions.

So a cumulative learner will first ensure that they have mastered the basics before daring to give a shot at creating or replicating more complex forms that demand a level of proficiency in manipulating and combining these foundational elements.

They begin with the atomic, high-leverage first principles, and build up from there. This strategy addresses each aspect of the intended complexity in turn, minimising the likelihood of making mistakes. It is akin to learning notes, intervals and basic chords before taking the leap to playing a piece that you like for others. It is studying grammar and the basic vocabulary of a language before clumsily crafting a short story in it and offering it to a native speaker both for their entertainment and guidance.

I do not see this as an inferior learning method. It is simply another philosophy of engaging with something unknown. It is a dutiful, patient kind of learning, where the learning process and the pursuit of mastery themselves become more the end than means to an clearly defined, proclaimed or envisioned outcome.

In medias res learning is connective

In medias res is connective because, by beginning in the middle, it connects the exposition phase with the story’s end through its central arc. The middle of the story becomes a dynamic space. To stand in medias res is to participate in the process by which the end phase is pulling elements from the beginning toward their resolution. The middle phase showcases the weight that each of the elements introduced at the start actually have within the story: some fade in the background with minor, tangential resolutions (e.g. subplots or anecdotal events), while others are indispensable to the unfolding narrative.

The key consideration here is that this relevance is always tied to this story’s particular end. Some elements and characters may hold great importance in other terms, in other contexts, but in relation to this specific resolution, they do not. The same applies with first principles. In broader terms, in the sense of having general importance or influence, many principles -such as basic vocabulary or knowing how to play the Lydian scale in all tonalities in the piano- are consistently more impactful than others.

First principles hold a fair minimum of relevance across all practical contexts related to those skills, hence why they are considered as principles: foundational, high leverage components. However, in particular cases, where there is a specific conclusion in sight -a clear ‘getting from here to there’ scenario- they might prove entirely irrelevant. Conversely, other elements experience the exact opposite: they are typically secondary but become crucial in achieving a particular goal or resolution.

Hence, a connective type of learning seeks to bridge the beginning and the end through the middle. The middle is already closer to the end, and will only look back and appraise elements from the beginning in relation to how they lead toward the end, while at the same time it witnesses the new events that take place in the most tense parts of the narrative: its final acts. When we start ‘in the middle of things’, we are nearer to the conclusion, the very purpose of our learning. We can see the end more clearly, without the mediation of a fog of details that emerge during the exposition. We can discern the stakes at play, how the pieces are arranged on the board, and identify the ones that are the main players who will drive us toward that conclusion. Our story might sacrifice some of the finer details provided by an exposition that makes a story superior, but it remains, nonetheless, a complete story.

The result is a more streamlined comprehension. it is less about accumulating information, and more about understanding how that information interrelates and moves toward a meaningful conclusion.

An example of in medias res: drawing hands

An example of in medias res learning can be found in engaging with the practice of drawing by learning directly to draw hands. When we begin, we are not learning ‘to draw’ per se, because we choose to specialise in hands; we are in fact merely learning ‘to draw hands’.

Drawing hands is something fun, stimulating and that many struggle with. We set out to only be good enough at it, without immersing ourselves in the painstaking process of mastering the basic principles of perspective, anatomy, shading volumes and so on. Then, we build both upward and ‘downward’ from that point of focus. We build downward connectively (or relationally): always in service to the particular end we are seeking. We only learn the principles that we find we require to confront the particular obstacles that we encounter on the path toward our goal.

We learn to draw hands, and to do it deftly and elegantly. We do not learn to do it flawlessly, but good enough, confidently and smoothly. It is a Goldilocks amount: we can reach this satisfactory spot before becoming too preoccupied with that last stretch towards perfection, sacrificing the enthusiasm and immediate utility of it for the sake of wanting nothing less than virtuosity. We may equally indulge too much in the pleasure of exercise and practice without venturing in the edifying, incandescent experience of sharing the creation, of letting it engage with the world, become a durable extension of our own persona¹.

So, we are learning something in medias res.

The exposition phase, which would be analogous to the first principles part, is merely implied in the story, without ever being fully articulated, or properly described. In the case of the learning process, what we learn to do, yet imperfectly, only suggests² the first principles without fully embodying them. But although it lacks this exposition, it is still a good story.

And its ending will not lack power just because there wasn’t any exposition. The audience will still be bewitched by the suspense of the narrative, as it drives toward its conclusion, regardless of all the missed details: will Achilles slay Hector? Will Odysseus find his way home? Similarly, as we properly learn something that is worth showing albeit imperfectly, we are already transiting the process in terms of a story. This story will culminate not in the learning itself, but in how what we’ve learned becomes part of a larger process in our lives. It is imbibed with purpose and significance, both for ourselves and for others, by becoming entwined with a greater narrative.

From here, if you wish, you can begin to trace the story back to its beginning, learning to clarify some details, fleshing out other elements, which translates into deepening your knowledge of the basics. Else, you may discover that you are satisfied with your imperfect skill, prompting you to branch the story into new directions, such as exploring a particular style of drawing facial expressions, or mastering the colour palettes of a particular aesthetic.

These are directions that you would have never realised would catch your eye without first finishing this in medias res story of hand-drawing. It is through the act of finishing, however imperfectly, that new narratives reveal themselves, ones you could not have anticipated from the outset.

In a nutshell

In essence, we can begin learning in medias res by understanding these three principles:

We start with the fun part. We dive into drawing hands, something that is evocative, brimming with variations, and pleasant to observe -we learn to appreciate the uniqueness and details of people’s hands and their gestures more-. It is also something shareable, and that others can participate in (we can draw their hands, invite them to critique our efforts, something that would not be so fun if we were drawing cylinders in different perspectives as a first principles type of learning).

In storytelling terms, this is akin to beginning with Achilles’ greatest hour. After all, he is one of the most interesting and poignant hero’s of the Trojan War, and it is through his deeds that we are drawn into the heart of the narrative.

We start with the stimulating challenge. Drawing hands is not easy. It is in fact a treacherous endeavour, punctuated by false starts, moments of bewilderment, and frustrations. This is precisely why it is an excellent place to start. This task requires real motivation and sustained effort to accomplish it. It will take time, blood, sweat and tears, but at the same time it will offer a clear axis along which one can measure one’s progress and know what to do next.

In contrast, with easier challenges it is also easy to grow discouraged. They lack the capacity to truly test us, they do not last long and do not provide the same triumphant feeling once surmounted. In terms of storytelling, we are challenging ourselves to tell the story compellingly without relying on the crutch of exposition that will make it easier to relate the action later, as we do not have to make many explanations.

When we tell a story in medias res, we need to do so skilfully, bringing details to the surface sparingly, effectively and with subtlety. Otherwise the whole in medias res will seem more like an excuse to bypass the effort of articulating the underlying context of the story.

The show-off part. Drawing hands is an impressive feat of draughtsmanship worth showing off. This, in itself, is fuel for motivation. The ability to demonstrate such a tangible accomplishment offers an early and invigorating victory, one witnessed and praised by others. This external validation not only affirms the reality of your progress but also weaves your learning journey into the awareness of others, making it feel more communal and significant.

It also reinforces a sense of direction, momentum and anticipation, where you find yourself eager to show off the evolution of your skill, the next results of your learning journey.
1. Persona in this case means the image that you communicate, or broadcast, outwardly, and that forms in the collective impression of who you are that others make. Works of your creation, made intelligibly, deftly and elegantly, are a great addition to your persona, they break some of the barriers between your true individuality and others’ interpretation of who you are. ↩︎
2. It is worth observing that Ernest Hemingway described this act of creating short stories that only suggest past details in order to move the story forward in a lean manner with his supreme metaphor of the ‘iceberg’. ↩︎
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The still applicable timelessness of books and social media as a culture in its turbulent youth

December 1st, 2024

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This is for those who still struggle to find an ecosystem of satisfying content or information on social media.

I am talking about what is produced specifically for the web. And I am talking about what is native to the web. Above all, this is about their tension with books as a source of knowledge and learning.

The primary question that comes to mind is: why is it that one still finds more satisfactory, life-changing information in reading a set of books from different points if time (even centuries ago) than on the internet? This is particularly puzzling nowadays, where we are supposedly living in an age of unprecedented change in our ways of life. Shouldn’t information produced today, in the dominant media forms of our time, be more appropriate to providing the means for a satisfactory, dynamic, bountiful, peaceful life in the present context? Or at least address our current anxieties in daily life more pertinently than books written when many of the supposed sources of our malaise did not exist?

I believe books still hold the upper hand. They are a format honed for millennia. More generally speaking, books embody the tradition of writing on paper, compressing information into a thin stack of paper, bound within some protective cover. More than just objects, books demand a certain rigor. They are costly to produce and must meet standards of length and cohesion. They cannot merely contain five pages, and they require an overall completeness and depth in their content, as it develops from front to back.

The “battle” between books and internet content, especially social media content, need not be framed as one of winners and losers, with crusaders and devils on opposing sides. I get the impression that internet content, in its current form, is still in its infancy. The current worldwide predominance of TikTok is merely a milestone in the longuer durée, the arc of this new mode of communication, bond-making, of culture-building. It remains a raw and evolving medium. And perhaps might not bring the same kinds of answers that the sometimes uncomfortable, difficult, and sometimes glorious, plodding through a book offers. There is no shortage of arguments, evidence and research that is persuasive enough in suggesting that social media, in some ways, is eroding the quality of communication in its traditional sense, while fostering concerning trends through the incentives and values that its mechanisms (algorithm, user interface, UX, affordances) inherently perpetuate.

Yet, much like the book has matured through the centuries, from treatises, poems, illuminated manuscripts, to printed volumes (and the rise of literacy that came with it), scientific articles, e-books, and so on, social media will continue evolving into something of its own. And its potential benefits will be magnified by parties who care to shape it. TikTok could very well represent social media’s equivalent to a wax tablet stage in the development of book culture.

All this is to say that books occupy their own unique class of intellectual artefact, existing in a distinct domain from social media, both of which are subsumed into the broader realm of communication, the crystallisation of information, and culture-making. In this comparison, the idea of a ‘higher’ intellectual sphere reserved majoritarily for book-readers can be set aside.

Today, it might still hold true that one reads books at the expense of social media consumption to greater gratification and self-enrichment. Many will relate to the experience of having read a few ‘great’ books, which flips some switch in our heads that makes the majority of online content consumed thereafter seem too introductory, superficial, rehashed, narrow or repetitive. It is also true that models for constructing sustainability (for example financial) in this medium are still developing, particularly among independent creators that have honed tools and strategies over the past years to balance their interest for self-expression with the demands of social media¹ and internet content creation more broadly.

Still, this could change in a near future, when social media reaches a new stage in its journey to maturity. In that future, one may still opt for books to occupy their time and attention, but it might become clearer why, in certain cases, social media is not only a complement, but a purposeful tool for engaging with knowledge, be it in its acquisition, refinement, search, recalibration, application, and many other actions for which words have yet to be coined.

Maybe only books can allow a reader to access a certain depth in thought, while learning to navigate the contents of the mind with ever-greater deftness and limberness. This is due to the unique relationship they demand, one that is both painstaking and immersive, a kind of trance-like engagement that allows the mind to absorb their contents fully. This kind of absorption, a slow, deliberate process, which keeps the mind in its toes, is something that internet content rarely calls for. It may be that this quality, the capacity to cultivate depth and sustained focus in a condensed, back and forth engagement of mind and content, remains the exclusive province of words. It is a place that the visual and audiovisual can never quite reach.

To consume online digital media today, especially in the dominant platforms and those that seek to innovate, is to witness a culture in the making. It is a culture of relating to one another, and of constructing identity in its early, unruly, fragile stages. It does not yet seem to be self-sustaining, nor capable of carrying forward the centuries-old continuity of thought that books uphold. Still, this may not be the measure of its potential. The path of its evolution does not need to be defined by what it cannot yet do compared to what exists.
1. And the owners of the platforms have also responded to these demands in their development of new versions and services. ↩︎
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The different other is homogenised, the similar other is humanised.

November 13th, 2024

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Table of Contents
The other person that we perceive as most similar to us -and as resembling others who are also like us- is the least likely to be prejudged. We see them as complex individuals, expressing a high variability in their traits and qualities.

On the other hand, the other person that we perceive as different becomes, above all, a simple collection of signs for us to interpret in a rather straightforward way. They are grouped according to their common displaying of these signs. And their traits are defined solely according to what the signs represent. As a result, they are homogenised into groups characterised by a few simple, repeating, predictable traits.

In short, the different other is homogenised, while the similar other is humanised.

The greater the similarity, the more a person is attributed a diverse range of variable traits, which signifies complexity. In contrast, for the different other, the attribute of being different, along with the reduced set of possible meanings that this condition implies, becomes their primary, face-value trait.

The difference between context-based and historic meanings

A case that illustrates this phenomenon is that of the skinny jean. Fashion writer Derek Guy observed that nowadays the skinny jean has become a wardrobe staple for men who “lament the decline of traditional masculinity”¹. He points out the irony that just over a decade ago skinny jeans were seen as a reactionary trend that defied traditional masculine clothing. By being significantly tighter than what were considered normal male pants at the time, they recalled the silhouette of female outfits. In their latest rise to trendiness, skinny jeans were an item to bring connotations of androgyny into the wearer’s clothing style.

Within the framework that I am proposing, Derek Guy’s observation builds upon the view that skinny jeans carry a historic symbolic meaning that transcends their context in everyday use. In other words, as a standalone piece, they act as a statement about the male silhouette, one that has already been used to defy traditional stark distinctions between the sexes². And this is not a reference to a distant past such as 18th century masculinity, when tight breeches revealing strong calves were a mark of virility. It points to a time as recent as 15 or 20 years ago.

However, when I say that there is a meaning in their context in everyday use, I mean that the skinny jean might have indeed held that gender-defying symbolism 15 or 20 years ago. But this is not due to a timeless objectivity of their deliberately revealing silhouette, i.e. its context transcending historic meaning as a marker of androgyny or of rock-‘n-roll counterculture. Rather, their meaning arose from a reactionary contrast to what was considered ‘normal’ at the time, when wider, baggier fits were the trend, and anything from a straight to a wide cut was seen as the most inconspicuous. Just as pants in the early 19th century initially entered fashion as a reaction to breeches, the skinny jeans of the 00’s similarly emerged in opposition to wider pants.

And here lies the key word: ‘inconspicuous’. Nowadays, Regardless of what conceptions a person with a developed appreciation for fashion history and its symbolism might hold, the skinny jean has become a marker of inconspicuousness among men. It signals an intention towards a non-statement: “I am a man of ideas and action, I do not care about conveying any superfluous message with my appearance. I do not care about wasting time on shallow things (perhaps deemed feminine?) such as consciously thinking about fashion, trends, or standing out by a difference in appearance in qualitative terms”. This is a statement that purports to erase any symbolic meaning that clothing might hold, calling similar others to ‘look beyond the item’s visual/symbolic statements’.

Thus, within this framework of similarity as humanisation and difference as homogenisation, the skinny jean functions as a marker of similarity.

Skinny jeans are markers of similarity

All wearers of skinny jeans share a similarity in the sense that other non-similar ‘sartorial statements’ pose significant obstacles to humanising the different other. This happens at least in what we might call a ‘default state’.

Let’s say that a ‘default state’ of observing the similar and the different is one where we are not motivated to make that extra effort to read and understand the other (ie. to interpret them). The reason for this is that the amount of time and cognitive resources necessary to understanding the other might not be as directly actionable as holding on to the internal coherence of our own narratives. It is an effort that leads to an energy-consuming erosion and convolution of the network of categories we use to simplify and interpret the world around us. This applies especially to interpreting other people, such as in our forming of theories of mind. In short, the default state is one of opting for paths of least resistance.

In a default state, if we adopt the point of view of a skinny jeans wearer looking to make a non-statement, we will perceive the use of wider dress pants or jeans as ‘difference’. Yet it is a homogenising kind of difference.

Wider dress pants as a homogenising difference

All wearers of wider dress pants are seen as making a conscious, enigmatic statement. It is in this perceived mystery that we will impose a single interpretation of it. We read the person as an ‘other’ with a particular ideological stance, characterised by displaying an apparent frivolity that overshadows other traits that would communicate transparency, utility, and authenticity. Some of these overshadowed traits could be virile strength, resourcefulness, a pragmatism that transcends the need for sartorial choices that are not evidently useful, or an inner-value that radiates through action and results rather than being artificially expressed merely through curated, sewn fabrics and symbols.

On the other hand, the wearer of skinny jeans who is similar to us will be observed through qualities that go beyond any statements we might otherwise read in their appearance were they different to us. The range of variable traits we notice and evaluate is larger. These traits can encompass anything personality-related such as their personal taste, the details in their political views, their hobbies, their particular skills, their potential to collaborate with oneself, etc. Our view of them is not clouded by the presuppositions that rush in once we categorise them as a different other. These assumptions do not stop, hinder or overshadow our interpretation of them. In this way, they are humanised.

Our interpretation of that similar other is not encumbered by those first interpretative (or symbolic) obstacles -those ‘mysterious statements’- that we encounter with the different other. The skinny jean signals to us that sartorially-speaking there is little to read there beyond ‘similarity’, inviting us to engage directly in humanising them. As a result, we will not anticipate any significant cognitive resource to be grudgingly spent on deciphering them, as if they were an unknown statement of any particular relevance.

Again, this reflects our tendency to default to the easiest path. With the skinny jean wearer similar to us, the path of least resistance is to humanise them, to notice the traits that make them a unique individual with views worth our attention, consideration, and respectful engagement.

Conversely, the path of least resistance to interpreting the different other is to stop at the first obstacle, the first sign of either a significant yet baffling difference, or a difference that is already codified in a particular way. First, we interpret them as ‘different’, which is the first signal. Then, we homogenise them under one or a handful of homogenising categories drawn from the narrow set that we typically associate with this particular signal of difference. And at best, we may ascribe only slight variations among them, variations that correspond to a few other signals compatible to these pre-established categories.

We remain stationed at the first obstacle -a first sign of difference such as ‘having a large tattoo’- and, never going further, we assemble our impression of that different other from this repertoire of simplified deductions that this marker of ‘difference’ permits:

“They are wearing these wider dress pants, why are they doing so? It must surely be because…”

“They are expressing disagreement over an idea that is conventional to my ideology. It must surely be because…”

“They are using an ample and precise vocabulary to express themselves. It must surely be because…”

Expected and unexpected differences

Naturally, the list of differences requiring thoughtful interpretation but instead met with homogenising preconceptions is vast. However, the idea is straightforward: in a default state where we aim to conserve cognitive resources, especially in understanding the different other, the process resembles a form of litmus testing. The presence of one sign corresponds to a narrow set of meanings, and we organise our ideas about others, and society at large, by performing these tests on what is different. I might clarify that some differences are already ‘predictable’, and thus are conventionally codified by those who see themselves as similar to each other. For example, a man with painted nails will be quickly categorised because this particular difference has already been codified.

Other differences are ‘unexpected’. In these cases homogenisation begins by labelling someone first and foremost as ‘different’, ‘extravagant’, ‘attention-seeking’, ‘pretentious’ and such. We then search for other traits that are compatible with these pre-made categories, constructing our reading of the other with them. To use an analogy, it is like crafting a story about someone with very limited granularity: rather than having access to every word in the English dictionary, we are limited to assembling it from a narrow set of pre-made sentences.

Similarity is humanising in that one of its strongest signals conveys this message: the similar other is worth closer attention and deserves a positive predisposition (e.g. the benefit of the doubt). Difference is homogenising in that it carries many pre-installed meanings, attributed simply by virtue of being different. Most importantly, these meanings act as interpretative obstacles that prevent the, we might say prejudiced, observer to humanise the other in the sense that I outlined in this text.

A phenomenon of cognitive economy that we all necessarily experience

Fundamentally, this phenomenon is one of cognitive economy. Just as we create concepts and symbols to simplify the world around us and make it cognitively bearable, we are more prone to give those who are similar the benefit of doubt, and consider them in more detail than those who are different. I refer to this as ‘economy’ because it is clear that our resources for attention, observation, and reflection are limited, requiring us to make choices, both consciously and unconsciously.

This means that we as humans are all guilty of this tendency. This text itself is simplifying (albeit consciously, as an exercise to illustrate an idea) how a particular different other, the ‘skinny jean wearer lamenting the decline of traditional masculinity’, might think. Nonetheless, it also attempts to humanise them by combing through layers of possible explanations for their behaviour, that do not fall into the simpler, conventional presupposition of their being comically ignorant, and perhaps hypocritical, about the true symbolic weight of their sartorial choices.

Expanding our criteria of what constitutes similarity: squinting to spot overlooked commonalities

Something approaching a solution to this issue is to intentionally expand our idea of what ‘similarity’ is. To continue employing language borrowed from economics, I believe that we can choose to manage our cognitive resources more ‘efficiently’ so that we can expand our criteria of what constitutes similarity. I also believe that, to succeed in maintaining this shift with consistency, more than mere rational effort is required: we could live with an openness on the emotional level to humanise the other just a bit more. If the human other is the end in themselves, rather than a means to an end, we choose to make a habit out of broadening our criteria for similarity, even if it requires some effort or small sacrifices, simply because the other is a human being.

Additionally, we may try to become more aware of the counterproductive homogenisations that we apply when evaluating the different other. This applies in all irresponsibly broad accusations that circulate conventionalised language, such as ‘racist’, ‘fascist’, ‘[insert broad ideology]’ or ‘narcissistic’ to name a few of the most homogenising and least humanising ones. They result in a process of mutual alienation, where attempting to provide cues for others to interpret what we are about becomes an impossible mission of dodging homogenising categories as much as we humanly can. It is often impossible because of difference and cognitive economy: being different becomes the barrier to interpretation, and the required tax to get through homogenising categories is considered too high for most people going about their daily lives.

Undermining and substituting the labels we use to homogenise and generalise others who are different

So, to conclude this on an open note, such as I expanded my criteria for similarity by seeing the ‘skinny jean wearer lamenting the loss of traditional masculinity’ as sharing my human, cognitively economic tendency to humanise those similar to us, I could also become aware of and undermine my usual go-to categories when labelling a different other. To undermine them is not restricted to becoming critical of them or simply erasing them. Like most habits, substitutes need to occupy the interpretive void left by their absence.

The ideal substitute would be plural: smaller fractions of categories used to interpret the other that apply to the same perceived trait (such as ‘man with painted nails’). And these fractions ought to be non-restricting, that is they cannot be so broad or judgemental (good or bad in absolute terms) that they exclude most other potential traits, or that they are incompatible with them: instead of ‘culturally ignorant, insecure, retrograde conservative man’, we might use the skinny jeans, as markers of a search for making sartorial choices carriers of insignificant meaning and symbolism (or, in the jargon I developed in this text: statements of non-statements). We might ascribe this search to a wish to simplify self-expression through personal appearance and give precedence to other aspects of one’s presentation as an individual.

As the reader might note, these are not intrinsically good or bad, and they do not necessarily imply other traits such as retrograde, or chauvinistic, that might accompany homogenising categories. In this way, by expanding our criteria for similarity, or undermining our default, go-to homogenising categories to interpret the different other, we can begin to speak to the other and about the other in more truthful, and less restricting ways, simultaneously opening more avenues for cognitively economic mutual understanding and communication.
1. https://x.com/dieworkwear/status/1681436871107444737 ↩︎
2. Not to mention ancient Greek men’s use of short skirts as marks not only of masculinity but of civilisation against what they considered the oriental decadence of pant-wearing Persians. ↩︎
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The present is a perpetual question, and the place judgement has in perception

November 1st, 2024

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Table of Contents
Navigating the unfolding present tense through questions

My take on mindfulness is that the present is a constant question. We filter our perception of our surroundings through implicit questions. Like a spotlight, a focused beam of light of a certain kind, we direct these questions at whatever enters our awareness from the perceived world.

We see a fellow pedestrian that draws our attention, if only for a few seconds. She is dressed in a certain way, walks with a particular gait. Inevitably, we perceive her through a question, whether we are conscious of it or not: Where is she headed? Where has she come from? What might she do next? And if she doesn’t, why not? What does her home look like? Her friends? What is her role in society?

The questions are endless, and these are only a few very simple ones. We can ask questions to gain a more intricate understanding of what’s happening around us just as we can query our surroundings as mirrors of our own subjectivity: what do I feel when I see this kind of person, and why? Why does this draw my attention more than something else? How does this event fit into my personal way of categorising things?

Above all, questions direct our attention. Just as we might for one reason or another decide to notice every red object that we encounter throughout the day, a question, wielded as a spotlight, frames perception, shaping our interpretations of what surrounds us. Think about how by deciding to give cognitive precedence to all appearances of the colour red would make you pay attention to things that you would not have in your default, routinary state. It would invite unexpected, possibly enlightening guests into your consciousness.

The beauty of being aware of this psychological phenomenon is that we can intentionally choose our questions to break free from the monotony of daily living structured by the cyclical fulfilment of necessary routines. Note that when I say “monotony of daily living”, I mean resigning oneself to the idea that if the sequence of environments that succeed each other as the backdrop of your daily life are fixed -the same city, same buildings, the same unspoken rules playing out like a choreography- then this life setting is intrinsically monotonous.

To cultivate presence through questions is to acknowledge that we navigate the world through only a few chosen filters, even though many more are available. This abundance suggests that a reality as dynamic as our modern world is so richly layered that, if we flung open the doors of our perception, it would overwhelm us entirely.¹

When we choose not to perceive with a variety of questions, we risk casting preconceptions onto our fellow pedestrian. And should that preconception not be an attempt at mobilising whatever purely neutral concepts we possess to make sense of the world, then we may find ourselves judging, adding an emotional weight to it.

And here comes my second point about mindfulness, which is underpinned by the principle of non-judgmental perception.

Judgemental thinking

Emotional valence refers to positioning experiences on a spectrum between what feels good and feels bad. It is a phenomenon that is easy recognisable in daily life: we see someone doing something and we disapprove of it. We are perceiving, conceptualising that action and the person carrying it out through this negative judgement, which clouds other interpretations, hindering a more detailed awareness of what is happening.

This emotional charge is contained in words themselves. When calling something “annoying”, “pretentious”, or other qualifiers of valence (positive or negative value), we are engaging in judgement.

I suspect that emotional charge in words and expressions leads to some predefined paths of assumptions. They are paths that more or less apply very similarly to anything to which the emotionally charged word is assigned. These paths involve aspects of the thing to pay attention to, implications and consequences of their staying in their bad ways, assigning responsibility for other bad things, and so on. These paths become vividly illuminated and signposted, while the rest of possible assumptions or observations are left shrouded in darkness and mist.

Judgemental is also thinking that something should or should not be a certain way, and letting that inform our attitude towards it: “I should be doing this, they should not be doing this, this should not happen this way, this should not look like this, it should look like that”. Prescriptions are made, almost like instruction manuals on how to perceive something. And again, some paths are illuminated and others obscured.

Common language and common action are greatly impoverished when judgemental language eats up the rest, as it not only circulates in people’s minds through communication, but it informs our perception of things as we cling to words to interpret through our inner monologues. If we cannot find the proper word, the inadequate word that we have at reach will greatly influence the tone of our thought.

The greater consequence of the impoverishment of common language lies in how using qualifying words on things in the world is like proposing an instruction manual on how to think that thing and what to do about that thing. As I said above, the predefined paths or instruction manuals that judgemental words offer are usually much more repetitive across different cases than more descriptive language. They primarily rely on a derivative of the basic actions of rejection or attraction, of determining something as deserving of energy or undeserving of it. In essence, these prescriptions are much less about curious and open understanding than about assuming a possession of enough knowledge and driving us straight into actions of cultivation or cancellation.

Non-judgemental perception

The principle of non-judgemental perception begins with meditation, where we watch our passing thoughts as they are, without identifying ourselves with the emotion they might carry. Ideally, we simply view them, first and foremost, as thoughts. When we extend this to perceiving daily occurrences in our life in society, we observe what others are doing descriptively, so to speak. We are not necessarily driven by sheer curiosity, but we assimilate the situation without hauling along our thoughts all of the a priori assumptions and prescriptions that judgemental perception brings.

Non-judgemental perception is likely a more reliably healthy way to view society, as it promotes a more balanced emotional state. Treating the present moment as an ongoing question allows us to explore this non-judgmental perception and frees us from the habitual mental shortcuts we often rely on when interpreting social behaviour.

Nonetheless, judgemental thought – that is, thought marked with emotional valence, assigning positive or negative value and all its implications – does not need to be written off as an inferior, less rational way to navigate the social world. It is a fundamental part of our moral makeup. By weighing the positive and negative aspects of events around us, we decide on an elemental level what to avoid, ignore, reject, condemn, protest, and so on, and, equally, what to praise, perpetuate, celebrate, protect, support, and so on. That is, we decide on what deserves to receive energy and attention from the world, and what we think should have less of them.

When we consider what judgemental thought actually is for, the role it plays in influencing the decisions we make and the attitudes we form and radiate towards others, we gain the ability to invoke it with more agency. We become conscious of using it as one way of perceiving, and we remain vigilant for when it inadvertently slips into our default state, leading us to mistake it for ‘thinking’ as a whole. The same holds for non-judgmental thinking, which sharpens our perception of subtle, unexpected details, the fine-lines, and our ability to develop empathetic attitudes and a richer mental impression of the world. This said, its role remains mostly descriptive.

However, perhaps “non-judgemental” or “descriptive” is slightly misleading. There is always a source of motion: an emotion, something that propels the psychological, the bodily, the spirit, you name it, forward into movement. In this case it is an emotion that precedes judgement. It is curiosity, a certain opening of the valves of the senses, a welcoming of impressions and the associations they evoke, and fosters an appreciation that yet remains distanced enough from moral investment to not quite be neither positive nor negative.

With a clear sense of each mode’s usefulness, we gain the ability to select the one that best serves the moment. It is a delicate dance between the two: one cannot flourish without the other, and as the tune shifts in mood and melody, they trade places between leading and following. I believe that bringing to surface, being aware, and exercising more agency in choosing the questions that we formulate as we navigate the present moment is a way to set the right mood for the tune.
1. As Aldous Huxley famously put it in his 1954 book The Doors of Perception. ↩︎
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Vegetarianism or apredatorism? An interpretation of what a predator is

October 16th, 2024

frimile
Table of Contents
The predator

There are two kinds of predators. There are those that evolutionary became as such. They are the strong preying on the weak.

Then, there are contingent predators. They worsen the world of the living by their unwillingness to stop stealing hard-won energy from others, even if refraining from doing so would make things better for everyone.

These ‘others’, these victims, ruminators, foragers, cultivators and builders, are all those unwilling to prey on others. Many of them have the strength or ability to prey, but choose to apply these aptitudes in friendly cooperation with their environment.

The energy provided by the sun and plants are not prey, they are fruit. And fruit in this particular text stands for a particular type of resource: one that provides energy but is not prey.

Then, hard-won energy is that which is sought, harvested, cultivated, or created instead of obtained from the destruction, suppression, or theft from another sentient being who is significantly disadvantaged without it. After all, etymologically speaking, the word energy is closely related to the word work. In fact, the ancient Greek energeia effectively means work. Energy is then the fuel, the heat that, as Stephen Fry puts it in his series Leap Years, maintains the order of the living world, in a perpetual resistance against entropy, the inevitable process of energy dissipation and structural decay that governs the universe.¹

Predators prey on those unwilling to predate. It is what could be called, in a system based on fairness and equality, an injustice. On the other hand, if a rather extreme version of the end-justifies-the-means principle is adopted, a predator can be seen as a beneficial agent that improves the energy efficiency ratio: a substantially greater amount of energy is obtained per time unit.

This enables the expenditure of more energy in less time, which is achieved by accumulating hard-won energy quickly snatched from many preys in a relatively short time. Such quickly accumulated energy can be used to create better things and systems.

However, ethics aside, this process is not sustainable in the long-term, and it will result in widespread misery. Even more, a byproduct of this is the immense energy wasted in upholding an order that makes sustained predation bearable enough so that work can continue under such circumstances.

Technologies are apredatorist systems

Many technologies are in a way apredatorist systems. They make preying upon others so difficult that it is not worthwhile anymore. So to speak, the ROI ceases being justifiable, as the costs far outweigh the benefits. As a result, the non-predators can organise themselves without this implicit fear, without having to take precautions against potential instances of predation in a less cohesive collectivity, like toll keepers stationed at the bridges connecting society. Akin to carnivores preying on herbivores, they operate by the principle that violence, trickery and extortion are less costly ways to obtain energy than the slow, gruelling process of harvesting it or cultivating it.

Examples of these technologies abound: advanced farming machinery provides enough food to satisfy predators, in this case feudal lords or slave owners. Then, the cost of preying on peasants and slaves becomes higher than simply sharing in the energy provided by a machine-enhanced harvest. Other less obvious technologies are written down methods or procedures that teach predators to confront their emotions in healthy ways, to learn to find a purpose so that less energy is wasted in a cyclical or aimless existence -or the use of relieving compensators for purposelessness such as overconsumption and other addictions,- and to understand the superiority of cooperating instead of exploiting others. It is valid to consider these procedures as technologies as well, they are durable, they perform functions consistently and can be replicated by following their method of construction.

Once a robust technological system is set up, contingent predation becomes obsolete. Ideally (an ideal, a North Star that orientates and illuminates but probably remains forever beyond grasp), the scenario would be an ever-decreasing amount of time and effort required for processing energy for every individual organism, and more time would be spent in discovering and celebrating each other, life, and the universe.

Vegetarianism compared to apredatory values

So vegetarianism and apredatorism, for lack of a better word, can be seen as derivations not so much of an ideology but of a deeper ethical premise: that it is not so much a categorical refusal to carry out certain actions, such as eating meat, but to not contribute to the proliferation of predation beyond what is ecologically necessary (for example by not participating in the perpetuation of the cattle industry).

The consequence of defining a personal vegetarianism as a natural ramification of a deeper principle is a question of not mistaking the branch for the trunk. In this particular version of vegetarianism, the principle of not eating meat under any circumstance is not the trunk, it is a branch of the apredatorist principle. Once we can accept this distinction (almost entirely suitable to be deemed as being ‘just semantics’), we may be able to promote a far greater range of ethical stances regarding consuming meat than labelling any deviation as a ‘flexitarianism’. The issue with terms such as ‘flexitarianism’ is that they carry connotations of incompleteness, of an inability to fully commit to a personal value. They imply a kind of moral weakness, an incomplete rejection of something.

So, as a result, the label ‘vegetarian’ can become unnecessarily restrictive to those who approach the matter in more nuanced ways but are unable to articulate this in a few words. In many cases, such as in experiencing foreign cultural rituals that happen to include meat, or accepting it as a guest in a home not prepared to serve vegetarians (not as an ethical choice but purely because of cultural conditions), the label ‘vegetarian’ might obstruct the individual’s path towards self-enrichment and actualisation.

Were they to decide to accept the meat even though they have labelled themselves as vegetarians, a misunderstanding similar to the problem with flexitarianism would take place. Even if their reasons are valid, the ‘sinning’ vegetarian would have communicated a certain lack of integrity and an alarming willingness to transgress their values. At worst, it would convey a kind of hypocrisy in the eyes of others -and perhaps in the vegetarian’s very own perception of themselves-, an insight into a personal character that is not wholly trustworthy, or demean the vegetarian cause overall.

On the other hand, one can be ‘flexible’ in their meat eating habits and still be fully committed to this apredatorist moral principle in its version that I just described. It is a principle that extends beyond consumption habits, also implicating social expectations, broader consumption habits (or substituting them for non-consumptive habits) and personal codes of conduct regarding our treatment of others, be they human or non-human. It is not a barrier against the omnivore social world, or the adjustment of consumption habits as a form of protest. It is a porous principle that allows complexities of the real world to permeate the behaviours and attitudes that result from it.

To make this last sentence clear, it deals with distinctions from a different dimension of criteria. To use an analogy, it is comparable to the difference between having to declare a preference of either cats and dogs and declaring a preference for pets with certain specific traits, regardless of whether they are cats or dogs. Similarly, we do not declare that we prefer cats just as we would say that we are vegetarians and do not eat meat. We declare that we prefer pets that do not shed hair, that fit in an apartment and that are friendly to children, criteria that can apply to certain cats and certain dogs. Following this analogy, this preference is akin to declaring that we seek to contribute to the mobilisation of apredatory values, and that, frequently, not eating meat aligns with this.

And as might be clear to the reader by now, the concept of apredatory values is itself an apredatorist technology.
1. Stephen Fry goes further to state that energy ultimately comes from the sun, becoming stored in plants through photosynthesis, which become ‘calorific treats’ to other animals, which in turn become prey to predators. ↩︎
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Vowing to live in transparency

October 15th, 2024

frimile
Table of Contents
The world within you

Your ideas, your opinions

The objects, forms, abstractions and stories inhabiting your imagination

Your preferences

Your aspirations

Your deeds

Your memory

Your relationships to others

Your images of others

Your emotions

Your secrets

Your impulses

Your aesthetic propensions

Your ways of organising things in the world

Identity

In the sense of a persona, Latin for a mask. The gatekeeper by which all foreign consciences need to pass to develop an idea of who you are. It is the representation of who you are that develops in their minds. The identity gradually forms by observation while living in society. It evolves by the feedback produced by how society reacts to it. Feedback is a fundamental shaping factor because the persona is meant to protect the inner world from the violence, rejection and suppression that the body can be subjected to if inconvenient things (or inconvenient in a particular time and space) are revealed.

The gatekeeper persona is made up of decisions -conscious or unconscious- on what to highlight, what to hide, what to contrive, what to lie about, what to bring up in particular moments. It relies not only in words or gestures, but the things you surround yourself with, the behaviours you exhibit in public, your clothing and other types of personal decoration, and the explanations of your role in society.

Living in transparency

The identity becomes increasingly less opaque. It is not a façade but an entryway and a seamless path into the inner world. The transparent gatekeeper empowers and multiplies things from the inner world as they become a reality within other people’s consciousness.

The transparent identity is supple and does not waste resources on masquerades, unnecessary anxieties or delicacies. While there are anxieties or delicacies that are necessary, many are remnants of obsolete defences, poorly processed experiences or misunderstood social etiquette.

Maybe the identity-persona is but a nexus to a world of potentials, a bridge to personal castles in the sky. Maybe at some point the process of developing an identity flips over its head, shifting from being additive to subtractive. Once it accumulated habits and predispositions to the point of saturation, it begins removing everything that proves to be superfluous, everything that disrupts the view to the inner world or that hinders its navigation.

An identity is like a vehicle. It ensures that the gate to the inner world remains open, so that it can gain solidity, durability and real existence as it establishes and strengthens ties with the outer world and other people’s inner worlds, becoming increasingly intertwined with them. Eventually it extends beyond the bounds of the individual to become a part of the outer world.

Or perhaps the identity is not so much a vehicle for foreigners to comfortably navigate the inner world as it is a diplomat. It guides them to the places populated by elements with which they can form the most fruitful bonds.

What kind of filter is your persona to the world within you?

-A decoy?

-A fogged crystal window?

-A refractory prism?

-A telescope? A microscope?

-A tour guide?

-A blind guide?

-A disoriented stranger?

-An alchemist? (knowing what elements of the inner world to combine with what the other person brings, to concoct explosive encounters)

-A hall of mirrors?

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The option of ‘in medias res’ learning

Table of Contents

What is in medias res?

Cumulative learning is the full novel

In medias res learning is connective

An example of in medias res: drawing hands

In a nutshell

The still applicable timelessness of books and social media as a culture in its turbulent youth

The different other is homogenised, the similar other is humanised.

Table of Contents

The difference between context-based and historic meanings

Skinny jeans are markers of similarity

Wider dress pants as a homogenising difference

Expected and unexpected differences

A phenomenon of cognitive economy that we all necessarily experience

Expanding our criteria of what constitutes similarity: squinting to spot overlooked commonalities

Undermining and substituting the labels we use to homogenise and generalise others who are different

The present is a perpetual question, and the place judgement has in perception

Table of Contents

Navigating the unfolding present tense through questions

Judgemental thinking

Non-judgemental perception

Vegetarianism or apredatorism? An interpretation of what a predator is

Table of Contents

The predator

Technologies are apredatorist systems

Vegetarianism compared to apredatory values

Vowing to live in transparency

Table of Contents

The world within you

Identity

Living in transparency

What kind of filter is your persona to the world within you?

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