September 22 2023
the lies we tell ourselves about ourselves
And then it dawned on me: Shit, I don't just have bedroom kink, I have existential kink. I have perverse desires for pain and bondage in my daily existence.
Now think about the time you mistreated your significant other, or when you were caught stealing as a child, or when you botched a big presentation at work. Feel the pang of shame? That’s your brain telling you not to dwell on that particular information. Flinch away, hide from it, pretend it’s not there. Punish those neural pathways, so the information stays as discreet as possible.
-- The Elephant in the Brain: Hidden Motives in Everyday Life (affiliate link)
So, all told, we’re under at least two kinds of illusions. One is about the nature of the conscious self, which we see as more in control of things than it actually is. The other illusion is about exactly what kind of people we are—namely, capable and upstanding. You might call these two misconceptions the illusion about our selves and the illusion about ourselves. They work in synergy. The first illusion helps us convince the world that we are coherent, consistent actors: we don’t do things for no reason, and the reasons we do them make sense; if our behaviors merit credit or blame, there is an inner us that deserves that credit or blame. The second illusion helps convince the world that what we deserve is credit, not blame; we’re more ethical than the average person, and we’re more productive than the average teammate. We have beneffectance.
-- Why Buddhism is True: The Science and Philosophy of Meditation and Enlightenment (affiliate link)
Even complex surgeries, which rely on sophisticated judgments and nimble movement, will be increasingly automated over time. Robot-assisted surgeries have increased from 1.8 percent of all surgeries in 2012 to 15.1 percent in 2018.
-- AI 2041: Ten Visions for Our Future (affiliate link)
Misaki thought for a moment. “But still,” she said, “you stayed friends with him even though you didn’t understand, right?” Kafuku took off his baseball cap again and placed it on his lap. “It’s hard to explain,” he said, rubbing the top of his head with his palm. “Once you really get into a role, it’s hard to find the right moment to stop. No matter how it preys on your emotions, you have to go with the flow until the performance has taken its shape, the point where its true meaning becomes clear. It’s the same with music. A song doesn’t reach a proper end until it arrives at a final, predetermined chord. Do you understand what I mean?”
