Let’s say an entire world of people didn’t believe in free will (and that they were right). What would such a world be like?

Let’s say the world is otherwise like our world. If you’re temped to say, “That’s impossible. A world in which people don’t feel like they have free will would never wind up being anything like our world,” imagine this:

Super-intelligent aliens visit present-day Earth and explain to us that free-will doesn’t exist. They actually (somehow) prove to us that it doesn’t. Of course, some people don’t (or can’t) accept the proof, even though it’s iron-clad. So the aliens put something in our water — some chemical that forces us to see the truth. Suddenly, we all KNOW that there’s no free will.

What happens?

I was thinking about this today, and I realized that I don’t have one. The question stymies me. I mean, I have tons of memories going way back to early childhood, but I can’t even come close to pinpointing one as the earliest. I can’t even narrow them down to the ten earliest.

I have all these memories of nursery school, etc. I remember tons of events that would be impossible for me to put in chronological order. I think my earliest would have been from when I was three or so. But I have so many memories from that time, I can’t say which came first.

Am I being too literal? When most people get asked, “What’s your earliest memory?” do they just interpret that as, “Tell me a story from your early childhood”?

Or do most people actually have a memory that they know (or feel) came before all their other memories?

On a lighter note than “This too shall pass”, I’ve always thought this was a brilliantly funny entry into the Five-Word-Acceptance-Speech contest:

“Fools! Release the giant robot!”

My question is the opposite. What acts would you refuse to do, no matter what I offered you?

To make this interesting, let’s set a few caveats: no acts that cause permanent physical damage. I hope you won’t let me cut off your leg, no matter how much I offer you. No selling children into slavery or anything like that. I’m mostly interested in emotional boundaries.

Would you strip in front of your friends for money? Would you spend two years in solitary confinement for money? Would you eat dirt for money?

What wouldn’t you do for money?

Someone: Word X means Y.

Me: I guess it does to you. That’s not what it means to me. To me, it means Z.

Someone: Well, then you’re wrong. It doesn’t mean Z; it means Y.

Me: How can I be wrong? Do you mean my definition is non-standard? That most people mean Y and I’m going against the social default?

Someone: No, you’re just wrong. Word X MEANS Y.

At this point, if I question further, Someone either doesn’t want to talk about it any more, or he starts using mystical language that I can’t parse, e.g. “Words carry energy with them, you know.” Sometimes Someone brings up word origins. If you study linguistics, you learn that most origins are pretty murky. But even if they’re crystal clear, linking a word’s meaning with its origin is like linking a building’s purpose with its designer’s original intent: “You can’t move your car factory into there! In the 1930s, that building was built as a warehouse for storing cork!”

To me, it makes complete sense to use words in standard ways. But that’s just a matter of utility. It makes communicating easier. It says nothing about what words MEAN in some cosmic sense.

I guess it also might make sense to defer to some sort of authority, like a dictionary. But I don’t see how we — as a culture — can agree on a specific authority. I think that would be hard to do even within a small circle of friends. Imagine saying, “Whenever we argue about what a word means, let’s agree to go with whatever’s in the New Heritage Dictionary.”

Even if meaning just implies conventional meaning, why are people SO sure they know the consensus. “When most people say ‘Democracy,’ they mean blah blah blah…” How do you KNOW? Have you taken a survey? Based on my conversational experience, as a talker and as an observer, words are very fuzzy and meanings slip all the time from person-to-person. That’s one of the reasons we have so many conversational confusions.

Where does this idea come from, that words have fixed meanings? Why do so many people believe it?

If you believe it, why do you believe it? If you believe my “fuzzy” view is wrong, why is it wrong?

By teams, I mean categories like male, female, black, white, American and so on.

I don’t identify with any of them. Of course, I know I’m male, white and American. But I don’t in any way feel part of a team that includes other’s “like me.”

I know it’s easier to feel like a member if you’ve been persecuted, and people-like-me tend to be privileged. Yet I was horribly persecuted as a child. Why? Because I was a geek. I was a geek (nerd, whatever) in the 70s, before it had any cache. I had few friends, I was picked on, I was bullied, etc. This went on for about ten years of my life. I’m also Jewish, and I come from a family rife with Holocaust stories. I lived with deep feelings of unworthiness, shame and anger every day.

But I don’t consider myself part of the geek team; nor the Jew team. And traveling abroad didn’t make me feel part of the American team.

Yet I’m not disconnected from other people. I care deeply about friends and family. I care about people I’ve forged relationships with. I feel a part of that specific group. But not part of some larger group that includes tons of people I’ve never met. (Which doesn’t mean I never help strangers. It’s perfectly easy to help people who aren’t part of your team.)

Okay. That’s me. I don’t feel superior to people who feel otherwise. I’m sure it’s better to belong than not to. So if anything, I’m a little jealous.

Putting that aside, my main question is about teamists and non-teamists relating. Recently, I was part of a discussion about sexism. I made a point (that I’ve made here, in another thread), that many men I know are ashamed by their sexuality.

A woman remarked, “How is that my problem? Why should women be responsible for men’s sexual problems?” Now, I can understand why a woman might feel this way. And I worked hard to explain that I certainly didn’t think men’s sexual problems were an excuse for mistreating women. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dividing the world up into two teams, men and women, and that she was essentially saying something like, “If there’s a problem in Chicago, why should the New York Mayor’s Office try to fix it?”

At one point, she even suggested that men should talk to other men about their problems — not to women.

Now, if I’m having a problem, it would never occur to me to seek out “men.” I would simply seek out a friend, male or female.

But I’ve had many conversations like this. They tend to get stuck. I can’t get inside the team mindset. The other person can’t get outside it.

Has anyone here ever had any luck bridging that gap?

If you’re a teamist, how does it feel when you come across someone like me? Do you think I’m weird? Damaged? Lying? Eccentric? What? Is it possible for you to see me as a person, and not as part of some team?

Let me be really clear and state that I absolutely notice race and gender. I’m not claiming that I see a woman and just think “person.” I’m not claiming I see a black guy and just think “guy” or “human being.”

I’m claiming that to me, there’s a huge difference between female and Member Of The Woman Club; and a black man, to me, is definitely black skinned (or brown or whatever). He’s just not necessarily a member of the Black Team.

I am often guilty of minimizing the role of “culture” in the people around me.

This week,. two twenty-somethings asked AskMe-relationship questions which took the form of, “I love my partner, but the relationship is dull, sexually. If I say with her, will I wind up regretting that I wasted my youth?”

I’m tempted to write, “It doesn’t work that way. When you’re 30, 40 and 50, you don’t look back and lament all the things you never did. You’re too busy being 45, fighting with your boss, kissing your kids, watching DVDs… whatever. You’re more worried about where you’ll be five years from now than where you were you were ten years ago.

“I would like to travel around the world, and I’ll probably never get to do it. I’m married, I have a job, etc. It makes me sad, but I think about it as ‘I’ll probably never get to do it.’ Which is upsetting. But I don’t think of it as ‘I squandered my chance,’ even if that is somehow true. The past is the past.

“And even things I did do in the past don’t thrill me all that much now. Yes, I drove across the country; yes, I went to Europe… So? That was fun at the time. What am I supposed to do about it now? Bask in the memories? They’re fading. They’re like chapters in a book that I’ve already read. They’re way less potent than stuff I’m doing now and stuff I’m worried about — or looking forward to — in the future.”

But I don’t write that, because maybe I’m just quirky this way. Maybe I just happen to dwell on the present (and the future). Maybe that’s just my temperament. Maybe other people are more nostalgic.

What do you think? What makes someone a past person, a present person, or a future person?

My initial thought is “That would be great.” Would it? Naturally, it would be great for anyone with cancer (and that persons loved ones), but surely the outcome wouldn’t be as simple as cancer is cured, happily ever after, hooray.

Would a cancer cure impact the population is a major (harmful?) way? What would it mean for insurance companies? Cigarette companies? Unemployment rates? Etc.

I can think of two “what if” scenarios with which you can frame answers, and either is acceptable:

1. The cure is mostly used in 1st World Countries. Cancer is wiped out in the US, England, Germany, etc. But poorer nations can’t afford it.

2. The cure is inexpensive (or the expense is somehow mitigated — say with massive foreign aid) and the entire world is rid of cancer.

If you want, you can spin this question even further. What if medical science achieved its goals and disease was wiped out altogether? This IS what scientists are trying to do, and it’s remotely possible that with advances in genetic research, nanotechnology and other fields, a day will come when no one dies of a disease. Let’s assume that people can still die of old age (I know you could frame that as a disease, but I’m trying to keep this from being about immortal beings). Unless you got into a car accident or something, you’d be guaranteed a 120-year life. How would this change the world?

It doesn’t matter (to this question) whether our feelings are based in reality or not (whether there’s such a thing as objective beauty is a subject for another question). I’m just interested in hearing from people who consider themselves — who feel themselves to be — attractive.

It may be hard for such people to fess up, because doing so sounds conceited. But I’m hoping that at least some people will get over this. I’d really love to hear thoughtful answers.

As for me, I’ve never felt attractive. Let me clarify that a little. I’ve certainly felt that specific people have liked the way I look. And that felt good. And it might have even briefly made me feel attractive. But still, at my core, I never felt that their assessment was correct. I’ve never been able to sustain the feeling that I’m attractive.

At worst I feel ugly. At best, I feel average. I’m a little ashamed to admit this (though I doubt my confession will surprise anyone), but my self-assessment has had a huge impact on my life. Not a day goes by when I don’t, at least once, think about my (lack of) looks. I compare myself with other people (and usually come off the worst); I covet other people’s beauty; etc.

Even unrelated traits tie into my body image. Instead of thinking, “I’m smart,” I think, “Well, at least I’m smart.”

I’m not trying to garner pity. Truth is, in my 40s, all this stuff bothers me much less than it did when I was younger. But I can’t deny that it had a significant role in shaping who I am, how I relate to others, and how I feel about myself.

There’s tons of literature about people like me. But I never hear the other side. I’m really curious about what it’s like to have a general feeling that you’re attractive. I can’t imagine what that would be like. I wonder how it would impact a person’s life.

Please note that I’m not talking about “how good it feels when my boyfriend tells me I’m good looking” or “how charged I get when the ladies look my way.” I can understand that. I’m talking about a general, every-day feeling: what you think about yourself when no one’s there and you look in the mirror. And how that affects you.

This is one of the most profound experiences I get from art (and sometimes I get it from objects and experiences that aren’t art, as when I look at the ocean).

However, bottomlessness is an illusion. A work of art only has so much information in it. But at some point, it SEEMS like it has infinite information in it. I’m interested in the mechanics of this. How much information — and what sort of information — creates an oceanic feeling?

I have a theory that you don’t really need that much information. I think the human brain sort of goes one… two… three.. four… OH MY GOD! INFINITY!!!

I remember, years ago, seeing the Royal Shakespeare Company’s “Nicholas Nicholby.” Near the start, they created the illusion of a busy London street. I remember marveling at it, feeling like they had a million actors on stage, all doing very different things — so many things that I could never take in the whole scene, even if I saw the play a hundred times.

In fact, they had about 25 actors on stage. That’s a relatively large number, but it’s not vast. Still, I couldn’t keep track of them all at once, so my brain just decided that something really profound and “infinite” was going on.

I doubt it’s possible to break this down into an equation, but I do wonder about the minimum amount of information needed to create the illusion of vastness, great depth, the oceanic, the infinite…

So, a friend of mine and I got into one of many arguments about my political apathy, and she trotted out that old horse: “You pay taxes, so you should care about what the government does with your contribution.” I was about to say, “Yeah, you’re right, I guess,” when a thought struck me: in what sense do I pay taxes?

I go to work every day and do stuff there. Twice a month, my employer gives me a paycheck. To say that there’s a simple relationship between those acts is already fraught as-far-as I’m concerned, but I’ll ignore that for now. Let’s assume I’m paid in exchange for the work I do.

Okay, on my paycheck there are two numbers. I get the smaller of the two numbers. There’s this fiction that I get the larger amount and then “pay” some of it to the government. But I don’t. I get the smaller amount. It’s really simple. I work X hours; I get paid the net (not the gross). What does the gross have to do with me? Nothing, as-far-as I can see, outside of some collectively-held dream/ritual where we all pretend we get paid the gross.

I could choose to have no taxes withheld. In which case, my employer would hand me the gross. But I’d still have to hand over much of it. So in the end, I’d wind up with the net.

I’m not making a contribution. Contributing is a act of choice. Unless I want to break the law, I have no choice. There’s this fiction that I’m making a moral act, but I’m not. It’s a moral act when I contribute some of my net to the Cancer Foundation. It’s not a moral act to do what you’re forced to do.

There’s a fiction that I’m somehow connected with that “percentage of my pay” that the government gets (and so I should care what they do with it). But how am I connected with it?

This probably seems like trolling — like I’m making an argument against paying taxes. But I’m not. I’m pro taxes. I’m just trying to understand if there’s any way of sensibly interpreting taxation as employees “paying taxes” or “making a contribution.”

I’m also not arguing for political apathy. That’s not the topic here, except in terms of its relationship with taxation. Is it reasonable for my friend to expect me to care about where “my” taxes go. It may well be reasonable for her to expect me to care about what the government does. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about whether or not I should care about what the government does with “my” money. How is it mine?

I’m talking about the sort of statements you’d normally make to another person, such as “Damn, this elevator is really slow!” or “When are people going to understand?” I realize these could knee-jerk ejaculations, but they could also be person-to-person communications.

I got in trouble once, on Metafilter, because I mentioned that I mostly hear African Americans talking to themselves like this. So let me make a few disclaimers: first, I don’t think talking-to-yourself is bad or stupid. In fact, I strongly suspect it’s natural. I never talk to myself, which is why I’m asking this question. But I bet I don’t do it because I’ve been trained to be self-conscious. I’d be mentally healthier if I could let that go.

About the race comment: it’s simply true IN MY EXPERIENCE. I live in a “mixed” neighborhood in Brooklyn. When I walk around the area, I almost never hear white people talking to themselves. On the other hand, I’m continually passing black people who make comments. I’m not judging; I’m just noticing. I’m guessing that there’s some (good and natural) component of black, urban culture that doesn’t repress this natural urge.

I also hear self-talking much more from black men than from black women; but in general, I hear it much more from blacks than from whites — regardless of gender.

My main reason for even bringing up race is a hope that “someone from the inside” — someone who grew up in (or around) black, urban culture will comment.

Here’s my question: is there a social component to this sort of talking-to-yourself?

Many times, I’ve felt that, when I pass someone who is talking to himself, he’s partly talking to me. I get this feeling, because I can see, when I’m some distance from the person, that he’s quiet. Or, possibly, he’s quietly mumbling. Then, when he passes me, he suddenly makes a loud comment. Once he’s past me, he goes quiet again.

These comments aren’t generally about me. They’re the kind of thing I listed above: “If people keep on littering, this neighborhood is going to be a mess!” or “I bet the grocery store is going to be closed!”

The guys don’t make eye-contact with me. They don’t seem to notice me at all. The only clue that they MIGHT be, on some level, talking to me is the sudden raised voice when passing.

Since this is totally alien to me (I don’t even have an urge to talk to myself), I don’t get it. But I have a few theories:

1. The commenter consciously and intentionally intends me to hear. As-far-as he’s concerned, he’s talking to me. He and I have different cultural expectations for a conversation (e.g. I expect eye contact). If this is true, am I being rude by not responding? (Should I shout back, “Yup, the grocery store is closed!”) Or is he talking to me, but not expecting a response? When he’s around the people he grew up with, do they have conversations without looking at each other, with a pretense (for lack of a better word) of talking to themselves?

2. The commenter is genuinely talking to himself and may not even notice me, but some sort of unconscious social impulse prods him to open up when he’s near another person. (I, unfortunately, have the opposite impulse: I close up around strangers, sometimes without even being very aware that I’m doing so or that there’s a stranger near me. So I understand how, as social animals, we often instinctually change our behavior when other people are around.)

3. I’m imagining things. I THINK the person is louder when I’m around, but that’s because I can’t hear him when I’m NOT around.

Has anyone (a psychologist?) studied “talking to yourself”? Do any of you do it (somewhat in the way I’m talking about) and have enough self-insight to understand what’s going on when you do it? What social forces lead to this kind of self-talking?

Does belief mean “to feel like something is true”? To be unable to imagine it being false (completely unable or able only with a really strong effort)? To be unable to feel like it’s false (even if you can intellectually imagine it being false)? To generally live one’s life as if it’s true (even if you know it may be false — or that it is false)?

It seems reasonable for me to claim belief that my arm exists. But I’m not even sure what I mean by that. I know it’s POSSIBLE that I might be imagining it. Still, there’s a strong emotional/intellectual SOMETHING going on. It feels profound, and I call it “I believe.” What do I mean?