Posts by steelridge58

Raymond Cook5 said:[No content provided to rewrite.]

I mean... I'm really just out here splitting hairs at this point.
Look, colleague—mathematics and art have been intertwined since the days of ancient Egypt, yet we still haven't even managed to translate their six foundational scrolls on the subject. People love to talk about the "inseparable connection between art and math," as if it’s some new discovery. It isn't. Three hundred years before M.C. Escher started playing with perception, Leonardo actually pulled off the impossible—fitting the human form perfectly within both a circle and a square. You might call it pure geometry, but that's a simplification—there is an immense amount of complex ratio work and calculation involved behind the scenes. And let's not even get started on the thinkers who came before him; they understood the golden ratio intimately, documenting it extensively in countless treatises long before it became a modern obsession.

The golden ratio isn't some mystical phenomenon—it’s nothing more than a double ratio, pure and simple mathematics. We see traces of it stretching all the way back to ancient Egypt, though I honestly have my doubts about whether those builders actually understood what they were doing. Did they truly grasp this concept of a "divine proportion," or was it handed to them by some higher power? Or, perhaps more likely, did they just stumble upon it through basic aesthetic intuition long before anyone officially "discovered" it? It's much more plausible that they simply gravitated toward it because it looks right, rather than following some complex formula they couldn't possibly have known.

It’s a bit of a misconception that Western artists just stumbled upon the golden ratio out of thin air—they actually earned their stripes by digging through the archives of ancient civilizations, specifically those foundational works coming out of Greece. We're talking about deep dives into texts like those ten volumes on temple architecture penned by Marcus Vitruvius Pollio. It wasn't magic; it was rigorous study. (The 1st century B.C.!!!!)Leonardo's "Vitruvian Man"—the one that gave the whole concept its name—essentially breaks down how mathematics can be applied directly to the arts, specifically within architecture. It’s all about that golden ratio; using pure numbers to dictate the physical structure of our world.

Look, your post is fine, I suppose—but there’s something undeniably off about it. You spend so much time quoting others only to pivot into a few sentences that just... explode with sensationalism. It’s jarring. Honestly, if you’re looking to lean that hard into the drama, maybe you should have considered a career in journalism or politics instead. Now, don't get me wrong—M.C. Escher's work is absolutely fascinating, but...

It’s like this—it serves as a narrow gateway into Western philosophy, dragging us into a world defined by complementarity, polarity, self-creation, and those deep-seated self-contradictions that don't just drive viewers of M.C. Escher's prints mad—they also mess with anyone attempting to find a different kind of meaning in written thought than what is already visually etched into Escher's designs.
Why through small doors ???
He isn't even touching on that kind of stuff—you know, all that nonsense about complementarity, polarity, self-actualization, or those self-contradicting tropes—which is frankly just trash. Absolute garbage. But, I will say this: his imagery is incredibly compelling.
"It drives illustrators crazy"—what?! Look, that only happens when you're sketching out technical diagrams and accidentally misconnect a few nodes... maybe those kinds of images used to mess with people's heads back in the 19th century—or even earlier—but honestly, I don't think they have that kind of effect on anyone today.
Look, like I was saying before—and I’ll stand by this—there is just far too much sensationalism being thrown around here for what is essentially an analysis of a single painting style. It's excessive.
Look, I’m genuinely glad to see the younger generation still taking an interest in art and philosophy—truly, I am—but this shallow, sensationalist approach to everything? It achieves absolutely nothing. It’s all flash and no substance, which I suppose might fly with the crowd that spends their weekends obsessed with *The Bachelor* or some other mindless reality TV trash, but let's be honest: it’s just idiocy reaching new heights. That said, I will give credit where it's due—I respect the effort being put in.
Hey there. Hope everyone's doing alright.
P.S. "If someone has already weighed in on this—well, I clearly missed it."

Honestly, there's always going to be some tiny flaw lurking somewhere, even when you aren't actively hunting for it.

You said, "it's just something that happens when you're doing technical drawings and misalign things..." and now you've got to be really careful to smooth out that little imperfection... ( *sigh* ) 🙂

At the end of the day, making a mistake—whether it's due to a slip of the hand, a momentary lapse in focus, or just pure clumsiness—is a completely different thing than a deliberate creative choice, the result of deep thought, or someone's actual artistic philosophy and imagination...

As for the rest of what you wrote, I get that you were probably reacting to what you correctly spotted and bolded regarding that "previously inconceivable connection between math and art," which is totally fine; it deserved a correction, but I felt like you swung a bit too far in the other direction, which is why I'm responding this way.

By the way, our friend Geza hasn't posted in the philosophy section for quite a while; maybe your post will actually goad him back into the conversation. 🙂

wanderinggull35 said:Look, I owe you philosophers an apology...

I'll quote Eckhart here (not that I think he's any better than me or you, but he puts this pretty well):

The word reality just boils down to whatever the human mind can wrap itself around, which isn't all that much. Language is built from five basic vowel sounds—a, e, i, o, u. Then you have consonants made by air pressure—s, f, g, and so on. Do you really believe that combining those basic little noises could ever explain who you are, the ultimate purpose of the universe, or even the true essence of a tree or a stone?

It's the same deal with the Truth. What even is the Truth anyway? Not when we don't know who we are or where we're heading. We can make guesses, I guess. 🙂

It's all a waste of breath for the musicians... and for me, too...

So, maybe we should just take all that energy and focus on helping people who aren't happy...

I get the feeling that the people asking these kinds of questions don't actually know who they are...

Most philosophers don't know who they are either... that's why they're always obsessed with questions about the Truth or the Truth of Power. They're really just asking: Who am I? Who am I? Where is the Truth? What's my purpose?

Don't take this as an insult... it's just my opinion. I respect yours... so just respect mine... and we'll get along fine...

If I offended anyone, my bad...

I just want to point out that we aren't going to get anything out of philosophy... but if we help someone else, we'll end up with a better community. Helping can be material or it can be internal... like giving someone peace or understanding...

Don't get me wrong... seriously... everything I'm saying is coming from a good place.

Don't make me laugh, the stone replies, because I am made of stone and I have to maintain my dignity. I don't exactly have the muscles for laughing.
You might be able to recognize me, but you'll never truly know me. You're missing the sense of participation.
No other sense can take the place of that sense of participation. (I'm paraphrasing the thoughts of a poet, Wislava, and I hope she’d agree with how I'm using this here).

And if you don't believe me, the stone says, just ask a leaf, and it will tell you the exact same thing.
Ask a raindrop, and it will say the same thing as the leaf. Ask even your own hair!

Laughter tears at me—this massive, overwhelming laughter that I simply don't know how to join.

I knock on the stone's door: It's me; let me in!
I have no door, says the stone.

So, I think Eckhart was actually right when he suggested that reality is reduced to something the human mind can grasp, which isn't much, rather than saying reality reduces to something the human mind can grasp, and so on... because, even if it was just a slip of the pen, the way you wrote it actually shifts the whole meaning of what's being communicated.

As for that poetic paraphrase of "Conversation with a Stone" above, it seems to be using words to describe a reality that the human mind is capable of grasping, which, in its own way, is actually quite a lot.

Jonathan Brooks8 said:See, the thing is, I find her surrender so ethereal—so completely devoid of resistance—that he can’t actually impose his will upon her through carving; he can only reveal what she already is. For a sculpture to truly exist, the material needs to offer some pushback, to be malleable yet dense (though I suppose I’m twisting that to suit my own narrative—you know how it goes, like the Pentagon arguing over budget allocations...).

For the time being, you might just want to stick to a simple "Yes, sir!"

😘

🙂

Jonathan Brooks8 said:Lovely; she is simply surrendered—completely open to his whims—and there is a certain beauty in being at peace with that...

I mean, you could definitely look at it through that lens, but when we’re talking about the sculptor as a symbol for what he actually represents, I was really just offering a "snapshot of a sculpture" to illustrate a specific moment within that context... so, in my mind, she’s really speaking to her own vulnerability, which is why I phrased it as an instruction on how to handle her...

Jonathan Brooks8 said:I tend to view honesty as a translation, or perhaps an adaptation, of love—which I consider the more fundamental emotion. Think of it this way: love is such an ethereal "substance," a raw "medium," that it lacks the capacity—or perhaps the necessity—to manifest anything tangible on its own; it possesses only the qualities of openness and acceptance.

But once introduced to the friction of the real world, love acquires the specific properties required of a sculptor—and it is from that raw material of love that you carve out honesty.

So, when I speak of "hardening," what I mean is that honesty is essentially concentrated love—much like how the love shared between a man and a woman is a concentrated form of affection, love adapted to the complexities of their lives, translated into action.

If we look at it that way, we could start talking about the "art" of loving, where being honest becomes just another expression or visible manifestation of that underlying craft. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a mere skill, though, because to me, those two things aren't quite the same; an art form, much like fine art itself, inherently requires love to exist and flows directly from it, whereas a simple skill doesn't necessarily need any heart behind it at all.

For anyone out there who has a soft spot for poetry... here is A User Manual

Jonathan Brooks8 said:My own impression is that honesty is strictly "of this world"—that is to say, it’s a quality triggered by the experience of living rather than something fully formed beforehand. Honesty, as a distinct trait, feels like a crystallization—a hardening or a homogenization—a type of character integration that emerges through a sequence of reactions to life's various experiences. It is, essentially, an activated internal predisposition.

In fact, honesty only distinguishes itself within the theater of life by detecting dishonesty as its opposing force—meaning, honesty doesn't arrive as some sort of naive innocence dropped into a harsh environment of corruption; rather, honesty and dishonesty are born into this world as siblings.

If you view the being prior to birth as a soul, then honesty (as a worldly attribute) serves as a specific "translation" of a much broader soulful sensation—which one might describe as love—just as dishonesty can be seen as the translation of a fundamental fear.

I find myself agreeing with every single word you said, though it makes me wonder if we could apply that same logic to freedom... like, does freedom also emerge, distinguish itself, and pull away in the face of life's circumstances by detecting lack of freedom as its antithesis, or perhaps love versus its absence?

But while honesty acts as a kind of crystallization—this hardening or homogenization that forms a direct opposition to dishonesty—love is actually the opposite of that process because love works to break things down; it dilutes, softens, and dissolves... but not by opposing the hardness directly, but rather by absorbing it, taking it into itself, and melting it away until that rigidity simply vanishes.

So, if we look at honesty as a trait in relation to love (viewing love as this massive, all-encompassing force), structurally speaking, love isn't a quality that would support that kind of rigid honesty; quite the contrary, it tends to decrystallize it, much like it does with anything else that acquires those fixed properties.

Jonathan Brooks8 said:My own impression is that honesty is strictly "of this world"—that is to say, it’s a quality triggered by the experience of living rather than something fully formed beforehand. Honesty, as a distinct trait, feels like a crystallization—a hardening or a homogenization—a type of character integration that emerges through a sequence of reactions to life's various experiences. It is, essentially, an activated internal predisposition.

In fact, honesty only distinguishes itself within the theater of life by detecting dishonesty as its opposing force—meaning, honesty doesn't arrive as some sort of naive innocence dropped into a harsh environment of corruption; rather, honesty and dishonesty are born into this world as siblings.

If you view the being prior to birth as a soul, then honesty (as a worldly attribute) serves as a specific "translation" of a much broader soulful sensation—which one might describe as love—just as dishonesty can be seen as the translation of a fundamental fear.

Now, if what I wrote above holds true, then what was said here can't possibly be right.

I mean, if that "translation" of a soulful feeling is explained as love, or actually *is* love, shouldn't the translation be something else entirely?

Brenda Cook4 said:Oh, I am completely with you on that.

Alright. 🙂

Edward Flores4 said:Think about it this way—when someone follows the rules and stays within the lines of their job just because they’re getting a paycheck, we might respect their work ethic, but we don't necessarily have to respect who they are as a person. It's only when someone is working on their own terms—driven by their own will, their own crazy ideas, and pure creativity during their free time—that we can truly admire both the craft and the individual behind it.

I think Bertrand Russell put it something like that once, and if you look closely at that sentiment, there's actually a really functional way to describe what "integrity" actually looks like.

This might not be the perfect response to this specific thread... but it's more of a follow-up to what you were saying earlier.

I honestly think self-respect is a massive factor when we talk about being honest, because if we actually value our own integrity, then anything we might do to someone else that clashes with our internal moral compass—that nagging feeling that something just isn't right—would ultimately hurt us more than anyone else, even if we aren't entirely sure how much damage we're doing to the other person. At the end of the day, we don't necessarily have to hold someone in high regard to be honest with them, as long as we respect ourselves enough to live according to who we actually are.

Brenda Cook4 said:So, what would you say constitutes the "essence of being" when it comes to patterns of behavior?

I suppose it would be that core part of us that isn't just a collection of forced behaviors—or at least, it's the version where those imposed habits take a backseat to everything we actually build within ourselves as we grow up and navigate life. It’s about what we develop through genuine learning, much like that hiker mentioned earlier; if you don't have the right support system along the way, trying to learn things can become such an uphill battle, leading to painful mistakes or even totally wrong conclusions simply because you were left to figure it out without any real guidance or mentors.

And I honestly think that as we get older, we basically start the process of raising ourselves, which makes sense because I remember reading somewhere that philosophy is essentially just our way of correcting the upbringing we were handed in the first place.

Edward Flores4 said:Personally, I don't see much overlap between our genes and our actual character. To me, it’s upbringing and the immediate environment that really shape who we become.

And when it comes to honesty and respect... well, self-respect is its own form of honesty!

That’s a really solid point right there!

🙂

Yeah, I actually left that out yesterday because I thought I might get a chance to circle back later, but if we’re being honest—and at least it feels honest to me—I think honesty is probably the closest thing we have to respect. They feel almost inseparable, maybe even sharing the same roots deep down.

When you look at this through the lens of reading, learning, and actual knowledge, I think it does a great job of explaining that distinction I was trying to make between just following social etiquette—you know, just acting in a way that’s socially acceptable to fit in—and behaving based on deeply held values that stem from fundamental human principles, where what's right or wrong comes from the very core of who a person is, depending on the situation.

That said, I really do believe there are certain inherent predispositions we're born with... and I wonder if all humans enter this world with the same baseline character traits, especially when you consider how much our genetics shape us. To me, honesty seems inextricably linked to sincerity as a personality trait, and to conscience—that inner voice, that quiet realization within ourselves, knowing better than we often do...

Sam Green73 said:The other day, someone actually said to me, "You know, sometimes it’s just easier to be honest—it takes way less effort," and I have to admit, it totally threw me for a loop.
I get the logic behind it; telling the truth is definitely simpler because you don't have to spend half your life playing mental gymnastics trying to remember which lie you told to whom.
But is "honesty" really that straightforward?
Is it truly just a simple thing?
Honestly, I don't think so.
To me, being an honest person isn't some innate quality you're just born with; it's more like a skill that you actually have to work at.
Think about little kids—they’ll happily grab a toy from someone else, but they find it incredibly hard to actually share one of their own. Parents have to step in and teach them how to act in a socially acceptable way.

I'm a firm believer that being honest pays off in the long run, but when you look at the short term, is being truthful always the easiest path?

p.s. I almost wrote this whole thing as a post about sincerity, but I realized those aren't quite the same thing.

But here's my take: acting in a way that's socially acceptable doesn't necessarily mean you're being honest; it just means you're following social norms, which can certainly be a learned skill, but true honesty itself isn't just a skill.

Honesty is something deeper entirely, and it doesn't even need to be validated by social standards to be genuine; at its core, it comes down to the individual—their integrity, their conscience, their empathy, and that deep-seated sense of self and others... it's an intrinsic part of who they are, a fundamental quality.

A person with a truly developed sense of honesty might find themselves sidelined by society and end up bearing all sorts of heavy consequences, whether they're emotional or material, but that doesn't make them a loser. So, there's that... if we're talking about what's "worth it."

I actually went down a bit of a rabbit hole looking into the etymology of the word "honesty," and I found that some linguists suggest the roots point back to terms meaning "to read" or "to learn," implying it's tied to being instructed or educated.

So, circling back to that idea of "socially acceptable behavior," I think it's important to make a distinction: we shouldn't focus on teaching people how to follow social codes, because that's just teaching them how to adapt to a specific social climate or set of rules, but instead, we should be teaching fundamental values and inspiring a desire for knowledge, so that honesty can grow from a solid foundation.

slymaker9 said:In my view, an honest opinion doesn't necessarily have to be the truth. It is simply one person's conclusion based on the specific premises available to them, which means it will always be colored by subjectivity. To be truly honest would mean stating exactly what is in one's mind—without tailoring the message to suit the listener, without worrying about potential negative consequences, and without the desire to curate a positive image through communication. True honesty would be conveying information exactly as it exists in our thoughts, making zero modifications to the content, leaving only the necessary adjustments required for spoken language.

I have to admit, I'm inclined to agree with that sentiment.

My view is that ultimate truth is known only by God; all human truths are merely partial fragments, like shards from a broken mirror.🤷

Does being "high-strung" just mean being a crybaby? I only ever heard that term used for small children in New York when they were being fussy or tearful. Is it really used to describe adults too?
@ everyone
Essentially, I wanted to discuss how many people who authored philosophical works actually used them as instruments to craft a specific public image—shaping how they wanted the world to perceive them.

For example, do people believe that Rousse genuinely thought humans were naturally good and were simply corrupted by culture and civilization?
Do people believe that Aristotle was recording his sincere thoughts in his Nicomachean Ethics?
Was Machiavelli actually being honest in The Prince?

Hmm, I think I’ll try to borrow—well, paraphrase—something a friend of mine once told me:

You can't recognize a circle unless you're looking at it through the lens of a circle itself, because truth can only ever be recognized by truth.

What I mean is, when we sit down with someone's philosophical writings, all by ourselves, we can only sense how truthful they really are based on our own capacity to perceive that truth.

I personally don't buy the idea that these writers are just trying to build a persona for themselves (honestly, that would totally fly in the face of what philosophy is actually about...) and if they were, I'm pretty sure we'd see right through it.

I honestly can't get behind the idea that figuring out someone else's truth is easy, mostly because there is such a massive gulf between thinking you know something and actually knowing it. I remember this incredibly wise woman once telling me that you should never even attempt to judge another person unless you’ve spent at least a full month walking in their shoes. It makes me think that, at the end of the day, we can only ever truly grasp our own reality—and even then, only as much as we manage to figure ourselves out over a lifetime of growing up. Understanding anyone else is really just the slow fruit of genuine connection, a process where mutual openness and vulnerability allow the truth to finally ripen.

That’s why I’d much rather focus on being honest about my own life before I start testifying about anyone else's; if we do that, maybe our own truth will eventually be recognized as a shared truth by others.

When Hegel talks about things, he isn't suggesting we just spout unsolicited "truths" for the sake of it, but rather providing an honest response when someone actually asks for a sincere opinion. Most of the time, when people go off on those unprompted tangents, they aren't sharing truth—they're just offering unasked-for commentary.

slymaker9 said:Hegel once noted: "The fool is the man who is asked for his honest opinion and gives it."

What are your thoughts on honesty in light of this observation?
Is being candid a recipe for disaster—something reserved strictly for children, fools, the mad, or the elderly?
Furthermore, are philosophers truly sincere in their writings, or is diplomacy and self-promotion just as prevalent in their work? In your view, who stands as a paragon of sincerity, and who is merely a diplomat?🙂

I honestly feel like Hegel might have been overstating things just a little bit here... 🙂 though I suspect he was probably just venting about some bad experiences he'd had. When you look at what he said alongside how most people actually react when they're asked for their unfiltered thoughts—whether they're prompted or not—it kind of points to the idea that maybe it's safer just to keep your mouth shut.

That being said, honesty is really a matter of character, so for those folks who are genuinely built that way, they usually can't really help themselves even if they wanted to. (And honestly, they shouldn't try.)

When we dive into philosophy, though, I think we should be talking more about truthfulness rather than just being "honest," because those two things aren't quite the same thing. You can be completely sincere and truly believe something while being totally wrong about the facts. So, in my view, the real goal of philosophy isn't just sincerity; it's the pursuit of truth, deep insight, and reaching a genuine understanding of reality.

swiftcyclist8 said:Hey steelridge58,

Since your handle suggests you're an Almodovar fan, it feels like you've just circled back to a place you once left. I'm glad you showed up again with such class; it shows you actually sat down and chewed on my long-winded "essay." Look, I'm a physicist by trade, so what I'm writing isn't a set of hard convictions—it's more like free-floating thoughts drifting slightly outside my field, following some well-known (though not necessarily proven) ideas and associations. I mentioned something like that at the end of the piece. Honestly, seeing that you read the whole thing and have your own takes on these topics—and that we're looking at the same stuff—really makes my day. You've got a level of seriousness and grit most forum users lack, actually tackling a wall of text like this to offer real reflections. Maybe I do ramble, but I don't think you can cover certain things in just a sentence or two without triggering a massive, mindless, or just plain rude reaction from someone else. I'd much rather have one thoughtful response like yours than dozens of typical posts. Since my text is more about sci-fi style associations than cold facts, I'm not going to get into arguments over trying to prove the unprovable. I'd much rather see you or anyone else build on these ideas. Differences in perspective shouldn't lead to bickering; truth will eventually reveal itself, whether we're around to see it or not. As for what those categories—especially time—actually mean, I'll leave that for anyone interested to dig into.

One personal question (feel free to answer via DM if you want): are you actually Vivian from http://vivian.blog.com/?

Best, swiftcyclist8

You’re totally right about that, and honestly, as soon as I realized how long my post was, I immediately thought of this one paragraph from a novel—it felt so much like a real-life experience—where an author presents his manuscript to a publisher, and when the editor suggests he could probably make it a little more concise, the writer basically snaps back with something like, "How am I supposed to shorten my own life? This is what I lived!" and then just grabs his papers and walks out. That's exactly how I felt about the length of my writing.

🙂 Anyway, I really think there's a lot of substance to this topic, and I'm hopeful that more people will find it interesting as we keep going.

Yeah, that's my blog: Vivian.

swiftcyclist8 said:According to the block universe theory, the past, present, and future all exist simultaneously within our cosmos—they just don't happen all at once for us. Basically, every single attribute of any three-dimensional object, including ourselves, is already "there," we just can't access them all at the same time. We have to move through them, which is what we call the flow of time. Think of it like a strip of film. Every frame on that reel actually exists, but you only get the illusion of time passing when you start running the projector. That movement is what stitches those static, "dead" frames together into a living, breathing sequence of events. If you scale that up to a 3D world, every possible "frame" of every object in the universe should already be laid out. The illusion of time is just caused by the expansion of the universe—kind of like hitting the play button on that film strip. In this view, the future is technically already accessible. Of course, if you ran that film in reverse, things would get weird fast. You’d see broken glasses spontaneously reassembling themselves or elderly people growing younger until they vanish back into infancy. If we stick to the analogy, a cosmic collapse toward a singularity should theoretically flip the direction of time, making those bizarre scenarios actually happen. One catch with this whole idea, though, is that even when trying to explain how time started, we still end up relying on dynamic concepts like "expansion" or "collapse"—which are themselves time-based ideas.

So here’s the real kicker: we always talk about the illusion of time like a movie reel spinning for someone watching from the outside. But we aren't spectators sitting in the theater; we're part of the film itself. If we're just three-dimensional objects caught up in this massive, expanding universe, how does that expansion actually trigger our sense of time passing? How can we feel time "flowing" if we aren't standing outside the system looking in, but are actually stuck inside the machine?

Maybe the answer lies in that old body-soul duality. If we assume the body is just an object within our universe, while the soul exists outside of it—plugged into some higher, eternal dimension we can't wrap our heads around—then the soul acts like someone watching a movie. It’s the only way you get the sensation of time passing. Without that, "lower" beings without souls wouldn't experience anything at all. To make sense of this, we have to assume a higher dimension exists just to explain the illusion of our 4D space-time continuum. It would basically be 3D space plus this temporal illusion we've always treated as a fourth dimension. You could even argue the soul is just a piece of God embedded in us, meant to help us—or maybe help God himself—grasp the big picture. Whether that actually adds any value to us, or to God, who arguably already knows everything, is a whole different story.

You could argue that a world designed like this is purely deterministic—that everything from the universe itself down to the smallest atom is just moving through pre-set stages of development. In that scenario, an individual reaching their "final form" is just a matter of time; it’s already mapped out, even if it feels unpredictable. This obviously clashes with our sense of free will. It feels wrong to think that every choice we face at a crossroads is already baked into the fabric of reality. But honestly, believing we have an infinite spectrum of choices is probably a bit much. Every option we weigh is still filtered through the rigid laws of physics. Here’s my take: maybe the structure of our world is built from objects in various stages of completion, but the soul—acting as a multi-dimensional entity—could nudge material reality. It could allow for those moments where we deviate from a seemingly predetermined path, all while staying within the bounds of natural law. You don't even need to look further than psychosomatic illnesses and how willpower can trigger healing to see this in action. If we view intelligence or the soul this way, it essentially becomes a co-creator of the universe. Depending on your perspective, you could even call it God actively participating in the cosmic design. What’s the end goal? It all feels like a massive puzzle game where we're trying to piece together a perfect world.

From a tech perspective, you have to wonder: is the body just hardware and the soul the software? It actually makes sense when you consider our DNA—it’s basically the code running the entire biochemical show. To show how ridiculous this rabbit hole gets, look at it this way: what could a sprite in a video game ever truly know about its programmer? Even if we were intelligent, 3D "sprites" designed by some super-intelligence, the question remains: where did the hardware come from? Is it a custom build by the programmer, or just part of the universe's existing framework that they used to host the code? I'm only bringing up the origin of the Creator (God?) to highlight how heavy this whole concept gets. For now, let's just set aside the idea that the "software" is simply a product of advanced biological evolution.

If you look at it this way—that once the soul (or intelligence, maybe?) finishes its evolutionary trek through the physical structure of the universe, it eventually leaves. Once the hardware it inhabits wears out and there’s no more "data" being written into the fabric of our three-dimensional world, it just moves on back to whatever dimension it came from. It lines up pretty well with the idea of an immortal soul heading to heaven. But here’s the real question: if my mother, or anyone I love, were reincarnated into a new body a million years from now, would her soul recognize mine? Would she remember the bond we shared, through the good times and the bad? It’s a theological rabbit hole. Then again, even a vague, subconscious memory of where the soul originated might actually explain why people hold onto such seemingly irrational faith.

You could look at this through a 2D or 3D lens to show how order—our "laws of nature"—actually springs from chaos. Picture a plane filled with points scattered totally at random. By connecting those dots, a person can choose to create any shape they want, orderly or otherwise. From that initial mess of randomness, a structured world is born, driven by human intelligence and imagination. Essentially, the universe is a chaotic entity, and we’re the ones imposing order on it just by how we perceive it. It makes you wonder: is there still an unknowable mess hiding underneath the patterns we project onto everything? Can you even grasp true chaos using logic, or is it just a void where logical connections simply don't exist? If the answer is no, then our understanding of reality is really just us understanding our own thought processes—we're basically forcing rules onto the universe that aren't actually there. When we explore space, we’re really just exploring the limits of our own minds, while the universe itself remains something transcendental and beyond our reach. I see these ideas as more than just support for the previous points. Even the act of "connecting" those dots is a temporal process. Like we discussed earlier, it's impossible to analyze this stuff if you ignore the element of time. Even the word "process" implies movement.

It seems like the human mind can only truly recognize what it already knows. It’s like those Native American tribes in the Americas who, despite having perfectly fine eyesight, apparently didn't "see" the Spanish ships approaching until it was far too late. Their brains couldn't make sense of objects that were physically right there because they fell completely outside their daily experience. It’s the same reason why nobody but Picasso saw *Guernica* in a blank canvas, or why nobody but Michelangelo saw *David* inside a block of marble. Can we even wrap our heads around something like galaxies until the sum total of human experience—our daily lives, observations, and theories—prepares us for it? If a logically sound theory first proves itself by aligning with our existing mental models (which are just layers of older ideas built on archetypal truths), will we finally "see" things like galaxy clusters amidst the chaos of cosmic matter? Such a prediction has to be backed by everything we've learned so far—that organized subset of chaos we call an ordered world, like Euclidean geometry, Newton's laws, or gravity. Could it be that "dark matter" and "dark energy" are just the chaotic segments of the universe that have remained invisible to us? Maybe they only become "visible" once human experience evolves enough to perceive them. In a way, we aren't just observing the universe; we are imposing order upon it. We create the experience from within, using our logic to carve out structure from chaos. It’s clear our worldview is constantly shifting. But it leaves you wondering: are we updating our worldview to match reality, or are we just reshaping reality to fix the glitches in the logical frameworks we've imposed on it?

As a skeptical materialist, naturalist, evolutionist, realist, and atheist, this kind of interpretation just doesn't fly for me. Doesn't mean she's wrong, obviously. It'll take actual facts—logical or natural ones—to either debunk her or back her up. Until then, it’s all just speculation, or frankly, just faith.

I feel like we can't even talk about chaos without using our own definition of order, so for us, chaos is really just whatever we fail to perceive, see, or assume to be orderly. That's why your question—asking if there's a hidden chaos lurking under the order we impose—is a bit of a head-scratcher for me. Because, honestly, we can't impose anything on the universe or the "outside world" without simultaneously imposing it on our own internal world; the world we perceive *is* our world. Imposing something from our inner selves onto the external world is just a way of imposing it on our internal world, which in turn carries that "external" reality along with it.

As we gain new insights or as our knowledge changes (which, you could argue, is also that temporal process of "connecting the dots"), a person's entire worldview shifts, and with it, their very reality.

swiftcyclist8 said:According to the block universe theory, the past, present, and future all exist simultaneously within our cosmos—they just don't happen all at once for us. Basically, every single attribute of any three-dimensional object, including ourselves, is already "there," we just can't access them all at the same time. We have to move through them, which is what we call the flow of time. Think of it like a strip of film. Every frame on that reel actually exists, but you only get the illusion of time passing when you start running the projector. That movement is what stitches those static, "dead" frames together into a living, breathing sequence of events. If you scale that up to a 3D world, every possible "frame" of every object in the universe should already be laid out. The illusion of time is just caused by the expansion of the universe—kind of like hitting the play button on that film strip. In this view, the future is technically already accessible. Of course, if you ran that film in reverse, things would get weird fast. You’d see broken glasses spontaneously reassembling themselves or elderly people growing younger until they vanish back into infancy. If we stick to the analogy, a cosmic collapse toward a singularity should theoretically flip the direction of time, making those bizarre scenarios actually happen. One catch with this whole idea, though, is that even when trying to explain how time started, we still end up relying on dynamic concepts like "expansion" or "collapse"—which are themselves time-based ideas.

So here’s the real kicker: we always talk about the illusion of time like a movie reel spinning for someone watching from the outside. But we aren't spectators sitting in the theater; we're part of the film itself. If we're just three-dimensional objects caught up in this massive, expanding universe, how does that expansion actually trigger our sense of time passing? How can we feel time "flowing" if we aren't standing outside the system looking in, but are actually stuck inside the machine?

Maybe the answer lies in that old body-soul duality. If we assume the body is just an object within our universe, while the soul exists outside of it—plugged into some higher, eternal dimension we can't wrap our heads around—then the soul acts like someone watching a movie. It’s the only way you get the sensation of time passing. Without that, "lower" beings without souls wouldn't experience anything at all. To make sense of this, we have to assume a higher dimension exists just to explain the illusion of our 4D space-time continuum. It would basically be 3D space plus this temporal illusion we've always treated as a fourth dimension. You could even argue the soul is just a piece of God embedded in us, meant to help us—or maybe help God himself—grasp the big picture. Whether that actually adds any value to us, or to God, who arguably already knows everything, is a whole different story.

You could argue that a world designed like this is purely deterministic—that everything from the universe itself down to the smallest atom is just moving through pre-set stages of development. In that scenario, an individual reaching their "final form" is just a matter of time; it’s already mapped out, even if it feels unpredictable. This obviously clashes with our sense of free will. It feels wrong to think that every choice we face at a crossroads is already baked into the fabric of reality. But honestly, believing we have an infinite spectrum of choices is probably a bit much. Every option we weigh is still filtered through the rigid laws of physics. Here’s my take: maybe the structure of our world is built from objects in various stages of completion, but the soul—acting as a multi-dimensional entity—could nudge material reality. It could allow for those moments where we deviate from a seemingly predetermined path, all while staying within the bounds of natural law. You don't even need to look further than psychosomatic illnesses and how willpower can trigger healing to see this in action. If we view intelligence or the soul this way, it essentially becomes a co-creator of the universe. Depending on your perspective, you could even call it God actively participating in the cosmic design. What’s the end goal? It all feels like a massive puzzle game where we're trying to piece together a perfect world.

From a tech perspective, you have to wonder: is the body just hardware and the soul the software? It actually makes sense when you consider our DNA—it’s basically the code running the entire biochemical show. To show how ridiculous this rabbit hole gets, look at it this way: what could a sprite in a video game ever truly know about its programmer? Even if we were intelligent, 3D "sprites" designed by some super-intelligence, the question remains: where did the hardware come from? Is it a custom build by the programmer, or just part of the universe's existing framework that they used to host the code? I'm only bringing up the origin of the Creator (God?) to highlight how heavy this whole concept gets. For now, let's just set aside the idea that the "software" is simply a product of advanced biological evolution.

If you look at it this way—that once the soul (or intelligence, maybe?) finishes its evolutionary trek through the physical structure of the universe, it eventually leaves. Once the hardware it inhabits wears out and there’s no more "data" being written into the fabric of our three-dimensional world, it just moves on back to whatever dimension it came from. It lines up pretty well with the idea of an immortal soul heading to heaven. But here’s the real question: if my mother, or anyone I love, were reincarnated into a new body a million years from now, would her soul recognize mine? Would she remember the bond we shared, through the good times and the bad? It’s a theological rabbit hole. Then again, even a vague, subconscious memory of where the soul originated might actually explain why people hold onto such seemingly irrational faith.

You could look at this through a 2D or 3D lens to show how order—our "laws of nature"—actually springs from chaos. Picture a plane filled with points scattered totally at random. By connecting those dots, a person can choose to create any shape they want, orderly or otherwise. From that initial mess of randomness, a structured world is born, driven by human intelligence and imagination. Essentially, the universe is a chaotic entity, and we’re the ones imposing order on it just by how we perceive it. It makes you wonder: is there still an unknowable mess hiding underneath the patterns we project onto everything? Can you even grasp true chaos using logic, or is it just a void where logical connections simply don't exist? If the answer is no, then our understanding of reality is really just us understanding our own thought processes—we're basically forcing rules onto the universe that aren't actually there. When we explore space, we’re really just exploring the limits of our own minds, while the universe itself remains something transcendental and beyond our reach. I see these ideas as more than just support for the previous points. Even the act of "connecting" those dots is a temporal process. Like we discussed earlier, it's impossible to analyze this stuff if you ignore the element of time. Even the word "process" implies movement.

It seems like the human mind can only truly recognize what it already knows. It’s like those Native American tribes in the Americas who, despite having perfectly fine eyesight, apparently didn't "see" the Spanish ships approaching until it was far too late. Their brains couldn't make sense of objects that were physically right there because they fell completely outside their daily experience. It’s the same reason why nobody but Picasso saw *Guernica* in a blank canvas, or why nobody but Michelangelo saw *David* inside a block of marble. Can we even wrap our heads around something like galaxies until the sum total of human experience—our daily lives, observations, and theories—prepares us for it? If a logically sound theory first proves itself by aligning with our existing mental models (which are just layers of older ideas built on archetypal truths), will we finally "see" things like galaxy clusters amidst the chaos of cosmic matter? Such a prediction has to be backed by everything we've learned so far—that organized subset of chaos we call an ordered world, like Euclidean geometry, Newton's laws, or gravity. Could it be that "dark matter" and "dark energy" are just the chaotic segments of the universe that have remained invisible to us? Maybe they only become "visible" once human experience evolves enough to perceive them. In a way, we aren't just observing the universe; we are imposing order upon it. We create the experience from within, using our logic to carve out structure from chaos. It’s clear our worldview is constantly shifting. But it leaves you wondering: are we updating our worldview to match reality, or are we just reshaping reality to fix the glitches in the logical frameworks we've imposed on it?

As a skeptical materialist, naturalist, evolutionist, realist, and atheist, this kind of interpretation just doesn't fly for me. Doesn't mean she's wrong, obviously. It'll take actual facts—logical or natural ones—to either debunk her or back her up. Until then, it’s all just speculation, or frankly, just faith.

Does that mean everything already exists? Honestly, I’m pretty much inclined to believe that everything is already out there. But it's this specific idea—this whole concept of a world coexisting with others, almost exactly like how this theory of time describes it—that really gets me thinking.

So, here’s the real question that keeps me up at night: we tend to think the illusion of time passing only happens because a film strip is rolling past someone sitting "outside" the frame, watching the action unfold from a distance. But that doesn't quite hold up for us, does it? We aren't spectators sitting in a theater; we are actually embedded within this three-dimensional universe—and I won't even get started on the fourth dimension yet, since that's exactly what I'm trying to wrap my head around—so how on earth can the expansion of the universe, a process we are physically part of as three-dimensional objects, trigger this internal sensation that time is actually flowing? I mean, think about it—what if we aren't actually standing "outside" looking in at all, but are instead an intrinsic, inseparable part of the very entity we call the universe?
One possible answer might actually lie within the deep duality between the body and the soul, which is a thought that honestly surprises me quite a bit when I sit down to ponder it. If we were to assume that the body is merely an object—just one small piece of this vast, expanding universe—while the incorporeal soul exists entirely outside of it, having been transplanted into the flesh from some higher, eternal, and timeless dimension that remains completely beyond our understanding, then the observer—the soul itself...

I’ve been wrestling with this idea lately—how on earth can we actually grasp something if we’re stuck "inside" ourselves, when true understanding seems to require looking at things from the outside? It brings me back to Platonov’s theory of recollection, which is honestly such a beautiful, heavy concept to wrap your head around. He suggests that our souls are immortal and existed in a realm of pure ideas long before we were ever born, where we could witness truth directly, without any of this messy physical interference. Now, as we move through this visible world of fleeting objects and shadows, everything we see just serves as a trigger, reminding the soul of those perfect forms and universal causes we once knew. In a way, all learning isn't really about acquiring new information, but rather a process of anamnesis—just remembering what the soul already possessed before it became tethered to this earthly existence. We aren't searching for knowledge out there in the world; we're just trying to find it within ourselves again. I can't see any link here! Could you please drop it again? I really want to take a look at what you're sharing. Part of the Memory Theory section—specifically the part covering medical history and patient background.

You could honestly make a pretty strong argument about how deterministic a world like this actually is, if you really stop to think about it.

The solution is actually quite simple; the very structure of our world would be defined by objects existing within their own unique—and ultimately final—stages of development. I’ve been thinking lately about how the soul, if you view it as this entity hailing from an entirely different dimension, might actually have the power to nudge the way material objects behave in our world, almost like it could step in and offer these ambiguous choices between various paths that aren't even visible to us, effectively allowing things to veer off what looks like a strictly predetermined course of events. It’s all perfectly clear to me, really—everything is just moving exactly how it should, following those fundamental laws of physics that govern the entire universe and every single thing within it.

I just can't quite wrap my head around this image, especially when it comes to the idea that souls don't actually have these hidden options to choose from—like some kind of sudden "detour" from a path that seems set in stone. If we’re talking about making a choice, wouldn't that "detour" only really exist if the soul actually knows what it's doing, making free will feel like a departure from its intended course? Personally, I tend to look at it differently; I see that seemingly predetermined path as nothing more than a collection of all the possible choices that were already woven directly into the very fabric of the universe.

Based on how I’m looking at all this, once the soul—or maybe intelligence, if we want to be technical—finishes its entire evolutionary journey through the material framework of the universe, there comes a point where its physical anchor, the body or the hardware, just gives out or reaches its limit. Since there's no more room to store those patterns within the fabric of our three-dimensional world, the soul simply departs, returning to a dimension we can't even begin to comprehend yet. It feels like it aligns perfectly with what believers say about the immortality of the soul and its journey toward heaven. But it makes me wonder: if my mother’s soul, or the soul of someone else I deeply loved, were to be reincarnated into a completely different body even a million years from now, would that soul still be able to recognize mine, even if I'm inhabiting an entirely different vessel?

Poets have already captured this feeling beautifully:

Even after a million years, you will still catch the scent of love and roses...

There is this idea that the absolute, perfected essence of a rose lives within the flower itself, much like how the perfect essence or soul of a human being resides within the body.

The essence of a rose is truly the soul of the rose.

Joshua Hernandez9 said:Could be about free will—or maybe just what the hell it can actually accomplish.

it’s interesting that you’re framing will as some kind of "need."
(To me, it feels more like a vector. A force pushing in a specific direction.
A need is something that drives you—something you're being pushed by—whereas will is the thing you use to push.
)

(I haven't really organized my thoughts yet, so I'm just throwing out bullet points and letting you guys do the heavy lifting.😁)

If you ask me, that pretty much captures the whole essence and spirit of what will actually is. I mean, what other direction would a person's will even take if it wasn't moving toward the things they truly love... and honestly, maybe that's where the heart of the matter lies, right there in that connection...

Florence Nightingale suggested that will equals the self. And if we look at "the self" as being fully present or whole, then you could see will as the drive to love—to love being fully present, to love having a complete sense of oneself... though, of course, you can't have that without a conscious being, because will itself isn't a being; it's just a concept without a subject behind it.

As humans, we possess self-awareness, which gives us the capacity for free choice—this idea of free will where we can steer our intentions in a particular direction, even if that means turning away from what we immediately desire, much like the example mentioned below:

Joshua Hernandez9 said:Think about someone struggling with obesity and all the health issues that come with it.

They feel hungry.
Basically, they have this craving for food.

That craving is the trigger—they start plotting how to get their hands on food, focusing on a near-term future where they finally satisfy that urge.
But what actually drives them toward the fridge, the grocery store, or a drive-thru isn't willpower.

Willpower would be the exact thing that stops them from walking to that fridge in the first place.

So, you only really recognize willpower when it's clashing with some intense, primal, or habitual impulse—maybe even a biological one.
Using willpower is basically our way of breaking free from being slaves to whatever we've just accepted as "normal."

Look, I’m not trying to be aggressive here, but I really feel the need to circle back to an earlier point...

wiredmaker18 said:Sure, you could argue that, but love isn't the only thing driving people, even if it’s one of the better reasons. You could spin it any way you want—claiming every destructive act is just a desperate cry for help (aka love) or a reaction to its absence.
To me, reducing everything to that feels a bit too simplistic. People are driven by all sorts of things. It ranges from pure selfishness—which, fine, you could call self-love—to hatred and rage, which might be a plea for affection, or maybe they just aren't. Even if we tried to pin every human action to some core need for love, whether through giving it or rebelling against its lack, I don't think that covers the whole spectrum. And even if it did, the consequences of those "cries for love" range from incredibly noble to absolutely horrific.
I get how compassion and empathy drove someone like Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Teresa. But at the same time, I can see how a total void of love could drive someone like Hitler, Mussolini, Frank, Hirohito, or Stalin just as strongly, if not more so...
That doesn't mean it's okay to murder 55 million people just because a handful of dictators felt unloved during their childhood in a few different countries.
We don't even have to go that far back. Look at extreme nationalism. Some claim it's just "love for the country," arguing you can build a love for humanity on top of it, but history has shown us time and again that it usually works the exact opposite way.

Sometimes it's just an adrenaline rush in a high-stakes situation, triggering those raw, primal instincts deep inside us.
I'm not saying this to prove everyone is a selfish jerk. Some people are, some aren't. I just don't buy that love, or the lack of it, is the sole engine behind everything humans do.

Sure, maybe, but I just don't think being unloved or dealing with your own deep-seated frustrations allows you to take it out on everyone else; it doesn't give anyone a pass or an amnesty from the responsibility of the wrongs they commit against others, nor does it lessen the weight of those injustices, regardless of whatever messy life story led the perpetrator there. You can try to understand it, analyze it, or break down the psychology behind it... but you can't use it as a justification. In fact, I actually think it's a much bigger act of love toward those victims to refuse to excuse the perpetrator based on their upbringing or hardships, and instead insist that they face the reality of their actions and own up to them.

wiredmaker18 said:Sure, you could argue that, but love isn't the only thing driving people, even if it’s one of the better reasons. You could spin it any way you want—claiming every destructive act is just a desperate cry for help (aka love) or a reaction to its absence.
To me, reducing everything to that feels a bit too simplistic. People are driven by all sorts of things. It ranges from pure selfishness—which, fine, you could call self-love—to hatred and rage, which might be a plea for affection, or maybe they just aren't. Even if we tried to pin every human action to some core need for love, whether through giving it or rebelling against its lack, I don't think that covers the whole spectrum. And even if it did, the consequences of those "cries for love" range from incredibly noble to absolutely horrific.
I get how compassion and empathy drove someone like Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Teresa. But at the same time, I can see how a total void of love could drive someone like Hitler, Mussolini, Frank, Hirohito, or Stalin just as strongly, if not more so...
That doesn't mean it's okay to murder 55 million people just because a handful of dictators felt unloved during their childhood in a few different countries.
We don't even have to go that far back. Look at extreme nationalism. Some claim it's just "love for the country," arguing you can build a love for humanity on top of it, but history has shown us time and again that it usually works the exact opposite way.

Sometimes it's just an adrenaline rush in a high-stakes situation, triggering those raw, primal instincts deep inside us.
I'm not saying this to prove everyone is a selfish jerk. Some people are, some aren't. I just don't buy that love, or the lack of it, is the sole engine behind everything humans do.

It's not millions, it's just one individual at a time... but it reminds me of what someone else pointed out in a different thread: "How can a single person organize a military coup in a foreign nation, seize control of that entire government, establish a brutal junta, wipe out all active and potential opposition, and implement a reign of terror... etcetera..." And if you ask me, we see these exact same patterns of violence and terror happening within our own borders and everywhere else too.

wiredmaker18 said:Sure, you could argue that, but love isn't the only thing driving people, even if it’s one of the better reasons. You could spin it any way you want—claiming every destructive act is just a desperate cry for help (aka love) or a reaction to its absence.
To me, reducing everything to that feels a bit too simplistic. People are driven by all sorts of things. It ranges from pure selfishness—which, fine, you could call self-love—to hatred and rage, which might be a plea for affection, or maybe they just aren't. Even if we tried to pin every human action to some core need for love, whether through giving it or rebelling against its lack, I don't think that covers the whole spectrum. And even if it did, the consequences of those "cries for love" range from incredibly noble to absolutely horrific.
I get how compassion and empathy drove someone like Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Teresa. But at the same time, I can see how a total void of love could drive someone like Hitler, Mussolini, Frank, Hirohito, or Stalin just as strongly, if not more so...
That doesn't mean it's okay to murder 55 million people just because a handful of dictators felt unloved during their childhood in a few different countries.
We don't even have to go that far back. Look at extreme nationalism. Some claim it's just "love for the country," arguing you can build a love for humanity on top of it, but history has shown us time and again that it usually works the exact opposite way.

Sometimes it's just an adrenaline rush in a high-stakes situation, triggering those raw, primal instincts deep inside us.
I'm not saying this to prove everyone is a selfish jerk. Some people are, some aren't. I just don't buy that love, or the lack of it, is the sole engine behind everything humans do.

That specific kind of "love" practically starves without enemies. It brings to mind that Nietzschean idea: "Enemies, there are no enemies." And when you run out of them, you just have to start manufacturing them.

wiredmaker18 said:Sure, you could argue that, but love isn't the only thing driving people, even if it’s one of the better reasons. You could spin it any way you want—claiming every destructive act is just a desperate cry for help (aka love) or a reaction to its absence.
To me, reducing everything to that feels a bit too simplistic. People are driven by all sorts of things. It ranges from pure selfishness—which, fine, you could call self-love—to hatred and rage, which might be a plea for affection, or maybe they just aren't. Even if we tried to pin every human action to some core need for love, whether through giving it or rebelling against its lack, I don't think that covers the whole spectrum. And even if it did, the consequences of those "cries for love" range from incredibly noble to absolutely horrific.
I get how compassion and empathy drove someone like Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Teresa. But at the same time, I can see how a total void of love could drive someone like Hitler, Mussolini, Frank, Hirohito, or Stalin just as strongly, if not more so...
That doesn't mean it's okay to murder 55 million people just because a handful of dictators felt unloved during their childhood in a few different countries.
We don't even have to go that far back. Look at extreme nationalism. Some claim it's just "love for the country," arguing you can build a love for humanity on top of it, but history has shown us time and again that it usually works the exact opposite way.

Sometimes it's just an adrenaline rush in a high-stakes situation, triggering those raw, primal instincts deep inside us.
I'm not saying this to prove everyone is a selfish jerk. Some people are, some aren't. I just don't buy that love, or the lack of it, is the sole engine behind everything humans do.

Well, I personally chose to focus on that most beautiful form because it's what I know best, and I found myself really connecting with that sentiment from that Nobody quote—I just saw myself reflected in those words...

And I actually agree with this part:

wiredmaker18 said:Sure, you could argue that, but love isn't the only thing driving people, even if it’s one of the better reasons. You could spin it any way you want—claiming every destructive act is just a desperate cry for help (aka love) or a reaction to its absence.
To me, reducing everything to that feels a bit too simplistic. People are driven by all sorts of things. It ranges from pure selfishness—which, fine, you could call self-love—to hatred and rage, which might be a plea for affection, or maybe they just aren't. Even if we tried to pin every human action to some core need for love, whether through giving it or rebelling against its lack, I don't think that covers the whole spectrum. And even if it did, the consequences of those "cries for love" range from incredibly noble to absolutely horrific.
I get how compassion and empathy drove someone like Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Teresa. But at the same time, I can see how a total void of love could drive someone like Hitler, Mussolini, Frank, Hirohito, or Stalin just as strongly, if not more so...
That doesn't mean it's okay to murder 55 million people just because a handful of dictators felt unloved during their childhood in a few different countries.
We don't even have to go that far back. Look at extreme nationalism. Some claim it's just "love for the country," arguing you can build a love for humanity on top of it, but history has shown us time and again that it usually works the exact opposite way.

Sometimes it's just an adrenaline rush in a high-stakes situation, triggering those raw, primal instincts deep inside us.
I'm not saying this to prove everyone is a selfish jerk. Some people are, some aren't. I just don't buy that love, or the lack of it, is the sole engine behind everything humans do.

I recently heard a really insightful point about how even refusing to communicate is, in its own way, a call... for communication. It’s just something you have to be able to sense.

wiredmaker18 said:Sure, you could argue that, but love isn't the only thing driving people, even if it’s one of the better reasons. You could spin it any way you want—claiming every destructive act is just a desperate cry for help (aka love) or a reaction to its absence.
To me, reducing everything to that feels a bit too simplistic. People are driven by all sorts of things. It ranges from pure selfishness—which, fine, you could call self-love—to hatred and rage, which might be a plea for affection, or maybe they just aren't. Even if we tried to pin every human action to some core need for love, whether through giving it or rebelling against its lack, I don't think that covers the whole spectrum. And even if it did, the consequences of those "cries for love" range from incredibly noble to absolutely horrific.
I get how compassion and empathy drove someone like Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Teresa. But at the same time, I can see how a total void of love could drive someone like Hitler, Mussolini, Frank, Hirohito, or Stalin just as strongly, if not more so...
That doesn't mean it's okay to murder 55 million people just because a handful of dictators felt unloved during their childhood in a few different countries.
We don't even have to go that far back. Look at extreme nationalism. Some claim it's just "love for the country," arguing you can build a love for humanity on top of it, but history has shown us time and again that it usually works the exact opposite way.

Sometimes it's just an adrenaline rush in a high-stakes situation, triggering those raw, primal instincts deep inside us.
I'm not saying this to prove everyone is a selfish jerk. Some people are, some aren't. I just don't buy that love, or the lack of it, is the sole engine behind everything humans do.

Yeah, people are motivated by absolutely anything! But I don't think it's a good idea to try and boil everything down to a single cause either; we shouldn't want to, and honestly, we can't... We're here to talk, to spark new ideas, to exchange thoughts, and to learn... and even if we just barely scratch the surface of something, that's enough.