Some rambling about "mathematics"

Both of Sodachi's OPs are excellent.

For being the "primary thing I do", mathematics is perhaps enjoying a much undeserved absence in this blog. I would say that it is the only thing that I really dedicated myself to study across these years. I have been trying to pick up different topics outside of mathematics, such as physics (QM, statistical physics, relativity and beyond...), philosophy and even some literature, and when I get actual work I would abandon my pursuits in favour of sleep. But out of all I would come back to mathematics most often.

I will start with an anecdote: My first foray into "proper" mathematics, outside of calculus, was real analysis, when I attended an enrichment programme in CUHK. Needless to say, the completely different way of looking at math was a shock. The regular high school textbook could perhaps be sprinkled with proofs here and there, but an actually serious university level pure math text would not be able to deviate from the defintion-theorem-proof (and -example if generous!) approach. It was the first time that I genuinely felt difficulty in math, trying to keep track of so many definitions and logical trickery, as opposed to the plug-and-chug style of computation expected from high school, where once you do enough exercises to be able to memorize the algorithms behind each problem type you are basically guaranteed success.

As such, I have been relentlessly trying to get myself to conquer real analysis, but every time I would frustrate myself over some elementary exercises, or, in an attempt to replicate some proofs, get bogged down on even the seemingly obvious. Maybe I really don't "do math"...

As a subject, math really get a lot of bad press, moreso in the (relatively) olden days, thanks to the decidedly uncreative (yet frustratingly apparently necessary) way of education in the elementary levels. These days, STEM cannot be more of a buzzword, testament to the fact that even my parents, sworn to avoid anything science and technology related know of it, so math is now associated strongly with the other three players in the field. Rightfully so indeed: there is no science without math, and surely no engineering without math. However, this kind of math is "applied", and once we bring out the actual "math" that is being taught in an undergraduate course (analysis, algebra, number theory, geometry etc.), the same old tale of "what is this useful for?" returns.

I must add that I myself is very guilty of asking the aforementioned question, all of the time. Analysis is indeed the foundation of much of the more serious attempts at computational engineering, and codes the language of papers I have yet to read, but such kinds of motivation, while motivating, is insufficient to cause an interest in the subject in itself, just like money is a motivation to work but not a motivation to be interested in working.

I was promised of a sense of "beauty" in mathematics by my high school teacher, who dedicated an hour to talk enthusiastically about the construction of real numbers from natural numbers. As anyone who has a modicum of knowledge about analysis would know, this is the foundation of any attempts at analysis. He also encouraged us to think about what math really is, what numbers really are. Do they live on some imaginary plane in another world, like what Plato thought, or are they actual, tangible (perhaps not!) objects as real as an apple and a person? Thus began my endless desire to "learn some actual math", despite how bad I am at it, all the while pondering about where exactly does this beauty lie?

Some say that the rigour of math is where its beauty lies. The relentless pursuit of exactness, unforgiving of any errors in any step of a proof is where the sense of admiration comes from. One counterexample is enough to disprove an entire theory. At the same time, anyone, regardless of social status, can contribute to mathematics. It is a subject composed only of cold hard truths, logically deduced from axioms in an absolutely watertight manner.

Is this really the nature of mathematics though? The media loves to portray mathematicians as borderline autistic savants, who always thinks about a seasonal unsolved problem of choice and forget his/her basic human necessities such as socializing. Well, to begin with, I have begun to understand that research is not something one can do while shut in a cubicle. It must involve openness to new ideas, criticism and peer review. Moreover, the majority of science involves incremental improvements over current ideas, famously termed "normal science" by Kuhn. The actual lives of mathematicians is thus probably quite far from what is portrayed in movies. (as always...)

I find myself repeatedly returning to a speech made by Francis Su, former president of the Mathematical Association of America. In it, Su made comments on not only why he thinks math is beautiful, but also the firm link between humans and math. Mathematics is indeed a human subject, not something for computers. It is surprisingly close to the visual arts. In one sense, both are almost obsessive pursuits towards elegance, something most would relate to the faculty of emotion in our mind. As much as there are good art and bad art, there are good mathematics and bad mathematics, and good mathematics do much more than being correct, much like good art doing more than being realistic. For example, a "proof" that basically lists out all of the possibilities is less elegant than one which leverages subtleties in logic to reduce the problem (simple and direct). Both are valid proofs, but clearly one is better than the other. Mathematics is as much about the communication of this kind of elegance as the appreciation of such elegance. In addition, most mathematicians would attest to the fact that the beginning of a proof is intuition, to find the right door into the path of light. Many personal characteristics of a successful mathematician -- perseverance, sagacity, conviction -- all refer to emotional qualities, rather than having hard knowledge.

Su also makes a connection towards justice. In front of mathematics, there should be no discrimination, as I mentioned earlier. In a sense, this is inextricably linked towards the topic of social justice. Should we adopt the mathematician's stance in governing a state, analogous to the philosopher's state of Plato?

Inevitably, the mention of higher mathematics would link towards "competitions" when in a high school setting. Indeed, the olympiads are the first chances of a high schooler to dabble in mathematics that is more than computations [1]. I have gained a rather strange, ambivalent attitude towards competitions (it is the reason why I am where I am today), but at the end of the day, we should all recognize that mathematics is not a competitive sport, and solving the most problems in a limited time is rather meaningless.

Perhaps I should make a final, passing remark about applied mathematics. I might have given a false impression that pure mathematics is in some sense superior to applied mathematics, but that is not true. We are fortunate that the laws of nature is crafted in a language that is consistent and well observable, something which makes mathematics a good tool for analysis. Is this necessarily the case, or have we reversed the logic here -- mathematics is a systematic and elegant way (not the only way) of understanding nature? We could also interpret reality as a representation of the elegance of mathematics. The appearance of the golden spiral, the carefully constructed structures around us, the elegance of renaissance paintings etc. are all examples of such.

Mathematics is a pursuit of elegance and order, even from the chaotic (chaos theory, turbulence modeling...). It is demanding, powerful and sublime (in the philosophical sense...). This is perhaps why so many are enchanted by this subject.

Convenient plug: For anyone interested in me talking about actual mathematics, among other more technical babble, I have a new "professional" website...

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[1]: I am giving an overly unfair criticism of high school mathematics... There is a certain focus on proofs and rigour in high school mathematics, but it is indeed nowhere as important as in higher mathematics, where all we do revolves around building provable systems.

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ED Discussion 24: Kizumonogatari II ED, Étoile et Toi by Clémentine

"Everything I see,
Everything I feel,
You are my universe."

One thing I really did not understand from the Monogatari series was Araragi's devotion to Oshino Shinobu, or rather should I say Kiss-shot Acerola-orion Heart-under-blade [1]. Why is Araragi a vampire (or rather, half vampire?) ? What truly is the nature of the bond between these characters? I am glad this series did clear things up, in a way that did not require me to remember much about the previously aired arcs.

The main question I kept returning to throughout the movies is the reason why Araragi decided to help Kiss-shot. While we see that the hallmark of Araragi's personality is his tendency to self-sacrifice, he begins the series with a lukewarm-at-best response to Hanekawa's reach for friendship, declaring friendships as burdens, or "weaknesses" in human character.

One clear difference these movies have with the other arcs is the step-up in somberness of tone, evident in not only the clear change in colour palette, but also the frequent portrayal of violence and bloody scenes, rivaling the most extreme moments in the main series. Clearly, this highlights the supernatural powers of Kiss-shot, that she is a vampire, an iron-blooded, hot-blooded, cold-blooded vampire that will devour humans for satiation. This begs the question raised further: why would Araragi sacrifice his body to help something clearly an enemy of mankind?

Perhaps it is to do with Kiss-shot's human appearance. Despite being non-human, she looks human, acts (rather) human, speaks a human language (conveniently, Japanese), and --- as we find out --- has human feelings of loneliness, joy, remorse and empathy. This is a large thematic point in the last movie though. As Araragi discovers Kiss-shot's appetite for human flesh, he is immediately repulsed extremely, wondering whether his actions in fact doomed his kin, whether he has helped the devil achieve the extinction of humanity. Yet, even after learning this fact, he decided not to completely exterminate Kiss-shot to restore his humanity, even when she explicitly threatens Araragi to do so. I would argue that Kiss-shot's human demeanor helped the audience sympathize with her easier, but evidently not much to convince Araragi plotwise.

Was it Kiss-shot's helplessness (she exclaimed that she didn't want to die, with crying noises of infants being played in parallel with her screams) which evoked pity in Araragi? I feel like this is very logical to a point of obviousness: The reason why one helps others is really out of pity, a feeling that the receiver deserves help because of belief that the receiver is in a dire situation. The "converse" is usually not true: Even when someone is in a dire situation, it does not mean that he/she will receive help. In fact it is quite rarely true; we turn blind eyes to people in need most of the time, understandably and reasonably so. There was a bit of hesitation on Araragi's side; he did run away initially, only to return with his offer. Araragi was described to be in sort of a trance when he returned (even more stream-of-conscious like than other parts), questioning himself in the process: "why did it have to turn out like this?" The desire to help is built into Araragi, even when it seems very dangerous for him to do so. He innately puts his life in an inferior position, as he promised to live a better life next time around. Is that so for the general person? (or, is Araragi a realistic person?) Do we need more Araragi's in the real world?

It is at this point that I started to wonder whether it was Araragi's lack of self esteem which motivated his actions. He didn't want friends because he did not think he deserved them, only masquerading this self-loath as egoism in front of others. He is willing to sacrifice himself because his self is of no worth; hence nothing is lost by his sacrificing himself. However, why does he want to return to being a human, when he can realize his image by being the villain to humanity?

Hanekawa played a major role here. He realized how he loved humanity. He may not have self-worth, but he thinks of others highly, all the more contributing to trigger his actions to annihilate himself (worthless) to save others (worth much more).

This series also made me ponder what I would feel if I were suddenly not human one day. What if I discovered that I am a human-devouring vampire? What if I found myself to be a cat one day? Is there a strong drive for me to return to being a human? Will I throw up in disgust at the thought of eating a human? (the present me would, but that is because I am not a vampire!) Even understanding the limitations of being human (the strong regenerative powers of vampires could be very useful), is there a fundamental will for us to be human? We do not know about Araragi's past, but would his past have influenced his decision and desire to be human?

As an afterthought, his tendency to self-sacrifice conflicted with his desire to be human throughout, and it is this tension which drove the conflicts in the movie. The one thing about Monogatari is that it is very savvy of its own... arguments and its weaknesses (shall we say). In Owarimonogatari, his "heroism" is subverted, but that is a story for another day.

I also found out that I love the bossa nova jazz style.

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[1]: Haato andaa bleedo

Chance; Transience

or, "Midway discussion of 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' (Kundera) because I am too lazy to finish the whole thing (for now)".

Chance

"Chance and Chance alone has a message for us. Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out, is mute."

As I alluded to my previous post on "Probability and Determinism", the fundamental reason we think things (on a non-quantum scale) are uncertain is because of ignorance. We can model ignorance using probability and call it uncertainty, but really it is a shortcut to give some quantification on phenomena we cannot explain fully. We want to be certain about uncertainties, and be able to make sensible decisions based on what we can infer, and not what we don't know, or cannot infer.

Then we should read Kundera's statement as a realization that the unknown speaks more than the known. What is known is obvious, while the unknown is valuable and educational. I cannot but feel slightly dissatisfied with this statement. Does this mean that learning, a process converting the unknown to known, is a process of devaluation, to make something interesting into something common and dull? While some knowledge I do consider as dull, such as methodical, instructional  and formulaic knowledge, I do consider learning one of the (few) things I truly enjoy.

Perhaps we should reconsider what it means to "know". As a collective society, we "know" that objects fall when dropped. In fact we also "know" how fast it will drop to a good accuracy. Individually, we can claim to "know" this by choosing to believe, examining the theoretical formalism behind why such claims are "true", and even going ahead to perform experiments to confirm such claims. There is a subtle difference between the collective "knowing" and the individual "knowing", because inherently a collection of minds is different from a single mind. And, perhaps for some subjects, the meaning of "true" also suffers from ambiguity, or should not exist at all, even when we expect some "truth" to exist. A good example is economics.

All of these are, by definition, day in and day out occurrences (We hope that they'd better be!). Are they not interesting in itself? Practically, certainly they are interesting. We apply what we know, consistently and certainly, to design and build in engineering, for example. Theoretically, or rather, spiritually, I can confirm at least one person would find such things interesting. Perhaps that person is a bit weird.

I am by no means dismissing the statement, however. Certainly, the unknown is much more thrilling. Only from unknown can the known be born, and only from surprises can theories be formulated. Willingness to take chances is why people travel, why we want to meet new people and make new connections, even if such connections are really instrumental or ephemeral.

I am dissatisfied because it seems that we should subject ourselves to the mercy of fate, and be swept along by chance encounters, chance occurrences. I used to adopt this sort of Taoist (at huge risk of butchering this word here) stance, but I believe I have changed much since then. 

Then again, this interpretation could be completely wrong. Really, to experience chance means that we should defy fate, which tends to iron out creases and confine people to routines. "We are fated to stay with what we have when we are born: our talents, our personalities, our background." is the sort of attitude that someone who subjects himself to fate would say. We need to go and explore the unknown, explore what fate does not have in her journals, to form our own path. I feel that this is the message Kundera is going for, if we consider the actions of Tereza in the novel.

To conclude, perhaps I will just note how brilliant it is that this short statement alludes to such the primordial, yet intense conflicts of multiple sets of dichotomies, always in tension with each other.

Transience

"Einmal ist keinmal, says Tomas to himself. What happens but once, says the German adage, might as well not have happened at all. If we have only one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all."

I have been quite recently reminded of the transience of life.

Humans have achieved much throughout history, and in the process also extended their lifespan by a great degree. Yet, even if we understand the phenomenon of the transience of life — that one day we must depart from the world — we cannot internalize this fact. It is surprising, to say the least, but we invent theories, hypotheses and fantasies about how the "afterlife" should be. Perhaps out of curiosity, we explore the yet unknown, as to where our souls go after we die, but more so out of a strong sense of fear, for we grow attached to what we have achieved and do not wish to terminate our lives, despite all the imperfections and suffering in the physical world we live in.

If transience is scary, is eternity reassurance? Maquia in Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms belongs to the Iorphs, a tribe that lives much longer than humans. The film touches on multiple themes, including motherhood, love, racism etc. but one of the major thread that connects the thematic fabric woven by the film is this specific detail about the Iorphs. Racine, the leader of the Iorphs, warns Maquia to not ever fall in love, for then she will truly know loneliness [1]. A scene with the family dog at Maquia's host family dying forebodes this thematic thread: witnessing the aging and passing of others. The same could be said about the young witnessing the inevitable leaving of those senior to them. One may imagine the same repeated over and over to people who one comes across, and the degree of tragedy that really is.

Perhaps as a coping mechanism, we do feel that the life we have is a reasonably long one. In a sense, we feel that a second or minute is short, while a decade is quite long. Our perception of time is much affected by our lifespan. A dog's life is transient to us, and our lives are transient compared to someone such as Maquia, which in turn is also transient on the scale of the universe. The oft raised example of "the pale blue dot" description of the Earth by Carl Sagan really brings out our incapability to comprehend the incredible insignificance of our lives compared to the grand universe. In this brief and transient life, we, collectively as humans, really do not matter; yet we are far from capable of dealing with this fact, somehow like our difficulty in getting up from the bed despite having slept every day.

Kundera mentions the idea of recurrence, almost as a necessary consequence of eternity. Maquia will find another person to love, and they will spend their life with her, from birth to death, and back again. Kundera argues that a recurrent idea is a much stronger one. "There is an infinite difference between a Robespierre who occurs only once in history and a Robespierre who eternally returns, chopping off French heads." Influential as a dictator, romantic as a poet, ingenious as a scientist, one must eventually perish, and have his influence gradually fade. We are not recurrent, thus we are weak. We embody lightness, an unbearable lightness.

Implicitly assumed here is the inability for humans to be, in a sense, creative with our lives. Our lives are bound to be recurrent, visiting the same point more than once, if we extend our lifespan to infinity, unless we also experience infinitely many things. Even in our pitifully finite lifespan, we are doomed to repeat a routine: get up in the morning, commute to work, perform more or less the same tasks, go home, and rest. It appears that we are used to transience, though it is a concept we cannot grasp, and refuse to admit.

There is no preparing for the moment we succumb to transience. Even if we fully acknowledge its existence scientifically, we are simply not equipped emotionally to do so. This in itself is quite scary.

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[1]: This love extends beyond the "romantic" sort of love. Captivated by this quote in the teaser I thought the film was about something else entirely but I am pleasantly surprised by the depth; it goes beyond what I expected.

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ED Discussion 23: Uchiage Hanabi [Fireworks, Should We See It from the Side or the Bottom?] by DAOKO/Kenshi Yonezu

"We watched the fireworks bloom in a flash;
Surely this summer is far from over.
When it unraveled and tied our uncertain hearts,
I wished that night would go on forever."

If this night would go on forever, we could go to the beach, a faraway place through that train route we never dared to explore. We could go and watch the fireworks, and we could watch it again: from the ground, from atop a tower. Surely, in this infinitely recurring world, we would see the fireworks erupting in a planar circle.

The question whether fireworks should be viewed from the bottom, like we always do, or from a level plane, all up in the sky, is pointless. We know for a fact that the view will not change. However, if we allow for an infinite number of viewings, and ask what if the fireworks indeed spread in a plane, we will eventually see it. The particles from within the shell would arrange themselves so perfectly, it so happens to find a physical moment to accommodate this. 

This is the nature of infinity.

This film does not really contain much, but it does tie three important concepts together: Infinity, possibilities, and recurrence. The film is admittedly mediocre in terms of its presentation: The characters are forgettable, and the narrative is a bit of a mess; but in terms of atmosphere and tone, which are the main players in bringing together the message of the film, I can say that this film is worth a watch.

Spontaneity defines the direction of the plot. The serendipitous discovery of the power of the crystal ball, on the exact day that Nazuna is leaving the town, sets forth the desire to rebel: Nazuna against her family, Norimichi against his friends, and both in terms of fate itself. The ball catalyzes this stand off against the most fundamental law, time itself. Only if one rebels against the routine will one find the traces of infinity, that which enables possibilities.

In a meta-narrative sense, the artists behind this film embody spontaneity by taking much liberty in presentation, prompting the general dismissal of this film for its roughness. I find it very fitting though; I for one am used to abstracting away from minute details (which are often times important, really) and embracing a film/show for its ambiance. The somewhat unclear and muddled story brings a desire to ponder; the wild fantastical arthouse-esque presentation prompts the want of an answer, somewhere hidden within the rough shell that is this film.

Two revolving objects are prominent in this film: the round staircase and the turning wind turbines. They lurk around without explicitly being mentioned, but appear repeatedly. They come back again and again to encourage exactly a sense of recurrence. The crystal ball enables Norimichi to repeat the past, and realize the what-if's. Though repetitive, no two instances are technically the same, as we get to traverse different paths in each iteration. I suppose then we should call them restarts, but the scope of possibilities is so infinite that no two settings are really the same, even if the previous history is identical: we are bound to make different choices (no matter how infinitesimally different), which then causes the tree-like timeline to bifurcates, springing onto a totally different future. This is how recurrence connects with infinity.

The film is not one to be scrutinized, for it suffers much if we insist on doing so. Rather, if we look into the metaphorical crystal ball, as it shatters into countless shards, we can truly see what we would have thought to be impossible, and on top of that, much more where we would not even begin to imagine. The key to tying all this together is not solely a magical item, but the bravery to ask what if, to dive deep into the unknown waters. Who knows, on a depressingly ordinary summer day, you might be able to leap into a world that belongs only to yourself, where even something so transient as fireworks could manifest in an infinite number of amazing forms.

After the End

"It's been said that the world is already at its end. But I like this world."

I suppose post-apocalyptic worlds are a common setting in fiction, or at least not a rarity. It is a world that allows for a great area of imagination, yet also very grounded in reality. With the advent of nuclear weapons, the world has virtually been holding its breath for the moment when one slip of judgment would tumble the first domino piece and end the world, as we know it, in mere minutes. Indeed, when these worlds are portrayed in movies and such, I cannot but remind myself that such a fate may well be within my lifetime. It seems so far, yet so close.

Perhaps it is precisely because of this sense of "intimacy" that I find such stories inspiring, and in some sense romantic. In this post I will be examining two examples I have recently encountered: Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou (Girls' Last Tour, SSR) and So Ra No Wo To (Sound of the Sky, SnW). As I am in general averse to horror and violence, I find these two rather "mild" depictions of the post-apocalyptic world more amenable to my viewing: If anything the post apocalyptic world will surely be more akin to the world of, say, Fallout than what is seen here. Despite the apparent optimism, perhaps the "romantic" aspect of the message is more clearly expressed, and not obscured by the dismal violence for the sake of shock value.

SSR is, as its name suggests, a tale of a pair of girls' journey. Rather than a day trip over the weekend, the girls travel over the post-apocalyptic wasteland, scavenging for food and fuel while trying to reach the highest level of the city. SnW, on the other hand, tells the story of the 1121st platoon in Helvetia, one of the nation states that exist after a great war that destroyed most of the present civilization. It is centred on Sorami Kanata, a new recruit that joined the army to learn to play the trumpet, but should more appropriately be described as a collection of the stories of Seize, the border of Helvetia. The two worlds differ quite a bit, in terms of the degree of destruction, the amount of futurism, the remaining population etc., but nonetheless both share some similarities in themes and motifs related to the post-apocalyptic setting. (and also being great anime)

Motif: Regression of Technology

A prominent feature of the post-apocalyptic world in these two shows is the description of "technology": The Takemikazuchi in SnW, and various examples in SSR from sentient AI-armed robots, tanks, weapons, down to cameras and radios. 

This is more prominent in SSR, as a major feature of the show is the viewing of the world from the girls. To us, the post-apocalyptic world is a strange one, a mix between lifestyle long ago and remnants of the technology we see today. This leads onto another recurring motif, the process of "re-learning." Whether it be the girls in SSR revisiting technology we are used to today, or glass workers trying to reconstruct the height of optical technology in SnW, somehow a feeling of nostalgia strikes soundly, even though we witness a world in the future.

A large amount of depiction revolves around instruments of war, technology that were used to kill. The irony behind how humans, even at the brink of destruction, cling onto the technology that brought about this waste is shown clearly in this setting. The last bit of technology we want to hold onto is not something that helps us survive, but to make surviving harder. Even in the world where there are only a handful of humans left, a gun is a necessity. Perhaps this addiction to mutual destruction is why our world is doomed to end.

Motif: Beauty in the Desolate

I remarked on how contrast plays a pivotal role in the narrative in Planetarian, another anime set in the post-apocalyptic world. Indeed, contrast is so fundamental to this very setting, that it basically is the reason why we bother with fantasizing within this setting at all, dare I say. And in the desolate, lifeless, utterly destroyed world, the little bits of beauty shines bright as a jewel.

Every being to some extent must be attracted to beauty. This is especially true for me who considers truth as a pursuit of beauty. The task of surviving in the wasteland does not stop Yuuri and Chito to stop and appreciate a bit of music from the rain hitting their helmets, or marvel at the artwork of the past they know so little about. In a sense, the curiosity of Chito is a pursuit of beauty unto itself: the quest for a unifying, ordered theory for how people existed. How did people use to feed themselves? How did they communicate with each other? How did they honour the deceased?

The obvious example of beauty used within SnW is obviously music, but I will leave that to the next section. Another example would be the overarching legendary tale of the relic buried underwater, the story of the fire maidens. Surely upon seeing a giant fossil of the remains underwater, one would have a reaction similar to Kanata's: What stories have been told about this mysterious relic? The festivities surrounding the very tale, the reenactment of the tale through the real-life bastion maidens, the pious gratitude towards these figures of legend... all point towards the beauty, that of having a simpler mind, to put down suspicion and doubt, to enjoy a time of festivities with each other and thank the protectors of the town. 

In the brink of humanity, in a desolate wasteland, perhaps there is beauty to be found.

Motif: "Lost"

The girls in SSR are on a journey with a destination, but without a route. Their short term goal is to find food to sustain themselves, but they are in an eternal state of search. SnW dedicates a segment to Rio wandering around the town, in addition to the entire exposition linked by Kanata being lost on her way to the bastion.

Where are we headed? We are no oracles, and predicting the future is such a non-trivial task you could earn a handsome amount to be able to do something like that. Imagine then a world such as the one pertaining to this discussion. Perhaps then the answer is "to ruins," a rather obvious one. But is that the whole story? Can we find a way out of the barrenness? Despite seeming to have no other path in front of them, with nothing but destruction and lifeless empty land, the main characters keep on treading though, hoping that some other path will show.

Motif: Music

Some say that music is a language. Certainly, it is an art that transcends simple scientific analysis of patterns. That certain sounds can evoke certain emotions is one thing we take for granted, but explicitly discovered by Chito in SSR. It turns out that having raindrops hit their helmets produces specific vibrations, and for some reason, a relaxing feeling is generated.

The trumpet was used as an instrument to send signals between comrades in SnW. Thus, it is an instrument of war, a call to arms. However, can we even call that music? Some assembly of sounds are regarded as music, and some are not. Even if the sound comes from a musical instrument, it might not be regarded as music, or at least good music. Good music is human. It carries emotions common to everyone, fundamental to human nature, crystallizing non-verbal expressions into tractable, concrete sensations. It is beautiful, and I feel that the performance of Amazing Grace within this show is the zenith of this definition. In a battlefield filled with clamorous noises, the clashing of metal weapons, the screams of agony, the cries of mourning... the melody of Amazing Grace resonates, far beyond the horizon, signalling that the war shall continue no more. Princess Ilyia, the ambassador of peace from Helvetia to Roma, played this over the battlefield, just as Kanata played this just in time to stop the sides from breaking the unstable armistice, until Rio came with the message of peace.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me!"

This song is more than a Christian hymn. In the post-apocalyptic world, in a war-torn wasteland, survival often means hurting others, even if we don't know them at all. Upon hearing these phrases, could one still hold his weapon so dearly?

Where we are going

Where do we go from here, with all these symbols? Do they have any meaning at all? Indeed, in a post-apocalyptic world, is there a meaning to music? Is there a meaning to technology? Is there a meaning to go to war?

Does it mean anything to live?

This is a world of despair, hopelessness (絶望). Humanity has declined, and the zenith of civilization is no more. We no longer understood what we had discovered before, and have been reverted to scavengers of the remaining little resources, especially evident in SSR. Just as a discovered traitorous spy would commit suicide before his being caught, the motivation to simply leave the world is very strong. Yet why does Chito and Yuuri keep on journeying until they find the highest level? Why is Chito interested in recording and learning about history at all? Why does the 1121st platoon feel that it is important to stand between the gunfire from both sides, risking their safety to protect the peace of this world about to end? Why does Rio want to journey into the wasteland, to dream of the unknown?

Maybe there isn't a meaning, and that is the point. I have always sourced my inspiration from absurdist philosophy: to find a meaning out of the nihilistic mess that is the world, to define oneself alone, to create one's own world. That is the goal of life. That is the meaning, and this setting really challenges the extreme of this tenet. Kanazawa in SSR attempted to define his life by mapping out all of the wasteland, level by level; Ishii constructed an airplane from rediscovered knowledge on aerospace engineering, and that was her life. Yet, in one feel swoop, fate herself snatched both of their meanings right away. In one split second, all of what they had was gone. This is the true nature of the post-apocalyptic world.

Yet, Ishii smiled as she descended, feeling content.

"Let's get along with despair!"

An immortal quote from Yuuri indeed. It may not mean anything to construct anything, knowing it could collapse spontaneously in any moment, but perhaps the meaning lies not in the results of the construction, but the process.

"Let's go, to the place where our dreams lie, even if the world ends. Until that time, our future lies ahead."

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Insert Song Discussion 22: Watashi no Koe [Kokoro ga Sakebitagattterunda (Anthem of the Heart)] by Jun Naruse (Inori Minase) [1]

" 'Good morning', 'Hello'
'Greetings', 'How are you?'.
All these exchanges
I now realized how much I loved them."

As humans, we are granted with the most advanced brain out of all living things, the ability to think. Coupled with that is the power to express ourselves, through speech, and numerous sophisticated languages to help us achieve that. Yet, does this power come with a cost? Do we always want to speak out what we think?

For most, it is so easy to speak: to just open our mouth and let our thoughts pour out. Even people who never learnt to write or read must have learnt how to speak since early childhood. Yet, it is so difficult to take what we spoke back. Perhaps we can say that we didn't really mean what we said, but the very words that came out, in fractions of a second, have already made an unmistakably permanent mark on the listener's mind. Things written down can be erased, or covered by correction tape; things printed out can be destroyed, yet every individual possesses such a unique voice, that is virtually impossible to completely erase what is spoken, for every word is engraved, with a clear signature, on whoever heard it. Mere sentences, depending on context, could hurt, ruin, or even kill.

Given the dangers of speech, should we still speak? Is the blessing of speech really a curse?

Jun Naruse decided that she would never speak ever again, following her revealing an affair of her father, unintentionally causing her parents' divorce. Her decision manifested as an imaginary "egg" which literally zipped her mouth shut, inflicting a curse on her such that she cannot speak without serious stomach cramps. Even when insulted, or having strong emotions to express, she refrained from speaking, and internalized all sorts of damage silently. Stubbornly refusing to speak, she caused plenty of distress to her mother, who gradually became frustrated with Jun due to her shame from the rumours of neighbours.

Jun knows all the reasons not to speak, better than everyone else. She blamed herself for tearing her family apart (reinforced by her mother's blames), and thus, when the baseball team insulted Tasaki, having injured himself at the heat of the competitive season yet still bossing around the team as a captain, Jun screamed out to stop them, for you can never take words back.

Not being able to speak does not mean that no thoughts are generated. On the contrary, so much unspoken words get stuck in the brain that it starts to suffocate, desperately wanting to be expressed. Perhaps this is why, upon hearing about the ability for music to convey meaning, Jun jumped onto the idea of composing a musical for the community performance, and miraculously singing did not cause her stomach to cramp. Indeed, we don't speak like we normally do in songs, or poems. Rather, we use a great deal of artistic devices, to create euphemisms, yet in the process elucidating the matter at hand even better than plain words. However, having shut herself in for years, eventually she became aware of herself, and abandoned the crew on the day of the performance.

For she knew, once she expresses what she thinks, she will just hurt more people. She knew this so well, that she decided to shut her voice deep within her heart forever.

If speech is such potent of a poison, should we speak at all? Or should we just well up all the feelings we have, all the dark secrets we hold?

"Every being cries out silently to be read differently," wrote Simone Weil in Gravity and Grace, and indeed, as it turns out, even if we stop speaking out loud, we somehow find a need, a primitive urge, to express ourselves, because speech is our best way to change how people view us. I really like the contrast established in this quote, the desperate loudness of "crying out", yet qualified immediately afterwards by the word "silently".

Every being cries out, to be read differently. Not "whisper", "argue", "persuade", but "cry out". Indeed, the process of expressing oneself is sometimes ugly, even offensive, violent and rude. It is an outburst, but isn't this exactly the nature of emotions? It is exactly this violence, spontaneity and lack of logic that defines emotions such as happiness, melancholy, appreciation, disgust, hatred, and, most importantly, love. From this births the beauty that is art and music.

So speak out earnestly. Even if the words turn out to be embarrassing, even if they may hurt others. Because if these are your true feelings, somehow something beautiful will spawn from it.

“I had agonized so much over [this] project, but in the end it saved me.” -Mari Okada, script writer of  Kokosake. [2]

---

[1]: As anyone (most, apparently) with a British background should be able to tell, this song is based on Greensleeves, also known as "the song that plays in the listening part of the local examination of Hong Kong", which is why it is also dubbed "the nightmare of Hong Kong students."
[2]: https://www.animenewsnetwork.com/feature/2017-09-06/how-mari-okada-went-from-shut-in-to-anime-director/.120417

Scattered Thoughts about No Longer Human (Dazai)

Source: Wikimedia Commons (typical of a student like me). Interestingly, when I Googled "Dazai Osamu" all I got were anime images of the character in Bungou Stray Dogs, while "太宰治" returned the real guy.

"人間、失格"

The English title of  "人間失格" is No Longer Human, which I believe to be a translation that failed to capture the meaning of the title. "失格" literally translates to "loss of privilege", or "loss of qualification". This seems to imply not only a state of change, as intimated by the translation, but also a disqualification, a failure of a certain set of criteria that, somehow, defines what "human" (人間) means. 

What, then would this set of criteria, or "test", be? Is it a "test" to being a decent person to each other? As I have mentioned numerous times before, I am a firm believer of an individualistic purpose in life. To live according to what others have defined is a tragedy. Thus, this idea already sounds wrong, and luckily the book is not about this sort of "test". After all, what is a human? Perhaps, a creature that is slightly more rational and developed than your average mammal, but still prone to innate desires of emotions, vices that harm each other, gratuitous acts of malice out of fear, and all kinds of other imperfections. To aspire to be something like this seems quite unattractive, yet it is quite unimaginable how one would "fail" in this sense. After all, to fail would mean being an alien, effectively, in a human shell. It is a stretch to think someone born biologically a human would be deemed not a human, no matter how undesirable he/she would turn out to be. A strong emphasis should be placed on the fact that the title is not "No Longer a Good Person", but No Longer Human. This is indeed what Dazai alludes to when he judges Oba Yozo, the protagonist of the story.

To use the words 失格 to describe Yozo is also quite weird to me, for several reasons. Like Dazai himself, Yozo actually comes from quite an affluent family, having good connections laid out for an easy life. Why, then, would someone who has such a good start forfeit a comfortable and stable life as a "passable" human, but rather forsake humanity and cast himself as an alien? Also, although Yozo uttered the titular quote towards the end, when he completely broke down and was shut into a mental facility, having wasted away his physical body at the age of 27, there was not one point at which I thought was the point where he lost the "privilege to be human". Yozo is quite a static character, in spite of the dramatic life he had, and though he started to reach more cogent conclusions on humanity towards the end, at no point would I consider him a human at all.

From childhood, Yozo fails to understand everything human. Even something so basic as the feeling of hunger and the satisfaction of having a good meal puzzles him to no end [1]. Perhaps it is the nature of children to be inquisitive, but the kind of mystery here stirred up a feeling that could hardly be described as curiosity from Yozo. He describes himself as an actor, putting up a face of cheerfulness and silliness, solely to entertain others to alleviate their suspicion, to avoid detection of his alien nature. To him, humans are not some saints he wish to aspire to become (evidenced by his comments on hypocrisy towards the end of the first chapter) but are simply creatures that speak a totally different language, another species from him entirely, and from this confusion and lack of familiarity stems fear, that one day he would suffer the wrath of those around him. A vivid analogy comes to mind:

"But from the angry faces of people, I find something even more frightening than lions, crocodiles and dragons. Normally they would hide their wrath, but once the chance emerges, in a fury they will reveal their true nature, just like calm, docile cows on the field, suddenly viciously flicking their tail to kill a fly."

Yozo is so good at pretense, that it carries him through almost every social situation, from pretending to befriend Horiki to get alcohol, to joining the leftist underground societies just out of excitement. It even made him popular among women. Yet, never once has he assimilated with the role he plays in front of people. Never once has he perhaps accepted that "that is who I actually am". This is a book of introspection, an attempt of Yozo to reconcile with the concept of "being human", yet among the pages upon pages he reflected, none comes out to him finally reaching some sort of understanding. Why do men lie to each other? Why is committing crimes so exciting? Why do women keep flocking to him? All these he think over again and again, yet nothing comes out of those ruminations.

I suppose that is not technically true, since he did reach a conclusion towards the end: that humans are always selfish. After his first suicide attempt, a lot of people were summoned to help him, and they did somehow, yet not without ulterior motives, either to suck up to Yozo's father, or to be on the moral high ground. When people say "the world will hate you for this!" they really are saying "I will hate you for this," or "I am obligated to hate you for this." I suppose that is some sort of conclusion, but it is hardly satisfying. In fact, this drives Yozo eventually insane. This begs the question of whether being a human is really worth it after all [2]. Misanthropy pervaded through a large part of my life, due to my tendency to avoid others. However, it is the first time I have been brought to wonder whether misanthropy is a choice or a determined fate, that some are determined to be more inclined towards this than others. Or rather, as in the case of Yozo, alienation causes unfamiliarity, which causes fear and translates to hatred, causing further alienation and so forth.

The entire novel lacks life. Yozo has never actually lived as a human, wasting away his life in prostitution, alcoholism, drug addiction and leeching off others. Even his suicide attempts are brushed off deliberately with few sentences in passing. One description sums up this feeling well:

"Just outside the apartment window was a kite caught in the telegraph wires; blown about and ripped by the dusty spring wind, it nevertheless clung tenaciously to the wires, as if in affirmation of something. Every time I looked at the kite I had to smile with embarrassment and blush. It haunted me even in dreams."

The frequency of situations where I would feel intense hatred and disdain has diminished much since my childhood, yet the times at which I do feel joy and excitement has never increased much, always at a low. Reading Yozo's accounts relieves me somehow, seeing I still have tangible goals I wish to pursue: to learn. My life still has a meaning, no matter how weak and lofty it is. But looking back, there were indeed times when I was dangerously close to wishing to tread the path of self-ruination and just give up, and this gives me serious chills.

As this is not an essay in Japanese literature, I won't go into a more in depth analysis, but just throw out a question: For what purpose did Dazai tell this story? For what purpose did Dazai bring Yozo into existence? Perhaps as a case of intellectual curiosity, Yozo is interesting. What even is Yozo, since he is not a human? A popular view is that Yozo is a reflection of Dazai himself, and by portraying him Dazai achieves catharsis. Yet that did not stop Dazai from committing suicide, a barely cathartic ending. Or rather, I should say that telling the story of Yozo did not solve Dazai's problem with life itself.

Abstracting from the author, why is the story so popular among readers? Perhaps much of it has to do with Dazai's literary prowess, but what does the audience gain from this story? In other words, is there a moral to this story? Did Dazai intend to stop readers from following his example and live a "human" life? Apparently not, since Yozo/Dazai did not develop this character intentionally: they think and exist so because they are created like so (or at least, as Dazai seemed to argue).

Speaking personally, there are plenty of times where I felt barely human. This must be true for lots as well, as we must have a desire to "fit in" while we see the world through a very limited lens. The average person's reaction to Yozo might be what the "me" in the prologue and epilogue described: Detachment, disgust and disdain. However, reading through the pleading of Yozo, occasionally relating to his thoughts, I feel the fortune to be able to avoid (mostly) the torture of existing in the human world as a non-human.

---

[1]: Reading this made me shiver, since I was a kid who never really felt hunger and hated eating too.
[2]: https://byronsmuse.wordpress.com/2017/02/02/book-review-no-longer-human-by-osamu-dazai/. Well worth a read.

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ED Discussion 21: Yojouhan Shinwa Taikei [Tatami Galaxy] ED, "Kamisama no Iutoori [As God Dictates]" by Yakushimaru Etsuko. [1]

"I must forgive."

The Tatami Galaxy appears to be complex. It is an eccentric concoction of artistic devices: very fast-paced monologues, unconventional art style, surrealist depictions, overt manifestations of inner thoughts intruding into objective reality... However, upon finishing the final scene, I sighed with satisfaction at how simple the message indeed was. Simple, but very powerful and relatable.

Graduating (hopefully with no accidents) in half a year from now, I can attest to the fact that university is a place of radical change. The amount I learnt in these four years easily doubles what I knew so far, not only about science and engineering but also what it means to exist in a society, how to interact with others and what it means to live, although I do admit I am still a complete novice. As I might have mentioned earlier, I found my life up till senior secondary to be intolerably dull and unfulfilling, and, having a brief glance at true education in my final years in secondary school, I yearned for more. Indeed, I come to university with a greatly optimistic outlook: I will change, and I will make my years worthwhile; I will chase after the rosy college life.

Whether this so-called rosy college life does indeed exist is the central concern of our focus today, The Tatami Galaxy. Looking around me in the first week of my first year, I see plenty of people busy with student union duties, enthusiastically selling their societies and describing how meaningful/fun their society is. Their eyes are filled with the exact thing we call the rosy life. They are the embodiment of this life. Without restraint, I signed up for plenty of clubs and societies, and attempted to get into them. Rather quickly, (apart from the Chinese Orchestra) their calls for activities and socializing turned from warm and welcoming to annoying and irritating, sitting in my inbox as junk mail. I realized that I could never get into these circles, because that's not what I am, and betraying what I am was the last thing I am comfortable doing. True back then, even more true now.

Of course, my life was not so filled to the brim with drama as Watashi, the MC from The Tatami Galaxy, and there were no secret police, elusive gurus, proxy-proxy-(...)-proxy wars that dragged me in. However, glancing at how others have garnered such a wide range of acquaintances, going to so many social events so frequently, while I hid myself in my room reading notes, watching anime and playing games made me wonder, more frequently than I wanted to in my first two years, whether I had made the right choice, whether I had ignored the chances that dangled in front of me, or whether the so-called "chances" were in fact just a flame luring me, the moth, to burn my wings upon.

I concluded two messages from The Tatami Galaxy: The first one I have already alluded to: do not try to be who you are not. Watashi was not a tennis player, neither was he a revolutionary movie artist, an eloquent orator, an enlightened sage, a buff athlete... and every time he chases these goals, he attempts to shake off his true self and assume a persona to fit in the society he wishes to devote himself to, to be someone who he is not to enjoy the rosy coloured campus life. Does he succeed? Apparently not, since every episode ends with him going back on his decision, and try to choose a different route to seek for the optimum again.

Prof. Stephen Boyd, in his convex optimization lectures, alluded to the fact that life itself is an optimization problem. According to him, it is, however, such a trivial tautology that it is not even worth mentioning [2]. Indeed, we constantly question not only why we do things but also whether how we do things is optimal. It is natural to want to backtrace our decisions and improve things, with hindsight. However, in the blind search for the optimal, have we considered enough what really is optimal? Every time Watashi backtracks, he throws away the most obvious opportunity right in front of him, and goes for some imaginary life that he was not even sure existed, or cashing after some other's life and substituting his goals with theirs, in hopes for the revered rosy life.

The second message is about love. In three consecutive episodes, Watashi "chose" between three different love targets: a senior (who happened to not even be attracted to him at all), a "love doll" and a pen pal. Of course, viewing as an outsider, we see the hilarious dramatic irony and wonder why Watashi can be so blind and desperate. Yet, aren't we all the same, inclined to perform stupid and self-harming acts in the name of love? Being incubated for the entirety of one's life as a loner, it is virtually impossible for one to be immune to the poison known as infatuation, and pine for the slightest hint of affection from those we find attractive, even to inanimate, imaginary beings.

What are the solutions to these quandaries? Through a cryptic hint from the fortune teller every episode, the author Yuasa literally dangles the answer right in front of Watashi, and to us. Dangling under the lamp which the moth (symbolizing Watashi) blindly and relentlessly fly towards, was the "Mochiguman" doll Akashi, an underclasswoman of Watashi, lost. All Watashi had to do was to return the doll to her, and a new story would have begun. Much like me trying to find a complex moral message behind the seemingly obfuscating artistry, the answer was always obvious and simple. Yet it took Watashi numerous timelines, breaking apart hundreds of parallel universes to eventually figure out the answer, the key to happiness.

What does this imply for us, the viewers, then? We do not have the fortune to restart our college lives like Watashi did. Likely, we also have no "easy way out", like the Mochiguman dangling under the lamp, or do we? Again, the message of this show is really simple. Perhaps I would even it is overly so. Yet, if we could see the easy way out easily, life would have been solved already, and, most all of us surely know, this is not the case! The magic of this anime comes not only with the message it wishes to convey but also the way it is packaged, an almost metadramatic way of presenting the moral. I suppose the best we could do then is not to cease our search for the optimal, yet not chase someone else's dreams and develop jealousy towards others' lifestyle. Back away from time to time, forgive our own mistakes, and think whether we have missed the obvious.

---

[1]: These lyrics would have had a way different effect to me one and a half years ago. Much more curious, to say the least.
[2]: Whether life is convex, though, is a good question, as he claims. 

Talking Evil

"I am now an existence known as 'evil' "

We are all taught to behave in school. The majority of my life (probably for you who are reading this too) has been dedicated to being lectured about what being moral and decent to others involve. It is true that the people we like to interact with we deem to at least be decent in our books: otherwise why would we be willing to interact with them at the first place? Indeed, being "good" involves being considerate and respectful of others. However, what we see daily on the news is not people being decent to others. That is not an interesting piece of news, nor is it important or carry information for our caution. What we learn as we grow up is that the world is full of evil: from the insanity and capriciousness of crimes, violence, to, on the flip side, the prevalence of policing, surveillance, security... all these suggest that humans are full of innately unfettered vices that need to be controlled through threats and force. Sobering as it may be, today I would like to consider what evil really is.

A nebulous concept?

Perhaps by reversing the definition of good, we might get some insight into what evil means. There are a plethora of ethical theories underlying the definition of "good": utilitarianism, intentionalism, consequentialism, or more concrete "guidelines" such as those delineated by religions. The problem with the former few are that they are theories, not absolute truth. We can debate about which of those are more philosophically sound, but at the end of the day a moral decision remains ambiguous. The latter not only suffer from lack of rigor (e.g. there may be some situations where killing/stealing/disobeying your parents is deemed more good than evil) but are also horribly restrictive and sometimes downright archaic.

Are we therefore to accept that evil, much like good, is a nebulous, imprecise and relativistic concept? While good deeds are arguably dispensable (we can and are supposed to live without the gratuitous kindness of others), evil deeds sometimes can and will seriously harm the well-being of the society as a whole. Moreover, some acts, such as genocide, are universally condemned as evil deeds. There seems to be a more immediate need for a definition, and the search of such definition may prove to be more promising to yield something more than depends.

Evil as the enemy of mankind

As alluded to in my previous post, Tanya from Youjo Senki is "evil" because she is inhuman. She lacks the qualities which allow her to empathize with the imperfect, weak side of humans known as "emotions", and thus, in the process of going against this fundamental core of human value, she becomes the enemy of the essence of humanity, thus the enemy of mankind.

This definition makes sense to me. Recent conversations with Christians have revealed to me that God and their religion are the benchmark of good, the absolute arbiter of morality, or is morality in itself. For them, evil is simply what goes against God, and the judgment of such moral issues are absolute and done. For someone like me, though, who choose to view this issue from a standpoint that favours practical treatment of the non-existence of god, this definition seems more suitable. Surely, humans prefer being exposed to more good than evil. Even "evil" people would want others to treat them nicely, and in a sense be easy victims to their machinations. Good is something desirable, and evil the opposite.

This definition is unfortunately ignorant of the complexities of moral issues. It is easy to raise issues where the intentions behind the actions are pure (alluding to intentionalism, which is what a lot of people, especially those who like to stand on the moral high ground, advocate for), but the consequences are dire to humanity. One of the greatest enemies of mankind is mortality and the fragility of life. When one seeks to eliminate this evil, should we deem all killing as evil? That would surely seem absurd to a lot.

Taking the issue a bit deeper, we have Urobuchi's take on "humanity" by portraying Homura is the manifestation of evil in Rebellion. Out of obsession for Madoka, Homura took over the world in a bid to prevent further prying of incubators into the energy source locked up by the Law of Cycles. The consequence is immaterial to the inhabitants of the new world Homura created, and she means no ill will to others, since her only objective is to prevent at all costs Modoka becoming a witch. This alludes to the problem of "humanity" in itself. Surely, with all the imperfections and vices of humans, there are better alternatives to being human. To Homura, the new world is where this "better" order exists, since it entails Madoka living a normal, happy life. Is advocating the advance of humans to some further stage and in the process antagonize the current state of "humanity", or the status quo evil? Morality, being an anthropocentric concept, seems to be ill equipped to answer that question (who, being human, will be the arbiter of such a decision?)

Evil as the enemy of "the vast majority"

Things get even more complex when we consider that humans are innate enemies to others, in some sense. Our existence necessitates consumption, endangering the next generation. Our vices innately makes us undesirable beings at times, even to the point of causing harm to the vast majority.

Here comes a possible saving grace: evil could be defined as something that is detrimental to "the grand scheme", "the vast majority". A terrorist might be convinced by his fundamentalist beliefs that his actions are right, but almost everyone on the planet disagrees with that. Being environmentally friendly is a moral thing to do, since it works better "in the grand scheme." In other words, this definition abstracts from the individual and focuses on the collective, sort of similar to utilitarianism if you will.

I don't like this definition much, because the concept of the "collective" is something that scares me much. I like to think of the collective as something inhuman. As Nietzsche said: "In an individual madness is rare, but in a collective it is the norm." Think of the Sibyl system in Psycho Pass, a collection of the brightest minds uploaded to a "neural network". Would we want something like that to make all moral judgments for us? Once we pool minds, the fundamental core of humanity, emotions, is somehow irrecoverable, and we are reduced to a computational being that could very well be the enemy of what is human after all.

The concept of "vast majority" also irks me. Nisio Isin puts it well in Owarimonogatari: Mathematics is beautiful, but numbers are hideous. Specifically, the law of majority is the most hideous of all mathematical laws. We believe that the vast majority, by statistical arguments, should at least be somewhat sensible. But we cannot rule out the possibility that truth is most obscured when it is ruled by the majority, and in fact Nietzsche claims that this is usually what happens. This is possibly why some say that "democracy is the worst form of a government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time."

Conclusion

At this point, I am at an impasse. Admittedly, I have not been exposed to enough material in my life as a loner to make any further progression. So, I suppose, despite the unfruitful considerations above, I shall make a concluding remark.

Standing on two extremes, we have the existence of absolute moral standards and total relativism (non-existence of morals whatsoever). There clearly is something known as moral, since we are capable and often make moral decisions and judgments. However, to say that there is a unifying, all-encompassing moral standard is also quite far-fetched. At the very least, I could say that "the vast majority" of the world seem to share similar moral standards, and are not prone to gratuitous violence against others. However, with the rise of extremism and the fact that it is the minority who controls the lives of millions, I cannot say that this is totally a problem of unwarranted worry.

---

 OP Discussion 20: White Album 2 OP, "Todokanai Koi [Unreachable Love]" (by various)

"Are you pretending to be lonely? I wonder why I cannot stop being curious."[1]
(Setsuna Ogiso ver.)

It has been a while since I had any thoughts about love. And indeed, what happened in the past has somehow already settled quite well. However, a recent chat with a friend of mine reminded me of this weird little sentiment, and prompted me to start thinking a bit again. 

I suppose even if love in itself is not something that I am currently experiencing, the sentiment itself is an interesting part of the human psyche, and that is all I reflect on in these posts. White Album 2 could then be thought of as an exploration of how love changes people. Revolving around the interactions between the three main characters, we see how love is the harbinger of the end of "friendship", and, as meticulously as the characters try to avoid hurting each other, they cannot but give in to their own desires. It should be read more as an exposition on human nature rather than a romance, but to say that the exemplar few of the latter is not a part of the former would be wrong. [1]

This is a story set in winter. Winter has become my favourite season for quite some time now, which I have touched upon previously, and not only because of the weather itself. Kanon leverages this setting well by symbolizing forgotten memories with the snow, and contrasts the warmth of humanity and love with the freezing winter. Indeed, what makes winter great is not the chill in itself, but rather how it brings out the potency of warmth. White Album 2, with the whiteness signifying the snow, is not such a show.

Examining the characters with the lens of today's main topic, one cannot claim that any of the characters are evil. On the flipside, none are good either. Enamored by Touma, Kitahara nonetheless thinks a relationship would be impossible, and settles with Setsuna who confessed first, only to go back on his choice once he discovered the true feelings of Touma. Setsuna, who knew of Kitahara's feelings, went ahead with the desire of possession, cutting off Touma. Touma, seeing that a couple has already formed, nonetheless was not able to control herself from confessing to Kitahara, the only one who has reached out to her in her life of loneliness. Can one really totally put the blame on any of them?

When I think of snow, I do not think of it being furious as a storm, or drastic as a shower. The snow here is a powdered snow, one that falls surreptitiously, and before one could notice, accumulates on the ground as a tender, pure layer. It is full of beauty, yet still relentlessly chilly. The whole drama of this show happens so subtly, where characters not only hide their intentions among themselves but also to the viewer. The drastic developments are deliberately delayed until the end, where it all rushes out like a broken dam. But until then, everything seems peaceful, yet the sense of foreboding stays strong throughout.

The most winter aspect of the show will have to the ending though:

"So, why did things end up this way?"
"Hey... that's enough. There's nothing here anymore... Leave"

A heartbroken Kitahara watches as Touma's plane leaves the runway, while a heartbroken Setsuna clings onto Kitahara stubbornly, hoping for something to change, and things to revert to the way it used to be, and should be. However, by this point we all know it is too late. The clouds have already gathered so thick that the snow is not going to end any time soon. As the two wonders what has gone wrong in their lives, the scene cross fades into the segment not included in the main chronological progression of the plot: where the trio performs the ED presented above. Apart from the scene in Clannad: After Story, this is the closest a show has rocked me close to crying. No words are needed any further than that.

As with the case of Sengoku Nadeko (at least in my view), there is this sense of inevitability here. Even maintaining a friendship, when they are all close together, is an insurmountable task when the force of love comes into play. Love could bring happiness and satisfaction, but could also be a powerful catalyst of destruction, driving people insane, breaking up friendships, leaving behind a trail of broken relationships, regrets and even hatred. With love so built into humanity as a mechanism, I cannot but wonder if all this is indeed unavoidable. Touma has tried to distance herself by moving to Vienna with her mother, but this ended up causing even more tears shed.Was there anything they could have done to steer away from the maelstrom?

Ah, yes. We are almost reaching the season of White Album...

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[1] The original can be read in two ways: "孤独なふりをしてるの？なぜだろう気になっていた。" Can also be read "Are you pretending to be lonely? Why, I wonder." 
[2]: Being a "music" anime adapted from a VN, this show also has a great wealth of music from the original OST of the VN, sung by various artists, that I religiously enjoy. To name a few apart from Todokanai Koi, we have Sayonara no Koto, Twinkle Snow, Powder Snow, After All ~Tsuzuru Omoi~, and, most importantly, the titular White Album. 

Battle against Irrationality

Tanya, the "Evil"

Recent events around the world has honestly taken a toll on me emotionally. Witnessing the destruction of peace by extremism, the ceaseless quarrel over obstinate, irrational chauvinists and ideologues, the media stirring up hatred and anger through white lies, more and more proof that military power means everything, all the while seeing world leaders pushing the world to the brink of a total war again, the third time in the last hundred years... All these have led me to wonder whether the values we have developed and deemed to be valuable over the reflections of the tragedies in the last century will still hold up for another, whether the pillars holding up the modern society is gradually giving way. Is it the destiny of humanity to be destroyed by our own hands, through the vices of humans that cannot be banished? 

I have been led to reflect on a recent anime I have watched, Youjo Senki. It is set in an alternate universe, where the "Empire" (not-Germany) is in a state of war with the surrounding countries in Europe (not-France, not-Scandinavia etc.) We see the story through the protagonist, Tanya Degurechaff, a military prodigy, who was granted special "magical" powers and played the role of a front-line soldier against numerous operations. What is special about Tanya is her original identity: A salaryman in modern Japan who operates on strict adherence to rationality. Once an employee has failed to prove his worth, he does not hesitate to fire and replace him. One victim of his firing, disgruntled, pushed him into a train at the station. At the very moment before his death, "god" appeared in front of him, questioning why he has no room for faith. His answer is simple: In the modern age, where people live in peace and enjoy much freedom thanks to the advancements in science, there is no room for god. As a response, "god" then puts him in the "dire straits" where none of these things are present, which is the setting mentioned above, by reincarnating him as Tanya. What ensues is essentially a psychological battle between Tanya and "god", so-called "being X" by Tanya, for her to prove that faith is irrelevant and she will never need it: A battle between rationality and irrationality.

Belief and Faith

Let's take a detour and analyze one of the central themes of Youjo Senki first. I will return to the topic in the introduction in due time.

"Faith: Complete trust or confidence in someone or something; Strong belief in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual conviction rather than proof." - Oxford Dictionaries.

I don't want to believe

"Being X" goes a long way to coerce Tanya into belief: By constantly putting her life on the brink by "persuading" her superiors to send Tanya to the front lines, and even making the "computation crystal", the device that allows her use of magical powers including flight and superior ammunition, to fail at critical moments unless she utters a prayer to "god". Even so, Tanya refuses to have faith. Sure, this shows that she is staunch and unwavering to her principles, but when "god" actually manifests himself, with miraculous powers and ability to reincarnate and such, is it still a philosophically sound option to "not believe"? After all, in my view, there is no option to "believe" in science, since it is objectively true: the laws of physics will not become untrue and its experimental evidence will not be invalidated based on anyone's belief in it. This is why I devote myself to science. "God" is an unfalsifiable and unjustifiable hypothesis: There is, hitherto, no way to prove his existence apart from anecdotal accounts (which is not evidence), nor is there anyway to prove his nonexistence. I have always said that on the seven-point scale coined by Richard Dawkins, I consider myself as a 6:

6: De facto atheist. [The existence of God has a v]ery low probability, but short of zero. "I don't know for certain but I think God is very improbable, and I live my life on the assumption that he is not there." -Wikipedia

In the context of the present story, "god" becomes "real", in a sense that he is actually physically present and can influence, objectively and in a verifiable fashion, the physical world. Is Tanya being the irrational one here, then, to hold on to disbelief? 

At this point, I realized the "punchline" of the message here: That "belief/faith" and "acknowledgement of existence" is distinct. This is what Tanya holds on to as an axiom to her stance. "God" may be present. He could be a being like "being X", who is able to appear in front of others and alter the fate of the world. However, it is still possible to reject the notion of faith. Here, "faith" transcends mere "acknowledgement of existence". It is much stronger than the answer to a yes/no question. It is the acceptance of the notion of an omnipotent being and his rule over the world. 

In Tanya's world, people are free to act as they will. They are only subject to a Darwinist selection process, where people who fail to improve themselves and prove their worth in the world will be removed from the society. A very practical and rational mindset, treating the society as a machine where parts that are broken are replaced without second thought in order to maximize efficiency. The concept of "god" is hence strongly incompatible. "God" operates on doctrines. People must submit to such doctrines unconditionally and without question. Otherwise, they are deemed unfaithful and will be rejected. It is inherently authoritarian, even when it is benevolent. Thus, what Tanya is fighting against is not the claim of existence of a deity, but rather the fact that she has to submit to a higher power against reason. It may be against reason to struggle against an omnipotent being, but to give in to this premise would invalidate her basic axioms, and thus her entire line of thought.

Personally, I stand pretty close to Tanya's thoughts. "God" may very well exist. He might have performed all the miracles and manifestations documented in the Bible, or any other religious text. However, this is not why I am a de-facto atheist. I am one based on two premises:

1. The phenomena revolving around "god" have never been replicated in the age where documentation of such phenomena is well-developed (video, photos etc.) The very evils of this world where "god" has tried to  eliminate from this world are still prevalent. I am therefore very unconvinced that the possibility of "god"'s existence is plausible.

2. I am fundamentally against authoritarianism. I do not like arbitrary rules set on how people must behave. 

I do not refute the claim that "god" has done a lot of people good by reforming them to be law-abiding citizens and stop causing trouble, but it has also spawned irrational fundamentalism that is the largest threat to peace in the first world nowadays. Regardless, I am against the notion of "god" and believe that society would be better off without the worshiping of a deity, but I do see how "god" can evolve naturally from the development of humans as something to cling onto in times of crisis and darkness. 

War and the Limit of Rationality

An unpleasant surprise [1]

That said, atheism is not the sole central concern of the show. Neither is war and violence, which is prevalent throughout but nonetheless serve as a motif, a device for the main theme: Rationality and the lack of.

Tanya is a hardline follower of rationality, as mentioned above. This has led to her incompatibility with the demands of being X, fueling the major backstory. Yet, rarely does being X actually interfere with the physical world per se (apart from the computational crystal and few exceptions). What being X interfered with was the minds of people surrounding Tanya. All it takes is one small seed of emotional outburst, be it blind hope for the scientist's case to push him to force lethal tests on Tanya, or a fervent mist obscuring the judgment of Tanya's superiors to push her to deadly, reckless battles. Indeed, he merely has to start the reaction, and the dominoes will fall on its own, leading to inexplicably emotional actions even from the "epitome of rationality", the brass. In the end, it is emphasized that the war is not between the actual warring nations. It is between reason and impulse (humanity), a battle between Tanya and the world, which may even include herself.

One must wonder whether war is a result of reason. Surely the process of planning out operations, performing battles require the power of rational thinking, much like a game of chess, in order to anticipate the moves of the opponent and optimize a set of motion. However, for what reason are we fighting? To fight for some arbitrary border issues? To obtain control over some resources? At the end, it all returns to motives that are hardly rational at all: Hatred, greed, intolerance... Perhaps more reductively, it is impossible to "reason" with the absurdity known as life, so all we do must reduce to irrationality. It is something that is fundamentally built into all we do. Some of this irrationality leads to "good" outcomes such as compassion and "moral" behaviour, but more often than not it leads to seemingly mindless self-destruction as a species.

Reason is a means of thought that develops conclusions and decisions based on observations, or axioms [2]. Given a goal of optimization, one sets to find the best combination of actions that would result in achievement of such goals. Yet, if we examine the rationality of the axioms themselves, we may find ourselves at an impasse, for axioms are the foundations to threads of reason. It is the base where reason would serve as the reinforcement. It thus transcends reason, and thus the above question makes no sense. What determines whether a set of axioms are good is necessarily within the purview of an alternative form of judgment. Could we then say that all reason must be based on something irrational? On a more anthropocentric level, we as humans seem to default back to irrationality when reason falls apart, whether under extreme emotions such as stress, anger or whatever, or when we are faced with questions that challenge purpose. We are more fundamentally built on irrationality. It is our fail-safe mode of thinking, the most intimate sort of thought.

The English (sub)title of the series reads: The Saga of Tanya the Evil. Tracing Tanya's thoughts throughout the series, I wonder what is so evil about Tanya, and why von Rerugen in the picture above would call Tanya a "monster". It turns out that Tanya lacks (or has very little of) this irrational basis. The events throughout the show emphasizes this: She would not hesitate to sacrifice useless subordinates, subject her troops to inhumane training, cleverly circumvent international treaties on humanity to fire at civilians that refuses to get out of the way. It is fundamentally not because of the fact that she has killed numerous in cold blood that makes her evil, it is the lack of an emotional core, what some people may call moral, or conscience. She knows that hatred will cause incessant revenge against all measures of reason, and concludes that all flames of hatred must be extinguished. Yet, I am sure that we all know that once a person is killed, and his flame of hatred extinguished, ten more springs up into action. Tanya is not merely the enemy of people who stand in her way, nor the soldiers on the opposite side. She is the enemy of humanity itself. Dare I say that this is what evil, by definition, is?

Conclusion: Where ignorant armies clash by night

Youjo Senki shows us what a "person" who operates solely on reason is like. As I have remarked numerously in previous posts, emotions are fundamental to humanity and forms our subconsciousness. We often see politicians leveraging emotions as a strategic step in their rational plans, yet at the end of the day it is greed for power and urge for control, all irrational sentiments, that drive such persons to do what they do. Unfortunate to say, as long as humanity is here to stay, we are necessarily enslaved by our own emotions, leading to unpredictable phenomena. Can we turn the tides of hatred and resolve into peace instead? Recent events have made me quite pessimistic. It is a problem too large and fundamental of a scale and nature for me to tackle alone, or, heck, for the entire human race to do so. Yet, I still hold a bit of blind hope that somehow, things will turn out all right. This is the most anti-rational thing that I could possibly think of, but I guess it is better than the alternative of sulking and spreading the hatred.

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[1]: Examine the allegory drawn by the picture in the background.
[2]: Reason here could be a combination of inductive and deductive reason, but let's assume that inductive reasoning is part of the "deduction" process for now, where conclusive evidence is used as a means for arriving at conclusions, much like a step in a deductive process. In any case, it refers to the antithesis of irrational, or emotional processes.

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OST Discussion 19: Kono Sekai no Katasumi ni (In this Corner of the World) Insert Song, Kanashikute Yarikirenai (Too Sad to Go on)

"It's so sad, so sad that I can't bear it.
Should I go tell someone about it?"

I know I have been completely ignoring the song I claim I am going to talk about in this section, and go straight for a passage about the anime itself this part of recent posts. This time, however, I really have something (whether it is substantial or not would be up to your judgment) to say about the song itself. (I will go back to the movie itself though)

The nature of "sadness" or "melancholy" is something I have touched upon in previous posts, such as the one about hikikomoris. I have explained that sadness is not something like anger, where a sudden event would trigger an intense bout. It is something that creeps upon people, accumulating bit by bit through events that would seem too small to deem worthy of attention: Perhaps from a piece of news about a tragedy, perhaps from the transition from one stage of one's life to another, perhaps from a minor disagreement with how someone acts... As such, we would not notice such build up of negativity within us until something hit us. Something objective, or something subjective, such as a moment of introspection. Yes, indeed, a mere moment of introspection is what some need to open the floodgate of welled-up sadness. A quote from 5cm/s comes to mind:

"Through the act of living itself, sadness piles up here and there. Whether in the sheets hung up to dry in the sun, the single toothbrush in the bathroom, or the history logs of the cell phone"

It is at that moment of realization that we ask: where did all this sadness come from? I am so sad, I cannot carry on, yet I fail to even locate the source of the problem to begin solving it. 

The song in question today has sadness plastered all over it. From the title to the lyrics, the tempo, the tone of the singer, instrument choice, all immediately tell you, blatantly, about sadness. Is there more to it though? Apart from sadness, I can hear the sense of frustration, precisely stemming from the inability to comprehend the source of such sadness, as I mentioned above. 

Frustration is also key to the theme of the movie, where the MC Suzu, dragged along in the tides of the brutal history of WWII, has little control of the fate of herself and people around her. Throughout her life she is simply dragged on by forces she cannot control: Blindly marrying to Kure, having her husband and father-in-law drafted into the military, losing her sister-in-law's daughter to an unexploded bomb in a fraction of a second... Even at the end of the movie, her tragedies do not end, with her sister receiving radiation poisoning from the Hiroshima bombing. It is natural to be frustrated about fate in her shoes. 

Beyond this layer of frustration though, is there more to the song? Perhaps we are (I am) ignoring the obvious here: The dreariness of the tone. the song carries no deliberation. Rather, it is something akin to a song hummed by a farmer, or some distant tone heard from the beach on an island for vacation. Indeed, take Suzu out of the entire context, and we would find that the first thing that can describe her is absent-minded, dreamy, imaginative yet not very bright. She is depicted as a natural artist, always carrying around her sketchbook in her free time, sitting on a slope to draw the scenery. A scene that is remarkable, in my opinion, is the depiction of the air strike on Kure port. Instead of being a frightening mass of bullets and bombs, we see a wealth of colours, a wealth of warm colours: pink, light yellow, light blue, almost like a bouquet of flowers. Here we see the strike in the point of view of Suzu. Is she completely ignorant of the cruel nature of what is happening above her head? Probably not, but we cannot say for certain whether she is aware but optimistic, or simply not conscious enough to recognize what a war is. What we can say for sure is that she manages to maintain a child-like attitude, despite all that is going on around and with her.

This film is clearly about the Second World War, but it is told from the perspective of ordinary folks rather than military masterminds. Suzu cannot be more ordinary of a person. In her life, she has not achieved much, simply maintaining the status quo as much as possible. Thus, some call this film a slice-of-life (SoL). The anime genre is used to SoL comedies, but here we see a starkly different take on SoL with such a character as Suzu. Such a take is possibly more familiar in literature, as it reminds me of the concept of "average-Joe" (小人物). By minimizing the character, we see much more about the milieu, the atmosphere and the setting in general. It is like a test point placed in the field that is to be explored, where the point has minimal influence on the field itself.

However, I find myself wondering whether this has the opposite effect of magnifying the character type exemplified by Suzu herself. In a setting so chaotic, so brutal, so out of the ordinary as Second World War, the largest tragedy in modern human history, CAN such an ordinary person exist? CAN one depict a person with a character so firmly unaffected by the war?

This brings us to the punchline of my discussion: Life goes on. There is no incompatibility between the milieu and the character, because there should be no relation to begin with. There are malicious people in peaceful times, and there similarly are plenty of sensible people in such incomprehensible times. When the film shows the emperor's famous jewel voice broadcast on the radio, the initial reaction of Suzu's family would be anger at the outcome. Yet this lasts for mere minutes, before it is replaced with a flood of relief, signatured by the removal of the lampshade to cover from enemy bombers. Warmongering politicians and ideologues are quick to label enemies of the state, people whom you should feel anger towards, people whom you should donate your full attention towards. Yet, have we forgotten that behind the enemy frontlines are people who hate war just as any of us do, the same people we love and care about?

With this I return to the very first thought of this post. These are the times of picking sides and labelling, whether in America, in the UK, or in HK. Whoever is related to our enemies must be our enemy, and their death must be something we should celebrate. Whatever the enemy says we must find to the end of the world evidence to revoke. Just pick a side and declare war. Call me apathetic, but I am sick of debating, and I am sick of sarcasm. If we can see the person behind whom we rashly label as enemies, perhaps hiding in that inconspicuous corner of the world, perhaps the world may be a bit of a better place to live in.

With these thoughts in mind, this song expresses the nuances of the multitude of emotions that it is almost therapeutic. The world is indeed a sad place, but if it is the last thing I believe in, I believe that there are true humans behind this fury of madness, chauvinism and pure anger. The fact that Suzu can live on despite all of her surroundings makes me believe so.