A while ago, the news exploded with the reports that Lance Armstrong had, in fact, claimed his Tour de France wins while using performance enhancing drugs, vehemently denying doing so the entire time. In addition to the usual outcries of hypocrisy, this lead to a resurgence of the debate over the drugs themselves. What's the big deal? What if everyone else is using them? As this xkcd comic points out, aren't they just a collection of chemicals that we put into our bodies along with the other chemicals we consume? What makes doping different from a strict, scientifically tuned diet or precision-engineered equipment?
Well, I have had time to collect my thoughts, and I have this question to ask:
Why not let him ride a motorcycle?
The thing is, sport is not about flat achievement; it is about achievement with hand-tying. The Tour de France is not a competition to see who can cross the Alps the fastest, it a competition to see who can cross the Alps the fastest taking this certain route, on this certain type of bicycle, with this many teammates, following this schedule, etc. It is the rules that define the sport, and Lance broke those rules just the same as if he had been driving an Indy car.
Well, okay. I think most everyone can agree that breaking the rules is wrong. But the deeper question is, why not change the rules? Why not alter the sport to make it one that tests what the true limits of what the human body can do? To answer this, I point back to my question about the motorcycle. If Lance Armstrong were to complete the Tour de France on a Suzuki, we wouldn't consider the feat to be nearly as impressive. Sure, we might give him credit for being able to maneuver the course, but we wouldn't praise him for his speed. He wouldn't be the one who provided the speed, he wouldn't have worked for it; it would have been given to him by the machine.
In the same way, doping gives up the credit to something outside the athlete. They may select the food that their body converts into energy and strength when they train, but doping changes their hormones and alters the way their body works. How much of the credit is truly theirs, then? Someone on steroids may achieve greater results, but not by virtue of their own effort.
And that's what it really comes down to: steroids provide an easy way up. Maintaining a diet is hard. Training is hard. Doping is a short cut.
Sport is about reaching goals that have been made hard on purpose; short cuts have no place in it.
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Monday, May 14, 2012
Pinpointing Prejudice
In a way, I tend to agree with the Avenue Q song "Everyone's a Little bit Racist." Even if we don't believe that any one race is superior to another, we all go through life with our views of others shaped by our encounters with people or portrayals of people that share similar traits. This can be anything from race to clothing style to area of study; as a species we are very keen on recognizing patterns and will therefore group those around us into categories based on what we know (or think we know) of others like them. This is exaggerated by a form a bias: we tend to more readily notice things that are different from ourselves and use them as labels.
I've had this in mind for a while, but it was recently brought to my attention by an encounter at work. I was walking down one of the hallways when I passed a janitor who happened to be black. Almost instantly the thought came into my head, "I wonder why all the janitors here are black?" Soon I was thinking about potential class and educational barriers and even - horrors! - inherent ability. It was at this point that I stopped myself. This train of thought couldn't be right, so I re-examined it and realized that I had taken for granted the fact that all the janitors were black. In reality, the janitors in our building are a fairly even mix of races; I had just noticed that the black ones were black because this was the trait most different from me. Whenever I would see one, rather than thinking "there's a janitor" like I did for any of the other races, I would think "there's a black janitor." While this was technically true and without any negative association, it was a distinction that was applied unevenly, resulting in my unquestioned assumption that all the janitors were black simply because that was the only descriptor that had ever been applied to janitors in my mind.
This has happened to me before. I've found myself moving from people like Ian McKellen and Neil Patrick Harris to thinking, "Man, all the great actors are gay!" In addition to this being a conclusion based on a terrible sample size, it failed to take into account people like Liam Neeson and Viggo Mortensen, other great actors for whom I had not associated a sexual orientation with their careers because it wasn't different from mine. For my mind, there was no reason to think, "Wow, they're a great actor and they're straight," because the fact of them being straight was considered to be something normal enough to be assumed and therefore not explicitly remembered. But when Ian McKellen came along, the knowledge of him being gay was so shocking (Gandalf is gay?!?!) that it was burned into my memory as being associated with his profession.
Now I'm not saying that we should all keep track of all aspects of a person, however familiar they may be - that would take far too much work. And not associating various traits of people to each other may very well be impossible. But whenever we find ourselves wondering why all of a certain demographic is a certain way, it would pay to examine our base assumptions. It's entirely possible we have accepted something false as truth simply because one aspect of it was more noticeable.
I've had this in mind for a while, but it was recently brought to my attention by an encounter at work. I was walking down one of the hallways when I passed a janitor who happened to be black. Almost instantly the thought came into my head, "I wonder why all the janitors here are black?" Soon I was thinking about potential class and educational barriers and even - horrors! - inherent ability. It was at this point that I stopped myself. This train of thought couldn't be right, so I re-examined it and realized that I had taken for granted the fact that all the janitors were black. In reality, the janitors in our building are a fairly even mix of races; I had just noticed that the black ones were black because this was the trait most different from me. Whenever I would see one, rather than thinking "there's a janitor" like I did for any of the other races, I would think "there's a black janitor." While this was technically true and without any negative association, it was a distinction that was applied unevenly, resulting in my unquestioned assumption that all the janitors were black simply because that was the only descriptor that had ever been applied to janitors in my mind.
This has happened to me before. I've found myself moving from people like Ian McKellen and Neil Patrick Harris to thinking, "Man, all the great actors are gay!" In addition to this being a conclusion based on a terrible sample size, it failed to take into account people like Liam Neeson and Viggo Mortensen, other great actors for whom I had not associated a sexual orientation with their careers because it wasn't different from mine. For my mind, there was no reason to think, "Wow, they're a great actor and they're straight," because the fact of them being straight was considered to be something normal enough to be assumed and therefore not explicitly remembered. But when Ian McKellen came along, the knowledge of him being gay was so shocking (Gandalf is gay?!?!) that it was burned into my memory as being associated with his profession.
Now I'm not saying that we should all keep track of all aspects of a person, however familiar they may be - that would take far too much work. And not associating various traits of people to each other may very well be impossible. But whenever we find ourselves wondering why all of a certain demographic is a certain way, it would pay to examine our base assumptions. It's entirely possible we have accepted something false as truth simply because one aspect of it was more noticeable.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
On Men and Monsters
These first few posts are a little late in regard to the events that inspired them, but I just now got this blog up and running and I feel that I should put them somewhere, so here they are.
I am convinced that empathy is one of the highest forms of human reasoning. It combines imagination -- one of the highest intellectual achievements -- with selflessness -- one of the highest reaches of morality. Putting ourselves in the shoes of another, particularly someone who appears vastly different from us, keeps us from becoming completely self-serving automata. I have heard it postulated that self-reflection is a form of (and even gives rise to) consciousness. If this is true, then reflecting on the self of another is even greater. Not only do we recognize that we think and have a being, but that others also have a being unto themselves that is very much like our own -- and similar enough that we can imagine how we would feel if we were in their circumstances.
I am also convinced that the greatest atrocities in human history occur due to a loss of empathy. These tragedies occur when a group in power ceases to view people as people and instead sees them as either tools to be used or obstacles to be eliminated. Offenses like this can range from the obvious repression by totalitarian governments who, at best, see the people they expend as tools "for the greater good," to individual bases of "just using someone for their _____." In all cases, there is a fundamental sense that this is wrong, even if it is efficient and utilitarian, and the argument against such actions boils down to the sentiment, "but they're people, too." This can even be applied to the perpetrators; no one ever sets out to be evil (aside, perhaps, from mental illness). They can certainly become that way, but rather than aiming at being the worst possible human they can imagine, they do so by focusing so much on their own interests and ideals that they forget the reality of the selves of others. In thinking (consciously or not) that they are the only true men, they become monsters.
It is very important to remember this in your interactions with others, particularly those you don't like or disagree with. Every person you interact with is human and everything that comes with it. They are not perfect (just like you), but they also have intellectual processes and emotional responses very similar to your own. Aside from environmental conditions, the differences arise in each person's interests and the way in which they pursue and protect those interests. Now, it is perfectly reasonable to find fault in these set of priorities (I just stated that blind pursuit of misplaced priorities can lead to inhumanity), and I'm certainly not against the destruction of erroneous arguments and points of view, but there's a reason ad hominem attacks are considered fallacious. Never forget that the other person is a person.
The whole issue of the monster-izing effect of the lack of empathy is very prevalent in the United States' current War on Terror. I seriously doubt that those who perpetrated the 9/11 attacks thought of the people in the Twin Towers as the same sort of being as their loved ones. I'm fairly certain that those in terrorist cells fit my earlier description of monsters. And I see a war of and against an "us and them" mentality toward Muslims. Several weeks ago, Osama bin Laden was killed in an operation by Seal Team Six. In the United States, this was met with relief, rejoicing, and sharp criticism toward those who were rejoicing. I would tend to side with the third group. Personally, I felt very little emotion at the news other than a very pragmatic acknowledgment of threat mitigation on one hand and the increased threat of retaliation on the other. There are people who are far more emotionally connected with this war than I am and I cannot pretend to know their feelings, but I do not think that bin Laden's death should be celebrated. I'm not trying to detract from the Seals' accomplishment; they very admirably completed their mission and neutralized a threat, but it was not victory, it was the death of a man. The death of a human being who was working to protect his interests. These interests were wrong and they manner in which he protected them was unjust, but in his mind, there was reason behind his actions.
I know there's a very fine line between celebrating a success and a victory (though, again, not ultimate victory), and celebrating the death of the man Osama bin Laden, and so I am not directing any criticism against those who felt glad when they heard the news. I am, however, critical of those who proverbially danced on his grave, who became so focused on their own jingoism that they viewed him as little more than a one-dimensional enemy, an obstacle with a name.
Was I able to fully empathize with Osama? Absolutely not. Personally, I find it very difficult to empathize with anyone who is more than slightly different from me. But it is an ideal toward which I aim. Was bin Laden a monster? Yes, but he was also a man, and if we forget that we become more like him than we would want to admit.
I am convinced that empathy is one of the highest forms of human reasoning. It combines imagination -- one of the highest intellectual achievements -- with selflessness -- one of the highest reaches of morality. Putting ourselves in the shoes of another, particularly someone who appears vastly different from us, keeps us from becoming completely self-serving automata. I have heard it postulated that self-reflection is a form of (and even gives rise to) consciousness. If this is true, then reflecting on the self of another is even greater. Not only do we recognize that we think and have a being, but that others also have a being unto themselves that is very much like our own -- and similar enough that we can imagine how we would feel if we were in their circumstances.
I am also convinced that the greatest atrocities in human history occur due to a loss of empathy. These tragedies occur when a group in power ceases to view people as people and instead sees them as either tools to be used or obstacles to be eliminated. Offenses like this can range from the obvious repression by totalitarian governments who, at best, see the people they expend as tools "for the greater good," to individual bases of "just using someone for their _____." In all cases, there is a fundamental sense that this is wrong, even if it is efficient and utilitarian, and the argument against such actions boils down to the sentiment, "but they're people, too." This can even be applied to the perpetrators; no one ever sets out to be evil (aside, perhaps, from mental illness). They can certainly become that way, but rather than aiming at being the worst possible human they can imagine, they do so by focusing so much on their own interests and ideals that they forget the reality of the selves of others. In thinking (consciously or not) that they are the only true men, they become monsters.
It is very important to remember this in your interactions with others, particularly those you don't like or disagree with. Every person you interact with is human and everything that comes with it. They are not perfect (just like you), but they also have intellectual processes and emotional responses very similar to your own. Aside from environmental conditions, the differences arise in each person's interests and the way in which they pursue and protect those interests. Now, it is perfectly reasonable to find fault in these set of priorities (I just stated that blind pursuit of misplaced priorities can lead to inhumanity), and I'm certainly not against the destruction of erroneous arguments and points of view, but there's a reason ad hominem attacks are considered fallacious. Never forget that the other person is a person.
The whole issue of the monster-izing effect of the lack of empathy is very prevalent in the United States' current War on Terror. I seriously doubt that those who perpetrated the 9/11 attacks thought of the people in the Twin Towers as the same sort of being as their loved ones. I'm fairly certain that those in terrorist cells fit my earlier description of monsters. And I see a war of and against an "us and them" mentality toward Muslims. Several weeks ago, Osama bin Laden was killed in an operation by Seal Team Six. In the United States, this was met with relief, rejoicing, and sharp criticism toward those who were rejoicing. I would tend to side with the third group. Personally, I felt very little emotion at the news other than a very pragmatic acknowledgment of threat mitigation on one hand and the increased threat of retaliation on the other. There are people who are far more emotionally connected with this war than I am and I cannot pretend to know their feelings, but I do not think that bin Laden's death should be celebrated. I'm not trying to detract from the Seals' accomplishment; they very admirably completed their mission and neutralized a threat, but it was not victory, it was the death of a man. The death of a human being who was working to protect his interests. These interests were wrong and they manner in which he protected them was unjust, but in his mind, there was reason behind his actions.
I know there's a very fine line between celebrating a success and a victory (though, again, not ultimate victory), and celebrating the death of the man Osama bin Laden, and so I am not directing any criticism against those who felt glad when they heard the news. I am, however, critical of those who proverbially danced on his grave, who became so focused on their own jingoism that they viewed him as little more than a one-dimensional enemy, an obstacle with a name.
Was I able to fully empathize with Osama? Absolutely not. Personally, I find it very difficult to empathize with anyone who is more than slightly different from me. But it is an ideal toward which I aim. Was bin Laden a monster? Yes, but he was also a man, and if we forget that we become more like him than we would want to admit.
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