jaysreekumar

[jaysreekumar]

A Coffee with Jordan Peterson

I run into a lot of important people while having coffee. The other day, I met Jordan Peterson, and we had a nice chat. Below is a faithful transcript of our conversation. LEGAL DISCLAIMER: The below is NOT a faithful transcript of our conversation. This is a work of parody and satire, bucko. I'm imagining that I had a coffee with Jordan Peterson. I actually never had a coffee with Jordan Peterson. I don't even know Jordan Peterson. Any resemblance to actual philosophical meanderings about lobsters, chaos dragons, or the metaphysical significance of breakfast is purely for comedic purposes. It's all fiction, man. No actual archetypes were harmed in the making of this dialogue. I maintain a clean room. I love lobsters. And steak. I wrestle with god on Sundays, too. All metaphysical observations are fictitious and should not be taken as literal translations of Dr. Peterson's views, and THAT'S THAT. This is a parody, protected under fair use, and if Dr. Peterson sues me, I'll be very sad : ( Jay Sreekumar: Oh, Dr. Peterson! Hi, sorry to bother you. How are you today? Jordan Peterson: How am I? See, that's a question that cuts to the very marrow of consciousness itself. You see, the state of "being" fluctuates like the steam rising from this coffee cup—ephemeral, yet deeply meaningful. We exist in a perpetual state of becoming, much like these coffee beans underwent their own transformation through the refinement of heat and pressure. Like Christ. So "how am I?" Well, I suppose I'm in a constant state of metaphysical percolation. A Barista: Sir, did you want some cream? JP: Some cream. Now that's profound. The very notion of cream speaks to the fundamental nature of potential itself. The black coffee represents the darkness of chaos, while the cream—that's order, you see. And the act of pouring, well, that's the individual choosing to literally change the hierarchy of their beverage. No cream, thank you. One must confront the bitterness of reality directly. JS: Careful, sir, it's hot! Did you eat? Can I get you something? Jordan Peterson: I had a croissant. A croissant, young man, is a masterwork of culinary architecture. Layer upon layer of butter and dough, folded and refolded—rather like the human psyche. Every layer represents a stratum of consciousness, you see. The flakiness itself is a reminder of life's fragility. Life is fragile, man . The croissant is a representation of the crescent moon. That's no accident. It's an archetypal symbol of transformation. The ancient Mesopotamians understood this. They would have recognized the croissant as a representation of the eternal cycle of death and rebirth. JS: I see. I don't know. I'm just a branding consultant. What brings you to the cafe here? Are you - JP: Just a café? JUST A CAFE! Ha, is Earth just a planet? No, no! This cafe is a microcosm of Western civilization itself. Look around you. The lineup at the counter is a voluntary hierarchy. The menu is a manifestation of choice and responsibility. The barista calling out names is the social contract in action. I'm here because this space exists at the intersection of order and chaos. It's like the dominance hierarchies of lobsters, but with espresso machines. A child at the next table drops his hot chocolate. Dr. Peterson clicks his tongue. Child: Oops! JP: Ah, yes. There it is. The chaos manifesting itself. That spilled hot chocolate represents the ever-present potential for disorder that lurks beneath our carefully structured world. The child's "oops"—that's the voice of innocent recognition, the moment when consciousness confronts consequence. Like the time I took a painkiller and ended up in a Russian gulagispital . I was saved by my daughter, who eats only meat. Also me, I eat a lot of meat. JS: Um, sorry, could you pass the sugar? JP: The sugar question. Fascinating. You know, this crystalline substance represents our attempt to sweeten the bitter aspects of existence. But should we? That's the real question. These white granules are like the building blocks of meaning itself. Each grain is a potential unit of satisfaction, yet too much leads to decay. It's not unlike how cultural Marxism has attempted to sweeten the harsh realities of… Café Manager: Sir, we're closing in five minutes. Sir, I must ask you to not wear that suit here next time. It's scaring people JP: Closing time. The eternal return of endings. You see, every café must close, must face its own small death each day. It's rather like the dragon of chaos in the Pinocchio story—except here, the dragon is time itself, and we're all wooden boys seeking to become real through the authentic confrontation with our temporal limitations. JS: Dr. Peterson, thank you. This has been… enlightening. Jordan Peterson: Yes, but what does "enlightening" mean? Look at these coffee grounds at the bottom. They form patterns, like the patterns of truth in our lives. Some people see mere sediment, but I see the residue of meaning itself. And isn't that what we all seek in our cups, metaphorically speaking? The grounds for being? It makes a man weep. As I left the cafe, I could see Dr. Peterson, sitting alone in his Sistine Chapel suit, intensely staring at some spilled sugar on the table. An archetype of wasted potential, I suppose. Read the full article

[jaysreekumar]

The Importance of Letting Go of Friendships

Letting go of friendships is as important as holding on to it. I recently ended a longtime friendship. We were close for a decade or more. Like most relationships, friendship is both simple and intricate. At its heart, friendship is a wordless contract—a mutual agreement to walk in life alongside someone. And there is indeed a time when that journey must end. There is wisdom in knowing when letting go of friendships is healthy. It's not fair to over-simplify human connections, but friendships seem to function primarily on three planes: the physical, the emotional, and the irrational. These planes anchor the relationship in reality and give it purpose. The simplest, and generally the most fleeting plane of friendship is the physical plane. This is rooted in materialistic benefits. Perhaps you befriend someone who might lend you a spanner, give you a ride, or help you move furniture. These are friendships that are one notch higher than acquaintanceships, and their nature is majorly transactional. But this doesn't mean it is soulless - quite the contrary. Support or a helping hand can be a foundation, and we have evolved to cherish the beauty of this support. It might not have anything deeper, or more meaningful behind it, but it is a tender human bond. Then there is the intellectual or emotional plane of friendship. This, I feel, is where a more intimate camaraderie or love resides. It's the long, meandering conversations, shared inside jokes, and the appreciation of companionship. The vast majority of relationships that we define as friendship belong here. They are usually forged between like-minded people with a somewhat common history and temperament - and it is deeply pleasurable and fulfilling. At this level, friendship is not so much about what someone does for you as it is about what someone means to you - an empathetic presence, a sounding board, or a hand to hold on to when life becomes too messy to handle. These first and second levels of friendship require the people who participate in them to have some level of similarity - in mind, emotions, past, and social standing. There is a level of pragmatism and even caution about them. The third, and possibly the rarest kind of friendship transcends all these - circumstance, commonness, or even the need for companionship. These are irrational friendships, or rather, the kinds of friendships that go beyond reason. It is an unspoken choice and feels more like destiny than anything else. They endure time, distance, and even seasons of animosity. Unlike the first plane of friendship - which is a social contract - and the second plane of friendship - which is an emotional connection - the third plane doesn't demand anything from us. But they also don't disappear. They are rare, and precious, and happen for reasons that cannot be articulated well. If a friendship fails on all these planes, then I believe it may be time to let go. If there is no material support or nearness, no emotional solace or intellectual similarity, and no soulful connection binding you with the other, then what remains? Merely a hollow, half-hearted, tired commitment kept alive by a cowardly obligation and nostalgia. And what purpose would that serve? I feel that breaking off a friendship is not as normalized in our society as the breaking off of a romantic relationship. And it must. There is nothing noble about carrying the corpse of a memory and happiness past. Letting go of a friendship is not a betrayal - it is staying true to yourself. Sometimes people come into your life for a season. But not everyone who comes is meant to stay there forever. Giving up a friendship won't erase the memories you shared. It does not make you a bad person. It's refusing to serve what no longer serves either of you before it turns into resentment. Of course, this does not mean that every relationship we enter into must be tallied and the benefits must be accounted for. And it also doesn't mean giving up on a friend at the first sign of a strain. This is life, and it is defined by strain and stress. Some friendships deserve to be repaired and given a second chance. But if it ceases being a light in your heart, and turns into a weight around your neck, then it is best to let go of your friendship. Like all relationships that bring us joy, knowing when to hold on and realizing when to let go is wisdom. Read the full article

[jaysreekumar]

The Commodification of Compassion

The commodification of compassion is an insidious, despicable thing, and advertising companies just can't get enough of it. I bet you've seen it, too - one minute you're listening to some piece of sublime music, the next moment you're bombarded by a well-rehearsed dirt-smeared face in a rubble asking for a dollar. The scene has been played out thousands of times: a gaunt child, hollowed eyes, looking pained under perfect lighting, and some crappy piece of corporate-sad music screaming in the background. Sometimes a somber voice lists out nefarious bullet points of suffering, ending with a call to action to donate. "Hello, I am Celebrity John Washedout, and I am a goodwill ambassador". It's a script as predictable and tasteless as a cheap soap opera. I'm not mocking human suffering nor the innate urge most of us have to help others less fortunate than us. There is suffering, an incredible, heart-wrenching amount of it. There is gross injustice, and the innocents are daily sacrificed at the altar of some inherited hate. I know this. This is the human condition, and it is incumbent upon you and me to do something about it. No, I am frustrated by the inane way that marketing companies use death, dying, and palpable misery as a marketing strategy. It is inhumane and gross, and the thinking behind it is deeply flawed. When suffering is branded as a product, it leads to the commodification of compassion. It is then no more a human connection - it is tragedy porn, a spectacle drawn out in all its despicable salaciousness to manipulate the comfortable. It is a product because you can't sell something to an audience without packaging it in a manner that is best palatable to them - and when you do that with suffering - human or animal - you are appealing to the basest impulse of commerce. The manipulation is apparent. The camera lovingly lingers on snot-caked, tear-stained faces. Pan out to the woman with half a hand. Focus here on the maggots around that man's wounds. Hey Julio, can we get a better shot of this rubble? Guys, can we please sneak a doll beneath the dead puppy? Perhaps throw that kid over it, and give it a pinch so that it cries. The more visceral the imagery the better. These ads are not about inspiring hope, they're not about dignity. They're not even about the suffering millions. They're about YOU. They want to break YOU down, not build them up. They're peddling $espair. All this ballet is simply so that YOU pull out your wallet. What, you won't? Oh, you will. Because here comes that one celebrity. The celebrity angle is what makes this all the more disgusting. It's as if their mere presence is an anodyne to suffering. The sub-text is clear: "Look, even I care, so why not you?" Their tears and constipated faces are closely photographed, and their quotes are plastered all over the backdrop of crumbling villages. It reeks of opportunism disguised as altruism. But as we witnessed in the recent elections, celebrity endorsements don't work. These shock and guilt campaigns with their holier-than-thou attitudes only serve to distance people away from whatever latest fashionable causes they are parading. People have become desensitized. The constant barrage of these images ostracizes good intentions and instead of creating compassion, it simply creates outrage at these antics, or even worse, apathy. Whenever these campaigns create a commodification of compassion, the fatigue of sensory overload sets in, and humanity gets smothered under the weight of dead good intentions. So what is the alternative? Not silence or inaction. What we need is a shift in narrative and a better way to brand charity organizations. Perhaps, instead of focusing on suffering, they could focus on the resilience of the human spirit. Maybe the desperate courage of those working to rebuild their communities? Maybe send out a message of hope instead of helplessness. Because, let's face it, the ones who survive in those places have more hope in their heart than these PR agencies would have us believe. Why not showcase that? Wouldn't respecting their dignity draw more attention to whatever circumstance they have found themselves in? We don't need more tear-soaked montages of puffed-up celebrities. We don't need another child being held up like a prop by people with well-rehearsed and unimaginative lines. We don't need to see more dust and rubble, and the silent admonition that somehow puts a part of the blame on the viewer. We need honesty. Humanity and dignity. Charity can never be accomplished by guilt-tripping people with melodrama. The commodification of compassion must make way for something more profound and life-affirming than mere sadness-porn. Read the full article

[jaysreekumar]

The Great Unreality of Math

It is a tricky undertaking to understand the unreality of math, especially since it is so unintuitive. “Mathematics is the alphabet with which God has written the universe”, said Galileo. Possibly every single word in that sentence is wrong, but let’s try to understand how it specifically pertains to mathematics. We tend to take the reality of mathematics as a given – its numbers, symbols, and laws are treated as eternal “truths” etched into the universe itself. “2+2 += 4”, the axioms of geometry that “unveil” the interstices of patterns underlying all existence, and systems of calculus that can “describe” reality. From sperms to stars, we use math as an elevator for science; a tool that can, with the greatest accuracy, signify reality at every scale. It is useful, yes. But is it True? Michio Kaku says, “Math is discovered. To be invented requires an inventor, but math exists outside of humanity.” To think that a concept exists out of the human conceptiverse is itself strange, but Michio goes on to say that God is a mathematician, etc. so we can leave it at that. The closer we look, the more we discover the unreality of math. The entirety of the multilayered mathematical edifice is simply an elaborate fictional construct – a suite of handy conceptual tools and symbolic descriptive systems painstakingly invented by the human mind over millennia. They are not “transcendent objective truths”. Behind mathematics’ precise formulaic facades and elegant equations, we may find nothing more than the relentless ingenuity of the human mind – a ghostly topography of our own psyche’s map-making capacities projected outward. Math is a fictional construct that exists only in our minds. It is neither the Hand of God nor the Machine Code of the Cosmos. And to think that math is universally and objectively true is a shining example of scientific superstition. It is not the “language of the universe.” It is merely another artifice of the human mind. Where do the laws and axioms of mathematics come from? They are all anthropic. The squiggles and curves of their symbological systems are human translations of human apprehension. Isn’t there something very subjective (on a grander scale) about them – no matter how far-flung they are into the smithy of stars? Indeed, yes. Human minds create them based on our perception of patterns we perceive in the physical world around us. The concepts of numbers, shapes, and algebra, all originate as abstractions and symbolic representations coined with a purpose. No cosmic handbook of mathematical facts is etched into the universe that humans have merely discovered. It’s fascinating to even think that we “merely” discovered math. Like the “Let’s See Who This Really Is” meme, the great reveal will simply show us our own faces. Why? Because we invented mathematics from scratch! Even the most fundamental logical premises like 1+1 = 2 only hold “true” because we define the symbolic representations and rules that way. And they are not as permanent and unchangeable as we think. In other number systems that our relentlessly practical brains have contrived (like the base 2 binary) 1+1 = 10. In modular arithmetic, which has vast applications in cryptography and computer science, self-evident statements, we take for granted do not hold. The unreality of math becomes apparent when we realize that ultimately, it is a set of tools we have constructed to model patterns. Math doesn’t say anything about reality. It helps us to measure some aspects of it. Like language, it is an interpretative tool. A sandbox for testing out a restricted reality. And like language, it only has a localized utility. Nothing beyond our backyard. At this point, a mathematician (less likely) or a critic (more likely) might protest: “If the unreality of math – which btw seems to be a phrase you just pulled out of thin air for SEO – is an invention, then why does it work so well in describing and predicting phenomena? Math is used for everything from curing cancer to sending rockets to space. Isn’t there an objective truth to it if reality conforms to its equations? You fool.” And to that I reply, yes, this is a reasonable objection (and right about the SEO, too). It does seem like it. If reality behaves as per the rules of math, then perhaps, math is the true lingua cosmica? If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck, no? No, it could be a woodfrog as well. You see, just because a descriptive language or theoretical model has powerful explanatory and predictive utility, it does not necessarily mean it captures objective capital -T Truth. Consider the ancient geocentric model of cosmology where the Earth was described as the unmoving center of the universe. Everything – the galaxies, black holes, mathematicians – all went around this profoundly important bright blue dot. Despite being completely wrong about the fundamental nature of reality, this model allowed hundreds of generations, across diverse cultures, to make highly accurate predictions of planetary positions and eclipses through ad hoc contrivances like epicycles. It worked remarkably well as a functional system for calculations and measurements. It was all so obvious and self-evident. And totally wrong. The unreality of math does not also insinuate that math is wrong. Only a vain fool would do that. It just means that we must recognize that mathematics could be an indescribably complex, advanced, adaptable inferential language for codifying patterns, rules, and formalized relationships, which we superimpose on the perceptible universe. And it works, because it has been constantly refined, redefined, and restructured, much like how languages are constantly reworked to better suit our purposes. As far as languages go, it does provide a greater logical coherence. But it’s not “God’s alphabet”. The potency of its effectiveness in describing reality says very less about the structure of reality, and more about the structure of our minds. It might be simply an advanced folklore. Pragmatic and predictive, adaptive and descriptive, but human, all too human. There is another, more interesting question here. If you accept the unreality of math, what about the broader fields of science that are built upon the scaffolding of maths? Theories of physics, chemistry, economics, and ideas of the very “fabric of reality” itself all rely on mathematics as the linguistic foundation for predicting, analyzing, and quantifying models of the world. If the prime foundational system is itself simply an artificial human conception, what does that say about the objective truth value we normally assign to scientific fields? Perhaps the Big Bang, black holes bending spacetime, laws of gravity and thermodynamics, string theory, and spooky quantum entanglements are all elegant illustrative metaphors, artistic theatrical stage settings, attempting to sketch in sensory terms the unfathomable mysteries of the universe’s workings. Ultimately, all of science may be a useful human-centric interpretation and mapping, and not a transcription of any objective truths about reality. With math, we might not be able to glimpse into the “mind of God”, but it definitely throws a fascinating light into the Mind of Man. Read the full article