...and my name like a shadow on

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Lost ‘Only Fools and Horses’ Script Surfaces; Councillors Inspired

How is Westminster protecting 'its image as a world class tourist information' [sic]? Its Council has acquired the copyright in its street signs.

What to make of that comment about 'need[ing] to retain an element of control'? Presumably tourists are believed to appreciate local colour of the standardised and officially backed sort... Well, thank goodness we can sleep soundly in our beds knowing that fewer of us will be tricked into buying fake SW1 street signs in future. Take that, forces of evil!

‘One crystal inside my lonely heart...’

‘Every day my grandfather made us stand in a little room together, side by side, looking straight ahead for three minutes without talking to each other. He told me it was elevator practice.’
Steven Wright

Yesterday I finished by gesturing towards the question of the limitations of isolation; today I'll try to tackle its links to the last couple of posts. Incidentally, today's title is quoted from Leaves' Eyes' 'Lovelorn'.

It's again the 'isolated consciousness' that looks interesting here: that sense not so much of 'oneself' as an isolated entity in the world but of a world infused with interpersonal emptiness, an ever-present lack of attachment ('good' or 'bad': loneliness, solitude...). It's not obvious what relation it actually has to things 'in' the world—which probably helps explain how loneliness is possible in company, but does make it difficult to discern the conditions for a breakdown of isolation if encounters with others won't necessarily accomplish it.

Previously I was talking about the Other as an element of experience that can't be encapsulated within or limited by it, so that the world begins to escape one; but if isolation can persist through encounters with others, maybe I ought to rethink that— Well, what can't occur in a condition of isolation? I'm thinking of detachment – real, deep detachment at the root of finding oneself in a world – and what it excludes: maybe Merleau-Ponty's description of thoroughly mutual conversation. Okay, detachment obviously excludes attachment: what does that mean in phenomenological terms...?

Let's try again. The isolated consciousness apprehends 'my' world as a whole as empty of attachments to others: attachments between them and what, given that what I've said previously suggests that the ego here is posited by the structure of apprehending the world rather than being experienced as an object in it? Well, perhaps we should say that the isolated consciousness is bound up with or just 'is' the lack of attachment: my ego, bound up with the overall structure of my world, and whatever other entities merely within the world. Whereas the sense I have when reading Merleau-Ponty's description of dialogue is very much of a shared world on a deep level: 'dual being', 'consummate reciprocity', co-existence 'through a common world'. So that 'encounter' here doesn't mean just a meeting of minds but complete togetherness in how people find themselves in a world.

So if that's what being together is like, what are the implications for being alone and its limitations? What does it mean for how things in the world, besides the presence of my companions, appear to me? Actually, I imagine not a lot: they're still 'others' in just the same way—so should I conclude that what Merleau-Ponty describes is actually an example of a different kind of isolation, a co-isolation of the few which makes no difference to encounter with the many? Well then, what is non-isolation supposed to look like: nirvana, perhaps? It's fair to say that expecting e.g. strangers seated nearby on the bus to be apprehended differently by isolated and non-isolated consciousness may be setting the bar excessively high... (Actually, I wonder whether isolated consciousness might in some cases be more involved with others—as those failing to heal loneliness, as threats to one's peaceful solitude, etc.)

Well if that's the case, asking about the limitations of isolation is an idle or even a meaningless question. Hang on while I re-read a paper of 1997 on 'existential loneliness' [.doc]... Interesting comment by Klocker: Angst as dread before emptiness... However, I'm not happy about all this grand birth/death stuff. At any rate it sounds as though this is probably a red herring; perhaps if I've suggested anything related it's that 'pathological loneliness' also has existential aspects.

I'm not altogether happy with progress here; I think I'll bring this post to an end and start work on one with a more concrete approach, to see whether that helps clarify my thinking.

Monday, July 30, 2007

The Lonely Mountain of Complication

I'm supposed to be working, so it's time to drag myself away from Dark city fourth street for a while... Last time I ended by saying that I'll have to try to work what I've said about consciousness 'of' isolation versus isolated consciousness into the broader structure of my work. Doubtless easier said than done... In this post I think I'll try to focus on what it might have to do with normativity.


Maybe I can link 'general agency' to what I've said about the indefinite spatiality of presence/absence. That would fit nicely with what I've said about litter: one encounters an agency 'in'/'through'/'by means of' the presence of litter in a place, but the litter isn't itself an agent or group of agents – the people (and gusts of wind) whose actual agency brought it there are long gone – and so agency can't be spatially located as it (perhaps) can in a person; nonetheless there does seem to be some kind of spatial association between the agency and the litter—so let's say that the agency has (is?) an indefinite presence. So we've possibly got the intrusion of presence into the world of isolation (though at the moment that's a bit of a leap of intuition); how about normativity?

Maybe the phenomenon of 'intrusion' here should be linked to what I've said about the structure of 'my' universe. 'Intrusion' seems to have normativity built-in, and phenomenally it involves the world as 'I' construe it rather than an 'objective' appraisal of certain spatial features of a scene... That doesn't seem to have anything directly to do with isolation, though, so it may prove a distraction (at least from a 'limitations of isolation/necessity of others' perspective). Maybe I should turn this into a question: I can see easily enough how normativity might be discovered in the world, and therefore how normative isolation might be discovered among things in the world (e.g. in 'this neglected shack'), but what of the isolated consciousness? (I really ought to do more descriptive work on that...)

I take it that 'being alone' can be normative: loneliness is the obvious example. Indeed, I'm not sure 'being alone' is something towards which one can have indifference; perhaps one doesn't always register it evaluatively ('good/bad'), but it seems to involve taking an interest rather than being just a state of affairs one registers in detachment. (Off the top of my head, possibly linking to Heideggerian solicitude? I don't know.) Well, let's say for the moment that normativity in this manner is a given. When I inhabit loneliness, what's going on?

Whereas discovering that 'I am alone' clearly involves discovering something about my surroundings, loneliness looks murkier. (Maybe I ought to refer to Koch's work at this point—but I'm reluctant to direct my thinking along established lines so soon...) It's experienced as an emotional pain (or possibly a Ratcliffean 'existential feeling'?) involving a state of affairs, although perhaps not with a simple connection to it. One can have a 'sense of loneliness' not centred on oneself, e.g. through literature or in certain kinds of location, but the really intensely felt kind is one's own; yet again, it doesn't seem that the ego features as an object in the world for this kind of experience. Well, perhaps that's not unusual among emotions—but isn't loneliness intentional? Doesn't it involve feeling the lack of satisfying contact with others, ie. doesn't it have a (privative) state of affairs as its object? Well, perhaps... I think the point might be better put by saying that loneliness doesn't seem free-floating: even if there's no clear cause, it's loneliness embedded in one's own life and particular circumstances (including one's own relations with others: the others 'in spite of whom' one feels lonely?). That may not fit the template of intentionality, but it seems fair to say that one never feels 'just' lonely. The reason intentionality seems awkward here, I suspect, is that loneliness isn't about any particular object in the world (cf. loss), but about the whole world one inhabits (cf. existential anxiety).

Fleshing out seems required... Well, I think I'm on solid enough ground in saying that if loneliness does have an object, that object is a state of affairs which is one's predicament as a whole, rather than anything that happens or exists 'in' one's world. If its object were anything within my universe, including the indefinite absence of others, then it would be directed towards some object as opposed to others (by implication), and therefore would be merely relational; but 'I am lonely (only) with respect to the absence of others from my surroundings' defies interpretation: loneliness is an all-or-nothing experience. If its object were myself, then I should have to be registered as an object within my universe myself: 'I am lonely with respect to myself'—well, whom else? Loneliness experienced by the isolated consciousness must be a matter of engaging with the world. So with what is my loneliness concerned? With the world but nothing in the world; therefore, with the world as a whole, and its emptiness.

This strand of argument feels incomplete, but I think I'll terminate this post now, before I get carried away. I've got part of an account of what's going on with normativity here, and now I'd like to have a stab at drawing in the question of the limitations of isolation.

Zangan's Kanji Guide

Fame! Well, not really; but it's good to see that my videos have helped contribute to the investigation of FFVII's buried secrets. In related news (i.e. news to me), it seems that people have found a strange fragment of Aeris's speech which I missed when trawling the text data, and some beta screenshots which show that the opening scenes were once going to contain more encounters with Shinra guards on the field screen.

That mention of the dark depths of the Japanese FFVII debug rooms made me want to help out with some screenshots, especially since I'd like a full translation of Aeris's 'my hometown♥' line. This isn't completely exhaustive, but it's pretty thorough. Numbers run clockwise starting at 12 o'clock (1). Yuffie in the central room doesn't seem striking. This is all from FFVII International (Ultimate Hits).

Yoshinori Kitase (1): Not much of interest. Tifa's '( )' option doesn't cancel, as in the English version, but leads to the Shinra Mansion basement, outside the library door; entering triggers the flashback with Cloud and Zack. (I wouldn't be surprised if this was an International-specific element crowbar'd into an existing menu structure.) Cid's 'opening' option does work in this version of the game. For some reason Cait Sith's name seems to be invisible in Jessie's menu (but the option still works).

Nazushige Nojima (2): I took snaps of the 'Ended reflecting on the past' chap and an odd-looking opening line from Barret, but the best thing about the Japanese version of this room is Zangan: talking to him results in a set of dialogue boxes displaying what appears to be every text character in the game. (I made only one example.) I imagine this could prove useful for anyone trying to analyse the Japanese text encoding.

Motomu Toriyama (3): Not very different from the English version, except for Barret's menu as noted in a previous post. The greeting text fits the version, and Aeris's line looks more verbose than 'working now'.

Hiroyuki Matsuhara (4): From a version-comparing perspective, I didn't find anything of interest.

Hiroki Chiba (5): The translators really butchered this one: pretty well every NPC has a dialogue box before the options come up, and in English they're there, but reduced to terse phrases like 'EARITH HOME' and 'Corel'. Behold the true magnificence of Chiba-san's room:

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Hiroki Chiba's room
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Jun Akiyama (6): Another place where the translators removed most of what personality was there. The main point of interest is Cid's text if you choose the 'quit' option: a bit more elaborate than the single word 'yameyato'.

Kazuhiko Kichioka (7): Tifa's menu options aren't invisible in this version. I made screens of text from Aeris, Cait Sith, Cid and the wrestler.

Hidemi Kyounen (8): Cid's 'little joke' replaces text in the original.

Masato Kato: All the familiar comedy text replaces material in the original.

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Masato Kato's room
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Takashi Tokita: Very dull, except that – like other versions – International changes characters' names.

[Update: Well... It seems [The]GlitterBerri has vanished, leaving behind a non-functional e-mail address and a closed YouTube account. Which is a shame, both because I'm short of kanji knowledge and because she seemed a nice person; I hope there's no tale of misfortune behind this.]

Sunday, July 29, 2007

‘The eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me with dread.’

Quoted from Pascal's Pensées. Today I'm aiming to look more closely at 'consciousness of isolation' versus 'isolated consciousness'.


I said previously that isolation can be apprehended as a phenomenon in the world, but that this seems distinct from 'being isolated'. That is, isolation can be a phenomenal aspect of objects/places in the world: not a natural property (though places can have the natural property of being isolated in fact) but nonetheless an aspect of things 'out there' in the world, so that one finds that a location is remote, abandoned, etc. Yet it doesn't seem that when I myself inhabit solitude, loneliness, etc. I do so by regarding myself as an object in the world and discovering a property of that object; or at least not primarily. Perhaps that does occur, e.g. in understanding causes: 'I feel lonely [inner] because nobody at this party seems to want to talk to me [outer, circumstantial]'. (Ignoring certain questions about 'direct access' in knowedge of mental states—yes, one does have a privileged position with regard to oneself, so there isn't going to be the sort of chain of inference there is with regard to other objects. Still, I don't think this is just an epistemological difference...) If it does that needn't be a problem. However, it seems to me to be an incomplete story regarding isolation.

When I discover that I am alone, what's the object of my consciousness? The surface grammar might suggest that 'I' am; but in discovering that I'm alone I discover something about my circumstances rather than a property possessed by myself: the discovery refers itself to 'others'. Okay: I'm conscious of the absence of others; but I am conscious of their absence from my universe—so the ego finds itself smuggled in after all. (Shades of Husserl?) Yet the ego as it's found here isn't itself an object in the universe: it's posited by the experience rather than discovered as an item within it. (Yes: Husserl.) What then can it be that is alone? Well, clearly 'I' am; but what I immediately discover is that 'nobody else is present': isolation is the discovery of an other-directed consciousness. I discover 'my' isolation as a fact in my universe. (If I then do consider myself 'from the outside', this at least comes second.)

Now of course Husserl thought you could employ the notion of the transcendental ego to make all sorts of interesting observations if you managed to perform the epoché; whereas I'm trying to say something about isolation specifically, and as part of everyday experience. I think it's a fair observation/criticism that what I've said so far can be equally characteristic of encounter: consider the case of embarrassment, directed towards the scrunity of onlookers. (Sartre does seem to discuss 'the look' in terms of a certain kind of self-consciousness.) Just mix in Sartrean Négatités and you can extend this to cover absences—so what? But that line of argument would overlook the curious characteristics of isolation: embarrassment, by contrast, isn't a way of finding oneself in certain circumstances but a mental state caused by whatever circumstances. (Although it is itself isolation in a different sense: feeling 'on show' for one's audience, thus apart from them...) To an extent one can at least try to play the same game with isolation ('Loneliness is a mental state caused by circumstances of one's need for human contact not being satisfied'), but what I've said above counts against the possibility of that being the whole story.

Indeed, it seems to me that isolation is discovered as a fact about my world as a whole: clearly its epistemological conditions are that each physical co-ordinate in my vicinity is found to be unoccupied by another person, but in finding myself alone I don't discover an agglutinative array of absences. When someone is present, of course this person occupies a certain place and what Sartre has to say about relations with other 'things in my universe' applies; but besides whatever visual impressions I have of this person's spatiality, I discover him as a presence in my universe and, as such, as directly having to do with me. (It's most apparent where there's interaction: that person 'over there' is the friend I'm about to greet, or the assassin from whom I must hide, etc.) Presence is a fact of the matter which happens within my whole universe. Cf. Merleau-Ponty on emotions and the body:

Imagine that I am in the presence of someone who, for one reason or another, is extremely annoyed with me... [W]here is this anger? ... None of this takes place in some otherworldly realm, in some shrine located beyond the body of the angry man. It really is here, in this room and in this part of the room, that the anger breaks forth. It is in the space between him and me that it unfolds. ... When I recall being angry at Paul, it does not strike me that this anger was in my mind or among my thoughts but rather, that it lay entirely between me who was doing the shouting and that odious Paul who just sat there calmly and listened with an ironic air... The location of my anger... is in the space we both share... and not in me.
The World of Perception, pp. 83-5

There we've got emotion located spatially, insofar as it occurs between and around two physical bodies. This is presumably to be taken as an indefinite spatiality, i.e. nobody's going to suggest that an occurrence of anger has dimensions of x square feet or whatever; and I think the same can be said of presence, in that one is present 'in' a place but one's presence as a phenomenon hasn't the definite spatiality of one's body. (Cf. 'He had a tremendous presence', etc.) Phenomenally, another is present 'opposite me', 'beside me', 'too close to me', etc. and all these of course depend on bodily location, but they are matters of spatiality in my universe (cf. Sartre).

So if presence is like that, what about absence? Well, that too is indefinite: in fact, others are absent from my whole universe, from nowhere in particular 'within' it. An empty room isn't length x width x height of non-presence, but an enclosure which encloses nobody. Isolation is spatial – it's an aspect of the space in which one finds oneself – but it isn't spatially limited, isn't something that happens 'in' the world around one. (One doesn't ordinarily turn to the companion present beside one and point out the gaping absence on the other side of the room—although of course one might comment on the absence of a specific person, e.g. of the recently deceased Pierre from his favourite chair. Though perhaps there are special cases of spatial absences, e.g. the gap in a crowd that forms around something repulsive; but that would fall into the category of 'consciousness of isolation'.)

So: 'consciousness of isolation' versus 'isolated consciousness'. Perhaps that's turned out to be a misleading way of putting it. Both awareness of a place/thing as isolated and awareness of one's own isolation seem to be directed outwards as forms of engagement with the world; the difference, I think, is that the former deals with things 'in' the world (e.g. 'this abandoned shack'), the latter with the whole structure of finding oneself in a world.

Having got this far, the next problem will be tying what I've got here into everything else. In particular there's the question of what it has to do with normativity.

Nonomori

Update: at least one person has stumbled across this post while Googling for 'nonomori', so for anyone in that position: it's an Ico reference supposed to mean 'thank you', in perhaps a rather desolate tone...

I only recently found out about the elimination of yaz0r's weblog archive owing, according to the comments, to the possibility of legal action; I'm really not familiar with the details, so I'm left looking at the shadow of a chilling effect. (At least the Internet Archive preserves some of the old content; and predictably people have promptly started asking whether anyone has copies of his tools.) This seemingly has to do with... *drumroll* investigation into the FFX/FFXII/KH model files. I'm reminded horribly of a comment from an article on a different part of FF fan culture: 'With the constant threat of fanfic lawsuits and DMCA takedown notices, it's a wonder anybody dares show appreciation for anything anymore.'

Admittedly I'm writing that straight after licensing content here as 'Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 UK: England and Wales'; I wanted to allow derivatives, but started wondering how that might play out with regard to any 'journal-style' posts I might have written or might write in the future. (I expect I'll have to deal with things like that in future research: e.g. correspondence of historical figures as cultural heritage.) Not that I expect anyone to want to reproduce or adapt this stuff; it is basically a statement about my attitude towards copyright.

Of course, a point of note here is that this weblog isn't a commercial product. Besides that, though—how did we end up in this position where probing and homages can be subversive activities? Analysis aside, it just seems a rotten shame.

So That's How I Managed to Miss World Philosophy Day 2006...

Philosophers' organisation. UNESCO's organisation. A not-terribly-potent cocktail.

I chanced upon a news article concerning World Philosophy Day 2007; it didn't give the exact day. So I tried UNESCO's site: there's only one page with a smidgeon of text on WPD 2007 (but no specific date), and most of their information on World Philosophy Day is either available only in French (which is a global language, but not the largest one) or concerning previous years.

I did find a page telling me that it's always the third Thursday of November, which will make it the 15th this year.

Given that we're already close to August, I get the impression UNESCO's advertising isn't in that high a gear.

International Reply Coupons

I don't usually 'do' memes (and given that I don't imagine anyone else visits this place unless invited to read a specific post, I think the memetic aspect dies here), but I found this on Jeff's blog, and it looks diverting and suitably bookish.

  1. Grab the nearest book.
  2. Open the book to page 123.
  3. Find the fifth sentence.
  4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
  5. Don't search around and look for the 'coolest' book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.

Jeff's result actually fits my circumstances: Amano's Fairies doesn't have enough pages. Having changed rooms, I now find myself fishing out the copy of Sartre's The Imaginary I stowed under the bed—only to find that page 123 is a section cover and has no sentences, saying only 'Part IV: The Imaginary Life'. My next attempt produces the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook 2000 (sent in my direction years ago when some library discarded it): lots of this is stuff like 'Also available on CD-ROM', but there are enough proper sentences to give: 'IRCs can be exchanged in any foreign country for stamps representing the minimum postage payable on a letter sent from one country to another.'

Saturday, July 28, 2007

I Don't Know What to Make of This Book...

Courtesy of the Baen Free Library, this is one of those books I may get around to reading out of morbid curiosity if I find myself with only what's on my hard drive to read and nothing else I haven't finished already. A glance suggests that The Philosophical Strangler is... curious.

If we'd been in our usual haunts, quaffing our ale at The Sign of the Trough in the Flankn, the porkers wouldn't have dared come in—not with less than a battalion, at any rate. Of course, if we'd been in the Flankn, where Greyboar's well known, no bullyboy would have picked a fight with him in the first place. But I'll give the patrons in that grimy little alehouse this much, they didn't hesitate but a second before the benches were flying and the fracas was afoot.

I seized the propitious moment. "Out!" I hissed, grabbing the strangler's elbow. "There's no money to be made here."

"Money, money, that's all you think about," grumbled Greyboar. "What then of ethics, and the meaning of life?"

"Save it for later." I pulled him toward the rear exit. Fortunately, the strangler was willing to leave. He's not the sort one drags from a tavern against his will, don't you know. On our way out, a beefy porker blocked the route, leering and twirling his club, but Greyboar removed his face and that was that. Fingerwork, he calls it.

Once in the back alley, Greyboar returned to the matter, like a dog chewing a bone.

"Yet there must be a logic to it all," he complained. "Surely there's more to life than this aimless collision of bodies in space." His thick brows knotted over his eyes.

Friday, July 27, 2007

A Fragment Resembling a Critique of Depiction

The text after the jump is part of the response I might have made to the Home Office's proposal to to outlaw possession of 'non-photographic visual depictions of child sexual abuse'; in the event, other commitments combined with my scepticism about the efficacy of such participation to ensure that I never completed it. For a while I intended to finish and edit it as an intellectual exercise, but by now I imagine that isn't going to happen; so this is it, unedited (except to correct a few textual problems) and missing most of what would have been the section on resemblance.


It is perhaps unduly optimistic to expect that anyone capable of writing apparently without embarrassment that while the government is 'unaware of any specific research into whether there is a link between accessing these fantasy images of child sexual abuse and the commission of offences against children... it is felt [sic]... that the possession and circulation of these images serves to legitimize and reinforce highly inappropriate views about children' will be immediately sympathetic to a response concerned with philosophical problems associated with the nature of depiction and resemblance; but I hope to show that there are severe difficulties with framing a meaningful and just law of the sort proposed. It has been fairly widely agreed at least since Sartre's L'imaginaire (1940) that depiction differs fundamentally from resemblance. Resemblance is a symmetrical relation – if A resembles B, B resembles A to exactly the same extent – but depiction is not: people do not depict their portraits. Resemblance is reciprocal, in that everything perfectly resembles itself; but can you draw a picture of itself? The chief difficulty lies not in stating these basic differences but in furnishing satisfactory positive accounts of depiction and resemblance; as a recent call for papers states: 'Recent decades have seen philosophers devote considerable attention to depiction, that form of representation characteristic of figurative paintings, drawings and photographs. Despite this attention, there is as yet little agreement about what depiction involves.'

The proposal to outlaw 'non-photographic visual depictions of child sexual abuse' employs (sometimes) the language of depiction. This is understandable given its especial concern with 'photographs of real children being abused [which] can be manipulated into cartoons or other depictions'; such images stand in a relation with actual persons which enables one to say with precision that the persons depicted are or are not under eighteen years of age. The first problem faced by the proposals is that 'CGIs, cartoons and drawings' need not depict actually existing people. Rather, they can depict imaginary instances of the type of entity called a 'child'; but since precise distinctions between adulthood and childhood are conventional, while 'naturally' there are gradual processes of change whose visual manifestations vary considerably between individuals, one can expect only ever to be able to appeal to the creator's stated intentions to say that the imaginary person depicted is of any precise age. What else then can lead us to say that a given image 'depicts' a child? I suggest that we infer depiction from resemblance: an image appears to resemble a child to a substantial degree, and in consequence we judge that it depicts a child. I shall have more to say on the topic of resemblance below.

Suppose, not implausibly, that a certain image appears to show a faun – a mythical creature resembling a boy above the waist and a goat below – in an erotic situation. Does it depict a child? I suggest that a reasonable response is: no; it depicts a faun, which is not a child and moreover does not exist. Now suppose that the image is cut so that the part showing the goat-like part of the faun is removed from it. Does what remains depict a child? It seems reasonable to say that it does, on the grounds that anyone looking at the partial image without knowing of the complete one would see a image resembling a child. But consider the consequences. The partial image is part of the complete image. Therefore another thing that seems prima facie reasonable is to say that whatever is depicted in the partial image is depicted in the complete image; but if the complete image depicts a faun rather than a child, we appear to be at risk of asserting that the complete image both does and does not depict a child. This is not necessarily an impossible position for a philosopher to hold, but it nicely illustrates the sort of difficulties 'depiction' produces. Since one cannot very well ask the courts to do philosophy of depiction or to convict persons for holding faulty conceptions of the nature of depiction, one hopes that the possessor of any such faun image would secure an acquital.

Cases where images depict actually existing persons are not necessarily free of problems. Suppose that someone creates an eroticised image of a fifteen-year-old girl. (I'll call her Alice.) Now we can say that the image depicts Alice; Alice is a fifteen-year-old; therefore the image depicts a fifteen-year-old. The artist might attempt a rejoinder: the image actually depicts Alice as he imagines she will look at eighteen (and he happens to expect her to look only negligibly different); therefore it depicts an eighteen-year-old. This is not actually implausible. One can draw things as one imagines they will look in the future. People do not necessarily look much different at eighteen from how they did at fifteen. If we wish to say that, whatever his stated intentions (which we are in no position to prove false), the image depicts a fifteen-year-old, I think we must do so by means of commitment to the view that the image depicts Alice by virtue of an extrinsic relation to the actual person Alice (who is fifteen).

Actually, this needs some closer scrutiny. It seems meaningful (if we gloss over certain long-standing difficulties with continuity of identity through change) to say that the image depicts Alice by virtue of a direct relationship between it and her, and to continue to say it once she has turned eighteen (whether or not it still resembles her); this is the sort of thing I do when I point to a photograph taken of me at the age of ten and say, "That's me", even though I'm now 22. This has the striking consequence that the image will cease to depict a child overnight: it depicts Alice; Alice is an eighteen-year-old; therefore it depicts an eighteen-year-old. (Good news for its possessors.) On the other hand, it also seems meaningful to speak of an image depicting a certain person in a certain state: Nelson dying, Henry VIII grown fat, or indeed Alice at fifteen. On this understanding of depiction (if we ignore the artist's possible intentions) we shall say that what the image depicts is not Alice as she is but 'Alice at the age of fifteen'. So: the image depicts Alice as a fifteen-year-old; therefore it depicts a fifteen-year-old. The upshot of which is that there seems to be a meaningful sense in which it now depicts an eighteen-year-old, as well as a meaningful sense in which it still depicts a fifteen-year-old.

It gets worse. Suppose that in fact Alice's appearance has changed negligibly in the intervening years. It would therefore be possible for the same artist to produce a picture of her which had no intrinsic properties different from those of the first image. The second image would definitely depict Alice at eighteen (unless we allow intentions to play a role and suspect that the artist actually drew 'Alice as he remembered her at fifteen'). But the second image looks exactly the same as the first... Hopefully by this point you're coming to appreciate that depiction (a) is full of hidden traps and (b) simply hasn't much to do with the role an image plays for someone who merely possesses it.

I suspect, therefore, that I've been addressing a red herring, and that the genuine object of concern is resemblance. However, there are problems here too. 'Depiction', though a matter open to disputation, has a tinge of crisp objectivity to it: the sense that a portrait really does depict the sitter (even if the style minimises any obvious likeness). But resemblance? People see resemblances in the clouds. Recall the soup stain in Short Circuit: 'And resemble... look like... bird... butterfly... maple leaf...' (Apparently a soup stain can resemble three things which don't obviously resemble one another.) Resemblance has an aura of fuzzy subjectivity, of a matter of individual judgment.

This wouldn't be such a critical difficulty if it weren't compounded by the role of artistic style. Take the 'chibi' style present in some manga and anime, which is sometimes said to make characters look like children. It is commonly used in comedic scenes to lighten the tone: in some cases characters exhibit comparatively naturalistic proportions in serious scenes, then suddenly appear in 'chibi' form when the tone changes. Anyone who thought that they were supposed to have undergone physical changes would simply have misunderstood what was being presented; that 'chibi' characters can be said visually to resemble children makes no difference.

...

...

That's as far as I got in the writing stage: I mentally planned – following a longer examination of style – a discussion of caricature, imagining that some political cartoonist had developed a style which gave (recognisable) political figures a childlike appearance, and using this to argue that a picture's 'resembling a child' can't be a sufficient condition for its being 'of a child', as well as raising the question of whether judgment of what a picture represents can or should involve reference to other works by the same artist or apparently in the same style. However, that part never got written.

I can't remember for certain why I employed the name 'Alice', but I think I'd been playing Alice In Cyberland.

Lonely Planet

Isolated places, then...


Of course one never encounters or even imagines a truly uninhabited place; Berkeley appreciated that. But one can certainly encounter places where the absence of people is felt as a positive lack. Actually, that seems entirely compatible with encountering a Sartrean Other: if my friend and I pass through a marketplace at night, being used to the activity of daytime, there seems no reason why his mere presence should get in the way of my impressions of mass absence. It's the crowds that are missing, not anyone in particular. (I can't bring to mind any discussion of crowds in Sartre; well, perhaps the café as 'a fullness of being' when it acts as a background for Pierre's absence...) Wherever one's on 'the beaten track' one can see that someone has beaten it, but isn't here now; on the other hand you have 'unexplored wilderness', etc. (Not that I have experience of the latter.) Actually it can seem that there's a veritable topography of degrees of presence/absence in some practices: holidays to 'get away from it all' in Lakeland cottages, as opposed to the 'partying hotspot' resorts other types might favour...

Right: how am I going to tie this stuff into the rest of the piece? Well, for a start, by distinguishing 'being somewhere lonely' from 'being alone': they do seem to be quite distinct phenomenologically. While my thoughts rest on the abandonment of my surroundings, I need have no sense of myself as isolated; indeed, I need not be self-conscious in this way at all. Abandonment, desolation, etc. are objective characteristics of my surroundings, insofar as they bear whatever traces of the same; as such they needn't refer themselves to me. Whereas solitude, loneliness, etc. don't seem to be merely objective characteristics of one's circumstances (and surely Koch would concur): they're more like forms of involvement in one's circumstances. Yet there do seem to be objective phenomena of isolation which places can possess; how is it that we come to discover this aspect of them?

As an aside: I suspect that there's an answer to be formed from the direction of 'evolutionary psychology', involving the need to watch for predators, competitors, etc. Still, I'm not sure how helpful that might be to a phenomenological investigation...

Coming at this from the 'what are the phenomenological limitations of isolation?' angle, I think having a sense of a places as empty rather depends on having a sense of what it is for a space to be populated: 'a fullness of being', etc. Still, while that works well with the marketplace example, it needs some tweaking to apply successfully to the neglect of some abandoned hovel in the middle of nowhere: here I think its 'abandonment' can be accounted for by appealing again to 'general agency', in that 'someone' has neglected to bring about its upkeep. Indeed, I think 'general agency' may help to deal with crowds (not encountered as an aggregate of individuals): where crowds are there is a general presence – 'the public' is assembled there – and accordingly, their absence is a general absence which is not necessarily broken by the presence of an individual encountered as such.

All that's a bit loose, though... I seem to have moved away from talking about others' presence as an 'anchor', and I'm not sure how to reintegrate this. 'General agency' is probably the way to go, but I'm unsure quite how to deploy it. (All this interconnected complexity... I'm starting to miss those 500 word pieces from 3rd Year Ethical Concepts.) Well, what does happen if we introduce an 'anchor' to an isolated location? There seems no reason to think its isolation need be affected – think of descent into haunted dungeons by a party of adventurers – so perhaps I should be concluding that 'being alone' and 'being somewhere lonely' not only are distinct but don't actually have much to do with each other. (Except perhaps insofar as the presence of crowds can act to heighten one's sense of one's own loneliness.)

I'm going to have to do some more thinking about the overall structure; I seem to be doing things in pieces again. (Also I presently have a dog here trying to get my attention.) Maybe I should be focussing more on consciousness itself and secondarily on its objects... Isolation as a form of apprehension versus apprehension of isolation...? Maybe I could use apprehension of isolated places as a point of contrast: here's what it's like to apprehend something as isolated, and here's what it's like for one's experiences to be structured in terms of isolation. The latter especially I still need to tighten up more...

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Promoting Inter-Fetish Understanding

I don't usually post anything that (a) has to do with fashion or (b) warrants an (albeit mild) 'NSFW', but these... These are strangely interesting simply as aesthetic items.

Update: the link doesn't work anymore, but the images in question are shown with others by the artist in a PingMag article.

Representative Insight

If, in order to represent, representers must belong to the same categories as the represented, then MPs require right proportions of oyster-lovers, self-lovers, credit card debtors, alcoholics, fiddlers, those economical with the truth, lovers of bits on the side and size nine shoe-wearers.

A message on Philos-L flagged up a letter of 1995 which rather nicely expresses something I've also thought for a long time; so nicely that I'm linking to this musing on political representation so that I can easily find it again. The philosophical tinge in the final paragraph is especially good.

‘...multiplicities of indifferent relations...’

It occurs to me that in my last set of notes on isolation I made the Other sound positively mesmeric...


Right... Now to try to clarify and address possible challenges to my previous comments about the anchoring role of others' presence. In the first place I'll probably face some difficulty in hooking it up to the work I've done on 'public' normativity, since the question arises, isn't that also a kind of anchoring, and if so then do we need two?

Probably I'd better look at how to clarify and characterise this 'anchoring'. Previously I wrote that in isolation 'everything in the world refers itself to your projects: nothing resists, and consequently the world can be as fluid and unstable as your attention.' I wonder whether this fits with the case of litter: it doesn't seem to me that my experience of litter as unpleasant necessarily refers itself to my personal project of wanting to enjoy unsullied countryside. I think the significant point here is perhaps that, as I've argued previously, the general/public agency encountered in litter can be identified with one's own agency; yet I think I've also written somewhere in my drafts that it can appear as a 'foreign', invading agency. *Bites lip* Okay: to begin with, is this agency such that (still using my somewhat vague terminology from last time) it can't be encapsulated within one's own perception, so that the organisation of the world can escape into it?

I think I can say with confidence that litter doesn't affect 'the organisation of things in my universe' as Sartre characterises it...

I am in a public park. Not far away there is a lawn and along the edge of that lawn there are benches. A man passes by those benches. I see this man; I apprehend him as an object and at the same time as a man. What does this signify? What do I mean when I assert that this object is a man?

If I were to think of him as being only a puppet, I should apply to him the categories which I ordinarily use to group spatio-temporal 'things.' That is, I should apprehend him as being 'beside' the benches, two yards and twenty inches from the lawn, as exercising a certain pressure on the ground, etc. His relation with other objects would be of the purely additive type; this means that I could have him disappear without the relations of the other objects around him being perceptibly changed. In short, no new relation would appear through him between those things in my universe: grouped and synthesised from my point of view into instrumental complexes, they would from his disintegrate into multiplicities of indifferent relations. Perceiving him as a man, on the other hand, is not to apprehend an additive relation between the chair and him; it is to register an organisation without distance of the things in my universe around that privileged object... [and] there unfolds a spatiality which is not my spatiality; for instead of a grouping toward me of the objects, there is now an orientation which flees from me.
Being and Nothingness, pp. 277 - 8

In my experience, litter in parks is most assuredly beside benches, etc. and nothing more. General agency is by its nature non-specific, and moreover manifests itself in litter in general, not individually in each piece of litter (so that all too often one can come across a whole mass of the stuff). By its nature as an utterly public phenomenon it's entirely intelligible to me (cf. Kierkegaard), and so there is no obvious way for it to escape me even if I do apprehend it as 'someone else's' doing, since I can still grasp littering as an act 'someone' might commit and myself as capable of being 'someone' for another. So litter can't be a 'privileged object'.

That makes things only a bit clearer, though... Well, let me turn to another likely problem, which is the question of whether the world of isolation actually is that fluid and unresisting. In one sense it probably is: when unobserved there are few constraints on engrossment and the abandonment of self-consciousness, as demonstrated by Sartre's voyeur at the keyhole, or, in an example hopefully more familliar to everyone, the possibility of snuggling down into a book or becoming absorbed in a film. Although that may also be possible in another's presence if it's somebody to whom one feels no need to pay heed or, at the other end of the spectrum, in whose presence one feels secure—so again, perhaps a straightforward presence/absence distinction is problematic...

Okay, let's try again. Actually, terms like fluid/unresisting/unstable probably are overdoing it... (Maybe, looking back at my earlier work on atmosphere and the possibility that it involves the organisation of spaces, I should have paid attention to the possibility of opening oneself up to one's surroundings and 'breathing in' the ambience.) Then there's the need to distinguish between being alone merely in fact and the various phenomenological forms of isolation as positively constituted by the absence of others (but not specific others; cf. Pierre's absence from the café).

Maybe I should be looking at what absence makes possible in terms of how places are experienced: being 'deserted', 'neglected', 'derelict', 'desolate', 'remote', 'a secret to everybody', etc. (Well, maybe not exactly that last one—but there is that notion of a secret hideaway; indeed, someone's written a phenomenological paper called 'The "Secret Place" In the Life of the Child'.) Nowhere's still and quiet in quite the same way as somewhere that's often 'full of life'. Which suggests that the population of a place is phenomenologically prior to the place itself, in a sense: how a place appears depends on who else is there to apprehend it, and sometimes on the absence of anyone else to do so. Actually it seems that 'I am isolated' and 'This place is isolated' are quite distinct even though the circumstances often occur together: i.e. two or more people can explore 'deserted' ruins, and of course there's the loneliness of crowds...

This is expanding into greater complexity than I'd anticipated a few paragraphs ago, so perhaps I'd better terminate this post—

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Secrets: Even More

Surprising... Since any value I've tested from 0x8 upwards with the simple menu-manipulating code I posted earlier produces the 'Debug: Create a monster' text, I assumed that this was originally a ninth item in the standard (boy's) menu, and any other debug messages would have appeared in some other menu. However, some archived discussion among more knowledgeable people suggests otherwise.

'7E081400 + use Target to refresh' is a better code than mine – spinning ball placeholder, menu rotation still operational – but of course, the actual debug function is still disabled... The alleged map number location, though, seems to me to change the objects/NPCs/sound (sometimes triggering cutscene scripts) rather than the map tiles, and perhaps to change some flags too —at one point I ended up re-fighting a boss battle with the wrong dog version. Well, there was talk of 'crazy methods'... At any rate, the value 0x15 crashes the game, so certainly it does seem to be the case that any objects on that map can't be loaded.

Keep the Red Pennant Flying

With news that the government has a decidedly more commendable position on copyright extension than the Conservatives – and yes, it was indeed a form letter I got – I'm in the unusual position of actually approving of a Labour policy. Strange times...

[Now I'm moved to check the myth-ridden history of pirate flags...]

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Well, It’s Something...

Secret of Evermore debug menu text... but no actual menu

Here's some text associated with the Secret of Evermore debug menu. Not, alas, a menu itself; apparently only part of it remains.

[Update: I forgot to post the code used to get that text: 7E081208, a standard menu location manipulator.]

‘So lost, in your sea...’

By this stage, I really need to take stock and have another look at the overall dissertation structure... I'm finding it irksomely hard to focus on this, partly because it actually is a tricky topic, and partly because I keep getting frustrated by having to deal with said tricky topic within the constraints of a dissertation structure. And when I'm frustrated I can't concentrate properly.


The central question seems to be crystalising as: are other people phenomenologically necessary? Well, that's too vague a way of expressing it... Better: what are the phenomenological limitations of solitude/isolation? Are there any ways of orienting oneself in a world that depend on (present/possible/expected/otherwise involved) encounter, that just aren't accessible without it—or is interpersonal encounter just a kind of event with no great phenomenological significance? (For encounter to be possible one has to be receptive to it; so receptivity to encounter is built into one's pre-encounter orientation; so is encounter itself that important?) Still too vague... Well, let's return to the general statement in a moment.

My thoughts keep returning to those remarks of Sartre's: 'nobody can be vulgar all alone'; shame depends on the look of the Other 'no matter what results one can obtain in solitude by the religious practice of shame.' Suggesting that there's something – something normative, something of deep personal significance – which only the possibility of concrete interpersonal encounter can really provide. Then there's what he says about how apprehension of an Other as a 'privileged object' can affect the organisation of 'the things in my universe'. Although Sartre emphasises with respect to the look that it doesn't really matter whose look it is: it just needs to be the possibility that one is being observed, in order to direct consciousness to one's own situation.

What I apprehend immediately when I hear the branches crackling behind me is not that there is someone there; it is that I am vulnerable, that I have a body that can be hurt, that I occupy a place and that I can not in any case escape from the space in which I am defence—in short, that I am seen.
Being and Nothingness, p. 282

In some ways my application of Kierkegaard-inspired 'public' agency is meant to address this, drawing out the possibility that one can in utmost isolation orient oneself to behave in a 'public' manner (e.g. in the case of litter, where I've sought to show that the 'public agency' in play is distinct from any individual agency)—whereupon one runs up against the suggestion that for all that one still falls inevitably short of real public observation. I might also draw on Merleau-Ponty as quoted previously and wonder whether there's something about the flavour of real, engaged conversation that can't be had without it.

So in some ways it's possible to downplay encounter, or at least to argue that some kinds of 'interpersonal' experience are possible without it. Mitdasein can be interpreted in that light, to an extent. My remarks about the 'public' aspect of e.g. litter are on the same 'side' of the argument. But then you have Sartre's comments, and in addition there's the very possibility of isolation has a group of distinctive and sometimes deeply felt states—loneliness especially suggests a need which only a satisfactory encounter can satiate. (Although whether loneliness is simply 'a need for encounter' or similar is another matter.)

Putting things another way... Okay, you're (always already) in a world. It has various objects in it, some of them indicative of others (Heidegger's boat, etc.). Unless you're the last man, it has other people in it; I'm not worried about solipsism and the existence of others here, but about presence vs. absence, and specifically that of other people. (Cf. Sartre on Pierre's absence from the café: only Pierre's absence flags itself up as significant, not because as a matter of fact Pierre is not there, but because Sartre expected to meet him there. It works for missing objects too.) So having got this far, what difference does it make if you do encounter another person? Well, depending on the person and the circumstances there are lots of differences it could make, of a not-directly-phenomenological kind (though there may well be a phenomenology thereof); but what about the kind of reorganisation of other objects around the Other of which Sartre writes? That's not just e.g. cringing in the presence of an embarrassing parent; it's a basic change in the way in which one finds oneself in a world.

So... what about enworlding needs others' presence? And if anything, can we therefore call isolation in some respect deficient (or just e.g. equiprimordial)? I think – still drawing quite a bit on Sartre – that if there is a significant difference it's that in the presence of another the organisation of the world in some sense begins to escape one: it depends in part on an element (the Other) which can't be encapsulated within one's own perception. Which for isolation means what...? Well, the absence of escape from one; put another way, an absence of constraint or limitation. Everything in the world refers itself to your projects: nothing resists, and consequently the world can be as fluid and unstable as your attention. On which view others have a kind of anchoring role—so their very presence can seem stabilising or on other occasions oppressive (counteracting the liberating absence of observers), which seems to conform to intuition.

I don't think this is going to account for loneliness, though...

Monday, July 23, 2007

‘I’m glad I’m not young anymore...’

I'm pretty confident that when I was a child, I would not have wished to be registered as a Westfield Kid. By way of evidence, I submit the mockery which I still recall being addressed towards the Billy Bottle Club – 'you get a badge, a membership card, and a free drink' – back in primary school.

Not that they're parallel cases: the Westfield Group is 'an internally managed, vertically integrated, shopping centre group undertaking ownership, development, design, construction, funds/asset management, property management, leasing and marketing activities'. (The reason I care is, of course, that Derby's Eagle Centre is now part of their empire.) Mine is an oddly cynical form of nostalgia, looking back to a more innocent and less world-weary form of mockery.

I never did learn what flavour the drink was.

Oh well...

What to expect? Metal Gear Solid 4 online getting its world debut, an on-stage MGS4 play through with series creator Hideo Kojima and two new MGS products being unveiled.
Kotaku

I just misread that, and thought MGS was going to be turned into a stage drama. Which probably has to do with my spending far too much time wondering about camera systems in games, and whether using 'stage' rather than 'film camera' as a model might have gaming potential. Which, in turn, can no doubt be blamed on the influence of certain people.

That said, the idea makes a kind of sense; and we have been promised/threatened with a film adapation. As regards games turned theatre, though, the only case that springs to mind is Sakura Taisen. Still, I expect I'll be spending tonight wondering how Planescape Torment: The Musical might go...

Slow Progress

I dislike word counts; I dislike the way in which writers of academic papers are expected continually to repeat themselves; and I especially dislike mark schemes.


I've decided that what I need for the dissertation's opening section is a survey of the various kinds of isolation—the length of which will be determined more by how much space I need to take up than by how much coverage I judge to be appropriate to the topic. (Besides, experience teaches one to make only lenient assumptions about the ability of people freshly encountering an unusual topic to orient themselves therein, especially since nobody can be relied upon to use bibliographical resources even if they're URLs.) Still, there should be some useful and even interesting stuff there: I've decided that a really thorough survey ought to go even further than e.g. the loneliness of crowds and consider some more directly 'social' forms of isolation. Uniqueness is a form of isolation (and indeed can be linked to loneliness); so is shyness, especially stage fright, which is rooted in having rather than lacking others' attention and interest. That's precisely what drives a wedge between oneself and them—so different from the kind of satisfying conversation/discussion Merleau-Ponty describes:

There is one particular cultural object which is destined to play a crucial rôle in the perception of other people: language. In the experience of dialogue, there is constituted between the other person and myself a common ground; my thought and his are inter-woven into a single fabric, my words and those of my interlocutor are called forth by the state of the discussion, and they are inserted into a shared operation of which neither of us is the creator. We have here a dual being, where the other is for me no longer a mere bit of behaviour in my transcendental field, nor I in his; we are collaborators for each other in consummate reciprocity. Our perspectives merge into each other, and we co-exist through a common world... It is only retrospectively, when I have withdrawn from the dialogue and am recalling it that I am able to reintegrate it into my life and make of it an episode in my private history, and that the other recedes into his absence, or, insofar as her remains [sic] present for me, is felt as a threat.
Phenomenoloy of Perception, p. 413

That stands in stark contrast with that are those 'deficient' forms of 'solicitude' Heidegger cites as part of Dasein's ordinary being and everyday encounters: passing one another by, and so on. Something else I probably ought to examine more closely is the notion of privacy, which I've rather ignored hitherto, largely because on the face of it it seemed to me to be more a matter of epistemological restriction than of reducing encounters ('having secrets' rather than e.g. 'not being pestered'). I suppose that is a kind of isolation: limiting certain knowledge to oneself and perhaps a few trusted others. Or is that secrecy rather than privacy? (A couple of potentially fruitful cases, rather more extreme than that of shyness/stage fright, are those of the burglar and the undercover mole: the former needs to keep those around him asleep and avoid them as far as possible; the latter cannot avoid contact, but must place a distance between others and the reality of his position. So they're both lives of secrecy, i.e. defined by a negative kind of intersubjectvity.) Privacy seems more like a kind of freedom from instrusions, or from unwanted judgments. Perhaps one could adapt Sartre's remark that nobody 'can be vulgar all alone' and take it as an indication that privacy liberates one from the possibility of (judgments of) vulgarity.

What I need to bring out is the variety of ways in which normativity plays a role in our getting to grips with even the desocialised world, and hence the ways in which people (in their environment) are posited as loci of what might reasonably be called public (or at least publicly intelligible) norms. One thing I'm trying is playing with the ridiculous: remove society, then imagine a grocer (pulled out of Sartre's comments on the bad faith of tradesmen) doing what grocers do—he 'could rise at the same time each morning, go to his shop and display whatever vegetables he can find (or use rocks to represent them, in the manner of a child at play), and even lament the downturn in custom...' The problem isn't just that being a post-apocalyptic grocer with no customers is (a) difficult and (b) pointless: it's that in the absence of external social constraints it's actually meaningless. The grocer could proclaim himself king, but however strong his commitment he'd always be at liberty to change his mind tomorrow.

Sartre would presumably say that this is an unnecessarily dramatic demonstration of the kind of freedom and responsibility we all do in fact have (i.e. none of us is essentially a grocer or a king). Fair enough; but what I want to argue is that being a grocer or a king in fact depends on embeddedness in a social context, not merely in order to do what grocers/kings do, but in order for the label to 'attach' in any sense. What I'm trying to do here – with considerable difficulty – is contrast the slipping away of normative commitment here with the way in which it appears in the moral case of the last man, who seems to be naturally posited as a public entity. Then I can draw out a sense of 'public' which is distinguished from that which makes the grocer's behaviour ridiculous.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Motivational Oratory

At five seconds long this is something I can actually upload over dial-up (and despite being FMV in the original my most plausible case of 'fair use' yet): a clip of Douglas Adams from The Starship Titanic. It appears if you use the television in Your Lovely Home at the start of the game. As the official strategy guide says of the TV: 'You'll find this terribly realistic: repeats on every channel.' Adams also played the starship designer Leovinus and (in a voice-only role) the Succ-U-Bus robots (the delivery system terminals that could send items almost anywhere on the ship—and providers of really dreadful sexual innuendo).


I have some fond memories of that game, even though qua game it doesn't work that well: the worst section is probably the music room, where it's necessary to mess about with the resident robots' settings to make their music sound right. (Strangely enough, the settings which appear in a screenshot on the back of the Starship Titanic box can't actually be entered in the game.) If trial, error and a musical ear aren't enough, how do you find a clue? You notice that the correct settings have been drawn on the seat of a nearby chair. Completely illogical. But, but, but... The parrot! (It goes on about chicken and pistachio nuts.) The bomb! (He gets distracted and forgetful if you meddle with him, and doesn't really want to explode anyway.) The bit with the pureed starlings! (Err...) Even if the text-parsing conversation engine did fall apart quite often, it was fun, and it had style. Some games don't manage even one of those criteria.

Now I'm itching to have another look at the Infocom Hitchhiker game, but I don't really have time... Anyway, here's a related video, an interview (which once I can abuse University bandwidth again I shall actually be able to watch).


Plato Wrote of the Good and the Beautiful; Descartes Wrote of the Necessity of God; I'm Writing About Litter.

I find myself working on the phenomenology of encountering litter, which turns out to be more interesting than it has any right to be. Broadly I'm thinking that what differentiates litter from being merely certain objects arranged in certain patterns is not merely being out of place (although it is) or having been discarded (which is equally true of rubbish in bins), but the instrusive manifestation of despoiling agency encountered in it. 'Someone' was slovenly, 'someone' didn't care about the scenery—no particular someone or aggregate of someones (though in fact there will have been), but a kind of phantom general agency. (Not das Man: it's not about doing what one does, but something encountered as 'other' and offensive.) Without that, litter isn't really litter: it can be ugly, say, and usually is (although I do recall seeing a chainlink fence into which the wind had blown papers, etc. silhouetted against the evening sky and looking rather dramatic), but to apply purely aesthetic criteria is to fall short of dealing with the possibility of litter, which differs from a failed art installation. So when Bill Bryson writes...

They were having a festival of litter when I arrived. Citizens had taken time off from their busy activities to add crisp packets, empty cigarette boxes, and carrier-bags to the otherwise bland and neglected landscape. They fluttered gaily in the bushes and brought colour and texture to pavements and gutters. And to think that elsewhere we stick these objects in rubbish bags.
Notes From a Small Island, p. 235

...the irony works not only because litter generally is judged to be ugly, but because the whole category is inappropriate. Litter is litter because of the mental attitudes (though no specific person's) bound up with its existence.

What I'm hoping is that from this rather emphatically normative construal of agency encountered in objects I can show the possibility of positing oneself as an agent within the 'public' sphere without any actual public being involved: the kind of agency involved in litter gives me some sort of 'public' (non-particular) agency, and I can argue that understanding oneself as potentially guilty of littering (i.e. appreciating that what one might discard will also be litter as I describe it) involves identifying one's own agency with that general agency (which sounds not unlike realising the universal). This is where things get difficult to characterise, though; and after this I want to address what litter would mean to the last man, in order to show that the kind of general/public agency I'm talking about is no less real for him...

‘Even the Mana Tree has begun to wither...’

This is a 'because it's beautiful' post: for me the later scenes of the Seiken Densetsu 3 introduction, complete with understated Mode 7 gorgeousness, are right up there with the FFVI opening credits in the RPG pulchritude stakes. Which seems excuse enough. This is the version with the translation patch applied.


Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Solidly Running Is Tricky When One Gets Attacked Every Few Steps...

I've had screenshots from the early scenes of Solid Runner lying around for a while, so I thought I might as well make a slideshow of them. I've seen it compared to Shadowrun because of the setting, and to Front Mission and Xenogears because of the mecha, but it isn't as well remembered as they; still, I'm looking forward to the completion of a translation patch. What mostly sticks in my mind, though, is the grisly encounter rate.

(View External Gallery)

Solid Runner screenshots
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Monday, July 16, 2007

Anti-Logic Culture, Part 2

Occasionally I play at participating in democratic debate, just to make sure it's still a waste of time. So I sent in the following scintillating critique:

http://www.conservatives.com/tile.do?def=news.press.release.page&obj_id= 137437 suggests a worrying ignorance of, or refusal to deal with, the existing intellectual work concerned with the justification of intellectual property regimes. When one considers the 'incentive' theory of justification - the dominant one, both because of the historical basis of our laws and because of serious problems with the others - one swiftly recognises:

1) Since copyright is a mechanism of incentives rather than a reward, it is not an advertisement for copyright extension that the music industry could receive greater revenue. If the industry desires greater turnover, it should seek to improve its working practices like any other. (As Edwin Hettinger observed, even if we grant that creatives somehow deserve the market value of their works, this cannot be used to justify copyright, on pain of circularity; for copyright restrictions themselves affect market value through artificial scarcity.)

2) Disparity between composers and producers/performers is neither fair nor unfair. Each length is either adequate or inadequate (and may even be excessive) as an incentive to create and disseminate; for every work that exists, it was necessarily adequate.

3) Impoverishment does not entitle creatives to extension of monopoly privileges, any more than it entitles grocers fallen on hard times to raise prices retroactively. Artists do not form a special class among the poor -- except of course insofar as they had the unusually good fortune to receive not less than fifty years' advance warning.

It is pleasing to see attention paid to the importance of preservation and availability; though precisely for this reason it is disappointing that the name 'Cameron' appears nowhere on http://edmi.parliament.uk/EDMi/EDMDetails.aspx?EDMID=32707

Furthermore, there was a critical omission from the speech: the value of what is often called the 'public domain'. The image of the 'intellectual commons', employed in the writings of James Boyle and Peter Drahos, reflects an understanding of culture and the value of cultural resources which should be of interest to anyone concerned with the cultural influence of music and the rest of the arts. Freedoms should be given proper weight by those proposing their curtailment.

Today I got a form response from some apparatchik—complete with a legal note telling me not to disclose it. This seems rather superfluous, since, predictably, it simply restated the position I'd attacked.

So I'm wondering: why? Nobody's going to be swayed by hearing the same position simply restated; on the other hand it is decidedly annoying (and a waste of my time). So why send a response at all? Just to appear to have something to say, presumably, and to give the vague impression of having listened to criticism and not bowed to it.

Oh well: I've registered my 'vote' of disenchantment, and now have my next vote to look forward to.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Save Our Spirals

One can come across heritage references in surprising places—and be given cause to look at Discworld covers in a new light.

‘I feel the Danube spiral links all Western art... It is an important heritage and I think it is part of the job of the artist to link with what has gone before and carry what is good in our civilization forward for future generations.’
Josh Kirby, quoted in David Langford's A Cosmic Cornucopia

The 'Danube spiral' being that formed with the Golden Ratio. I can see the link to other work on the preservation and continuation of practices, crafts and art styles, etc. but I can't bring to mind another case of a not immediately obvious mathematical element of style being cited as heritage worthy of preservation.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Anti-Logic Culture

The music industry has done so much in making all manner of music from any decade available to everyone.

And if we expect you to keep investing, keep innovating, keep creating…

… it is only right that you are given greater protection on your investments by the extension of copyright term.

After all, PWC found that extending copyright term could boost the music industry by £3.3 billion over the next fifty years.
Rt. Hon. David Cameron, speech to British Phonographic Industry A.G.M.

One infers that Mr. Cameron's voyage into environmentalism hasn't led him any brushes with James Boyle's 'environmentalism' for the public domain—or with the existing intellectual work on the justification of intellectual property and the limits thereof. The remaining chances of my voting Conservative vanish as he proposes to raid the public domain in order to increase the profits of the record industry.

Not that this is his only aim. He says that the new Tory policy would 'reduce the disparity between the length given to composers and that granted to producers and performers', and that this is desirable because fair. Certainly it is worth inquiring into whether these terms should be as they are – intellectual property law has of course so shortage of such mysteries – but even if we assume that there is no relevant difference in this case, that the correct response is one of extending terms remains unproven. Moreover, the existing terms clearly provided an adequate incentive to produce music: we deduce this from the fact that so much music has been commerically produced. Cameron points to the number of musicians close to losing their rights privileges of monopoly control, and one can almost hear the violins as he points to the impending loss of their 'vital pension'. Why creative workers and performers, unlike other types of worker – the kind who resort to real pensions – should continue to benefit from monopoly control merely because they too need money to live on is unclear. Artists do not form a special class among the poor—except of course insofar as they had the unusually good fortune to receive not less than fifty years' advance warning.

For 'consumers'? The promise is that the industry will be given the incentive to work to digitise its archives, which will then be available 'at no extra cost'. (It isn't clear to what the costs are being compared.) So: we surrender for a longer period the freedom to distribute works as we see fit (among other freedoms), and archival work continues to be performed only within the exemptions offered by copyright law (with which the Gowers Review was rightly concerned). In return the industry might make available some digitised works at, one assumes, a greater cost than is typically charged by, say, the Internet Archive (sc. nothing). Will they? In Free Culture Lawrence Lessig suggests that for many old films the potential profits are insufficient to bring about their restoration (pp. 224ff). It would be nice to think that if copyright holders were given extended control over their material they'd get better at actually making it available, but it isn't realistic.

The Slashdot headline 'UK Copyright Extension in Exchange for Censorship?' suggests that Cameron offered a bargain, which is over-egging things a bit. He does talk about what he wants to see 'in return', but his attempts to justify copyright term extension are quite independent of what he demands; and he does not suggest extension actually will be conditional on self-censorship. The second part of Cameron's speech was concerned with his social responsibility agenda, in which individuals take responsibility for doing what politicians tell them. Music, says Cameron, 'is what kids listen to, understand and draw inspiration from.' (Some of them also make music, but never mind that.) What they draw from popular music at present, he alleges, is 'an anti-learning culture where it's cool to bunk off, it's cool to be bad, it's cool not to try'. Lesser mortals might at least have sought to present some semblance of evidence for such a claim, but here it seems to be more of an article of faith.

I am not calling for censorship, legislation or the banning of content.

I am calling on you to show leadership, exercise your power responsibly and to use your judgement.

Well, depending on how things pan out he may be asking for anything from a a few token P.R. manoeuvres – which is probably all he'll get – to large-scale censorship by proxy along the lines of the Comics Code. He isn't asking for anything that can discernibly be accomplished, since there is simply no much aesthetic category as 'anti-learning culture'. Quick! Condemn Paul Simon for suggesting, 'my lack of education hasn't hurt me none'...

Blessed Are the Lawyers, For They Alone Profit From This Farce

The Manchester Cathedral clergy have proposed 'sacred digital guidelines' following the Resistance: Fall of Man debacle. Leaving general criticism to others, what I want to pluck out and ponder is the term 'virtual desecration' (employed by the Dean of Manchester, as quoted, but not itself part of the guidelines).

The first thing that comes to my mind is simulation vs. emulation: as I've seen noted (in the rather different field of 'could computers think?' questions), a simulation of the physics of flames doesn't burn, and flight simulators don't involve actually flying. Then I remember the by-now-legendary 'rape in cyberspace', and the various responses to that. Then it's the debate over virtual worlds generally, and player/avatar identity, and so on... Well, having acknowledged the infancy of the whole area, let's see what can be done for now...

On the face of it, I'd guess that an act is supposed to count as 'virtual desecration' if it's a 'virtual' representation of an act which if committed in fact would count as desecration. Except that that definition doesn't give anyone a reason to care. Compare 'virtual vandalism': nothing gets damaged, and nobody has to clear up, so whatever the potential for a 'media effects' argument the act is not eo ipso objectionable. So I'm inclined to think that either the Dean takes virtual spaces to be capable of sanctity (and a representation of a sacred place to be itself sacred) or he takes virtual acts to be capable of desecrating actual places (if those acts take occur in representations of those places). Both at least would be hard to disprove...

If an image, even such a geometrically simple one as two crossed lines, can possess sanctity, then there's nothing counterintuitive per se about suggesting that virtual spaces can; but is 'virtual Manchester Cathedral' automatically sacred by virtue of the fact that Manchester Cathedral is? Is it a house of God? Is that even intelligible? It's hard enough to get some sort of grip on what it means for a physical location, even a piece of architecture built with the express purpose of worship, to be a dwelling place of the divine; when it comes to digital representations of that same location things get really problematic. Does sanctity supervene on natural properties? The very possibility of desecration seems to suggest otherwise, since it seems to involve an offence against or a violation of the sacred without necessarily involving any change to natural properties. (The ceremonial practices of consecration and deconsecration perhaps point to the same conclusion.) Frankly, sanctity – in both locations and images – seems to be far more mysterious than just another metaphysical property.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Hellas Rerendered

This is a variation on a theme by Shelley. With apologies for the penultimate stanza (though if you understand it, it's probably too late for you...).

The world’s great age begins anew
   With electronic games:
One player’s eaten by a grue,
   One falls to Bowser’s flames;
And Heaven Smile make smithereens:
Now heroes rise élite and Keen.

Bright platforms rise and blocks descend;
   A Zoomer falls, a Slime,
And legions more, until The End
   Of real or turn-based time.
A Snake, a Thief, shinobi creep,
While pixels gleam and chiptunes bleep.

A lofty Highwind claims the main – 
   Relief from random fights! – 
As Ganon rises yet again
   In polygons or sprites;
A Muse reborn inspires once more,
With NiGHTS lost for a higher score.

Drag not me back from Guardia
   While Earth one deathmatch knows;
Nor fear I’m getting lardier:
   My katamari grows!
I’m not desensitised; I’ve run
To where war can be so much fun.

So let another Guildford rise,
   Another Bullfrog spawn;
Let clouds scroll artificial skies
   Each interactive dawn;
And with consoling joys I’ll hide
Till there’s a happier world outside.

Importing for a chipped device
   Odd gems or Treasures rare,
We’ve Tokimemo to entice,
   Chou Aniki to scare.
(Of Bikō 3 and Rapelay let’s
Be silent hence, with no regrets.)

O cease! Would you enclose our dreams?
   Seal less that trademarked box.
Cease! Keep us not from stranger themes
   With crippling region locks!
Let not another fan game drown,
Or vendor follow Lik-Sang down!