Ghosting

‘Yes, but they – Wurst, and Knaust, and Pripasov – will tell you that your consciousness of existence is derived from the conjunction of all your sensations – is, in fact, the result of your sensations. Wurst even goes so far as to say that where sensation ceases to exist there is no consciousness of existence.’

'I would maintain the contrary,’ began Koznyshev. 

But here again it seemed to Levin that just as they were reaching the root of the matter they again retreated; and he made up his mind to put a question to the Professor. 

'So if my senses are annihilated, if my body dies, no further existence is possible?’ he asked. 

– Anna Karenin by Leo Tolstoy

After reading this passage from Tolstoy’s masterpiece, I stopped and pondered for awhile on the entire discourse and its implications. The idea of existence has been broiling in the back burner of my mind for quite some time, and this small portion from Anna Karenin amped me back into full throttle. Likewise, I decided in lieu of Levin’s question – no, if one’s senses are annihilated and one’s body dies, existence is still possible. 

The professor in Anna Karenin assumes that sensory experience shapes and defines one existence, which is a fairly reasonable assertion. However, when you consider the assumptions the statement, there are implications rather questionable regarding basic humanity and human conditions: essentially, the professor assumes that existence is directly related to how much we can sense and feel from our immediate environment – assuming, of course, the professor equilibrates all sensations as equal (non-equal considerations of sensations are too subjective to really add or detract from this statement). This linear relationship is really the downfall of the sensory-existence argument for a few reasons: 

If this is the case, then those who have lost some amount of sensory function are less of an existing conscious. Take for example an amputee: now that they’ve lost an appendage, compared to their former selves these individuals are less of a conscious existence by virtue of having less surface area of their sensory nerves (while there is the phenomena of “ghost limbs,” strictly anatomically amputees have lost a certain amount of sensory functions). We could also look at paraplegics, who can no longer use their lower limbs – according to the professor’s assertion, these individuals are only half the conscious of a non-handicapped peer. We can easily look at other physical conditions that render individuals into relative handicapped status – blindness, hearing loss, anosmia, burn victims, etc – and see that the professor’s statement, while intriguing, is short-sighted: it essentially states that a existence is solely dependent on the cumulative sensations one is able to acquire and experience; on the latter fold, those who are not a normal physical condition are essentially “lesser” consciousness since their cumulative sensations are comparatively less by virtue of their own physical condition. The professor’s logic equates public figures like Stephen Hawkings and Roger Ebert as “lesser” conscious existences because both rely on artificial means to articulate their thoughts to the world. The implications of his argument extends to cases individual who is in a vegetative state, where their bodies still function biologically but the probability of them ever regaining conscious thought or cognitive function is less than the an elephant suddenly appearing in your living room out of thin air by virtue of metaphysics – according to him, they are greater conscious entities because their bodies can still pick up sensations. 

I disagree with the professor’s statement, simply because I define existence slightly but significantly differently: that one’s root existence is the conscious thought, and that this root existence manifests into the physical condition of a body that one’s cognitive function puppeteers and performs with. Additionally, if someone is effectively brain dead without any chance of recovery – then I believe this individual has effectively died, regardless of their body’s physical condition. This distinction between one’s conscious and one’s physical manifestation relates to the prime idea of this article: ghosting. 

I’ve watched Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex (and 2nd GIG as well) on-and-off for a few years, and this past summer I rewatched some episodes again with my older brother. Each episode is dense, complex, and philosophically intriguing – so much so that if you stop paying attention for a few moments, you’ll likely be lost as to what’s going on and what the character’s are thinking. 

GITS: SAC take place in the future, where cyborg technology is sophisticated and commercial. It’s not uncommon to see someone with a cybernetic attribute walking around and living everyday life as per usual (in fact, nearly everyone has cybernetic eyes and chips in their brains, enabling them to receive information without a screen and so forth). This cybernetic society essentially ties everyone together on a metaphysical-like technological net – almost as if you could access the world wide web anytime, anywhere. Likewise, this means capable hackers can cause societal mayhem if unchecked – which is where Public Security Section 9 comes in, led by Major Motoko Kusanagi. 

Motoko is a unique character in the GITS: SAC universe because unlike most others, her body is completely cybernetic – she possess no natural biological function. Her condition is a result of a plane crash she was in when only six-years-old: she was in a coma until it became obvious she would die unless she unwent full cyberization. This process forced Motoko to completely separate body and mind to the extreme; unable to feel real sensations as a cyborg, she regards her body more as a shell her true essence resides and acts upon within – her ghost. 

Theoretically, in the world of GIST: SAC you could surpass “dying” by uploading your conscious into the collective technological “net”; and while your body would decay, your conscious still exists, and therefore you have not necessarily died (however, in the unfortunate case the server somehow crashed and wiped out all data, you really would cease to exist). More pressingly however is the idea of one’s ghost and shell being separate entities, that the relationship between mind and body is not entirely necessary for one to still exist. 

Here’s a thought experiment: say somehow, in some dimension you were able to separate your conscious from your current body and then occupy a different body – are you still the same conscious, the same person? 

I believe that if one still acts out certain behavioral traits and personality quirks unique to themselves regardless of what body, what shell they occupy – they are still that same individual. They still exist as a distinct conscious. 

In one episode of GITS: SAC, called “Runaway Evidence – Testation,” a rogue tank runs amok the city, hacked into the by recognition code of the tank’s designer, Kago Takeshi, who had died a week earlier. It turns out the “ghost” of this tank is actually that of Kago’s: due to religious reasons, his parents refused to let him undergo cyberization despite his serious medical problems, which invariably led him to physical dying at a early age; however, he manages to transfer his ghost into the tank, and before Motoko short-circuits the tank’s brain she discovers in a brief moment that Kago simply wanted to show his parents his new steel body. 

“Runaway Evidence” is an intriguing episode because it really addresses the core argument of whether one’s existence solely depends on the physical medium upon which they act out their conscious functions. While we never know if the tank performed similar personality traits Kago performed while biologically alive, its clear that the tank’s motive derives from Kago’s conscious, his ghost. His action are no different than a hermit crab migrating into a different shell. 

This all leads to the final portion of Tolstoy’s passage in Anna Karenin, where Levin asks if one can still exist if their physical being is somehow exterminated – that is, can one still exist without a shell? 

I believe yes, for various reasons. If you look around you, their a billions of information and narratives documented into multiple media forms – books, film, painting, photography, everything. Every word, every letter, every frame and every brush stroke that goes into each of these mediums was done by someone, a distinct somebody, and as we gloss over and intake the contents of each medium we invariably soak up the presentation, wording, dilution and creativity of this unique and distinct somebody. In the midst of these actions, we experience the remnant pieces of one’s ghost. 

In a less abstract level, you can easily consider the internet as a prime example of separating one’s ghost from their shell, mind from body. As a distinct individual on the net, you define yourself either which way you want, whether it be by writing, subject, ethnicity, age, interests, purpose, and so on; but, unless you know the unique user in real life, there’s no real way of confirming one hundred percent what a user says they are is really who they are in real life. On the net, we are defined solely by how we want to be, independent (not mutually exclusive) of who we are in real life. 

For instance, I could easily say that in real life, I look like this: 

Or this: 

Or even this: 

If I were savvy, charming and mischievous enough, I might actually get away with claiming my genetic origin as a Timelord, with a TARDIS and Sonic Screwdriver and all. 

More seriously though, is that our existence on the net is defined more or less by how we present ourselves in writing (and perhaps photography or video, inclusively). This is wholly separate from our physical being, our shell – yet we still exist in our the form of our distinct internet avatars, cached and all. We still communicate to one another via the internet medium: from the established email to live tweeting, we are speaking to one another, directly and indirectly so, distinct conscious entities in mental collision – and all of this independent of our bodies in the physical world. 

So to finally answer Levin’s question: yes, I believe you can still exist if your body has deteriorated or been destroyed, so long as your ghost remains a distinct entity through whatever natural or artificial means possible. This is the ultimate philosophical implication of ghosting, of one’s ghost of existence. 

The Grace and Horror of Eternal Life

I’m twelve. But I’ve been twelve for a long time. 

I recently watched “Let the Right One In,” a 2008 Swedish horror film that involves vampires. But this is not your typical vampire lore – not the like the classic “Nosferatu” nor the inexplicable cultural phenomena “Twilight” – for it has hints of despair and sweetness that are strangely nonsexual and exclusive to childhood. The girl, Eli, is a vampire perpetually trapped in the body of a 12-year-old girl; her companion, an older man named Håkan, is presumably her caretaker and harvests pints of blood for her (it is hinted that she does not enjoy a violent effort against her victims). 

She meets 12-year-old boy Oskar, and they form a friendship. What happens throughout the rest of the movie I will let you see for yourself. But what did come out of the viewing was this question: 

If you suddenly discovered you were able to live eternally (but not immortally) and essentially in the same form that you currently are that – if certain physical conditions were met – would not break down, what conditions would lead you to committing suicide or continue living on?

It must be reiterated that under such conditions you would not be immortal – that is, you would not die under normal human conditions but could perish by non-human conditions. For instance, if you suddenly became a vampire, you could theoretically live on forever if you stayed out of the sunlight, drank blood, and so on; failing to meet these non-human conditions will end if your peril and death. Let’s assume your new form is supernatural – not immortal, but not human. 

First there’s the religion aspect. I’m not here to discuss what’s right or wrong, but it’s an important consideration in this hypothetical situation. For instance, if someone who was raised in a religion that deems suicide immoral, if suddenly they find themselves a non-human with living conditions they find insufferable – what then? Does the morality of a human-based religion still apply to the individual? For the token, what if the now supernatural individual becomes shunned by the same religion they were raised up in? Arguably, if their supernatural form is considered blasphemous, the individual is now at a moral dilemma: kill themselves, and they go against the morality of the religion; stay alive, and they go against the acceptability of the same religion. Either way, if the conditions I’ve presented apply, hypothetically a supernatural person is doomed by virtue of the described religion they adhere to.  

Now assuming one’s prior religion does not establish any sort of stigma against suicide – if you were in a position to kill yourself after transforming into a supernatural individual, would you do it? This stems from one’s definition of life and the experiences prior to such a pivotal change. For instance, Eli was twelve years old when she turned into a vampire; with relatively little human life experience up until this point, we can assume that she chose to continue living as a vampire rather than offing herself early, and at the time we see her in “Let the Right One In” she has garnered enough years and experience as a vampire to be ok living as one, regardless of the conditions otherwise discomforting and inconvenient.

On the other hand, one of Eli’s failed victims, Virginia, turns into a vampire, and eventually manages to kill herself in the hospital by asking the residing doctor to let sunlight into the room. Contrasting to Eli’s time of transforming, Virginia’s point of change takes place at a much, much later time in her life where she has garnered enough experience and years to appreciate her life as a human, so to suddenly transform into a supernatural being – one who’s living conditions are strikingly different from the conditions of a human – accepting and coping with such terms is maddening. To live as a vampire would be to abandon her spouse and companions or risk killing them to sustain herself, and it’s a circumstance that drives her to commit suicide (arguably, it would have been much more merciful if Eli had killed Virginia to begin with, but alas how a meal ends interrupted). 

As a supernatural being, are you living with a particular purpose beyond sustaining yourself? Assuming the condition applies, this question boils down to distinguishing two types of supernatural beings: those who take the opportunity of their own existence to engage in some goal, and those who simply maintain their own existence. Presumably, most are more inclined to view the first type in the positive (unless their goals were destructive) and the second type in the negative (unless the self-maintenance does not infringe upon anyone). This also calls into question when one becomes indifferent to their supernatural existence: if they suddenly stopped having a purpose or desire to exist, where do they go from there? 

In second to the above question, are you living at the expense of others? This particular condition is tricky since it calls upon the ethics and guilt of one’s supernatural existence. For one, is it right for one to live off the life of others such as a vampire? Strictly from a biological point of view, yes – this is not unfair. Generally omnivores worldwide, we humans have killed animals to sustain ourselves, so a vampire preying on a human is no different from this practice. To restate, this is strictly a biological argument. The associated guilt and blasphemy of living off another being leaves to be determined by said supernatural individual: if the need to survive is great enough, supposedly this would overcome all barriers of guilt and consciousness. 

However, what if one’s lifespan has been increased by taking others’ lifespans for themselves? This a variation on the idea of one living at the expense of others, though it is a variation that I believe needs consideration since it cannot (or with great difficulty) be argued for from a traditional biological perspective. For instance, in “Fullmetal Alchemist” the main character’s father, Van Hohenheim, is a living philosophers stone: that is, he is able to (theoretically) live forever and accomplish amazing feats of alchemy at a devastating cost – his philosophers stone is derived from the half the souls of ancient civilization Xerxes with over a million individuals, a civilization that he grew up in. His existence is at the expense of his friends, comrades and beloved nation.

Now if the main story of Fullmetal did not exist (and it’s something I’m not going to reveal here for those interested in reading/watching), would it be more ethical for Hohenheim to continue on living and maintaining himself in hopes of discovery, research and possible reversion of the process, or is it best if he deplete his own stone and allow the souls of Xerxes to finally leave and rest in peace? In this case that does not apply to the actual story of Fullmetal, it depends on what greater good he chooses to serve and place his goals upon.  

Then there’s the living condition – is it insufferable or doable, and is the quality of life worth it? This comes down to what the individual wants and values. In asking people some questions I found that this aspect is considered the least, and only when I impressed upon them the idea did they usually reconsider their stance. For instance, I asked my mother what she thought about eternal life and found her to be enthusiastic about the prospect: from her perspective, it was an opportunity to continue learning infinite aspects of the universe, and though she would grieve at the lost of loved ones the idea of endless discovery was absolutely alluring.

When I inquired about hypothetical conditions that could potentially restrict her, she initially shrugged them off with a “I’ll just deal with them”; I then specified such conditions (eg. “What if you were like a vampire and could only go out at night… wouldn’t that would mean you’d be greatly restricted to access different institutions you’d like to look into?”) and pressed further about the quality of life that she could possibly experience as a supernatural. After using a very specific, particularly pessimistic example and condition my mum began reconsidering her position (for which she called me a bloody mood killer). 

It is inevitable that your loved ones will age and die while you, the supernatural individual, remain the same; psychologically, the stress can be immense and it is your judgement call if you’d be able to handle such. And it’s not just about losing family and friends – meeting new acquaintances, potential friends and lovers, initially heartwarming but inevitably leading to a shared despair – that the relationships you create and share are drastingly temporal since relative lifespans of people and yourself do not correlate: that is, though humans all die there is at least a finite sense shared between all relationships; a supernatural being who can live eternally does not share this same finite sense and is instead left to accept the cold truth as a observer – observers of our loved ones’ demise as their finite lives run out. There is a difference of relative time, and this leads to utter tragedy and despair. 

Herein lives another dilemma: if you had the ability to offer loved ones the same physical conditions you abide by – would you do it? More pressingly would they agree to such conditions? This dilemma assumes that you were ok with such conditions to begin with in offering others such an option. The implications, however, are dire: if the person you offer accepts, then that means you both will become observers of time, lonely companions till conditions arise that result in one or the others’ death but nonetheless you are both in the same boat; if the person you offer declines, that means they disagree with the conditions you live by, and by extension are openly judging you for who you are, what you are and how you live – in a sense, while they may not find your existence unacceptable they may find the conditions of your existence unacceptable. 

They leave. Because they should or because they find someone else. And some of them, some of them… forget me. 

…I suppose in the end, they break my heart.

Here is the most heartbreaking aspect: assuming you were unable to offer eternal life, what happens when you fall in love with somebody? You know full well that this person is mortal and that their time will run out and that you, a mere supernatural being, can do nothing to stop this process of time – so do you allow yourself to engage in these emotions or do you repress them? An additional angle is that if the person you love and who loves you back – if circumstances (besides the passage of time and aging) prevent them from being with you and there are elements that could force you both to be separated from one another – do you take this risk? Do you risk your own emotional stability by falling in love with the inevitability that it cannot be? Is the risk of eventual heartbreak enough to deter you from pursuing a simultaneously timeless and finite love? 

This last question is particular striking to me on a personal level. Philosophically, I believe in the temporality of everything, and while it is necessary to look to the past for learned lessons and to the future for dreams the most important thing that matters is what is happening here and now because in another instant here and now will have vanished and been replaced by another here and now. I make an effort to appreciate the smallest things, for when time has passed they are often the things I miss the most. The fact that I can still type quickly, breath good air, still have all my teeth, engage in physical activities, have all my appendages intact, can see, can breath, can eat – it’s amazing how easily I take things for granted, and it takes a conscious effort to break away from subconscious assumptions of permanence. 

So to fall in love despite the possibility of circumstance destroying such, that eventually all things die – is it worth it? 

Personally and paradoxically, yes. But for myself that’s all I can speak for as an ordinary human. Human or supernatural, finite or eternal life, to each their own.