11 October, 2012

An Absentee Father

[Edit on February 2018: Although the content of this entry remains true, I mostly regret writing the post today. Not all true things need to be published publicly, and I regret what I’ve said in this post. For a better understanding of how I feel with regard to my daughter, see my February 2018 post, A Favor Owed.]

In a few short months, it will be my biological daughter's fourteenth birthday.

Already, she is at the age I was when I first started making mistakes that had significant impact on my life. When I was 13, as she is now, I was expelled from the top boarding school in the state of Alabama. It was a stupid mistake; having girls in one's dorm was against the rules, and I disobeyed the rule multiple times, even after getting suspended for breaking it previously. To me, the prospect of sex was just too much more important than whether I would be expelled. Obviously, it was a dumb decision, but I felt I was making the rational choice at the time.

So it occurs to me that she is now at that age when some of her actions might have drastic effects on her future. I sincerely wish her well on these first few important decisions. I'm not too worried, though, as I'm confident that her mother will have raised her well enough to do better than chance.

I say this even though I have not seen either my biological daughter or her mother for thirteen years. I know nothing of their life, nor how things have gone. I have not attempted contact with them, nor they with me. It's justified in their case, as I was a particularly poor teenage father and they were much better off without me. But I've had more than a few people say that even if they are justified in not attempting to see me, I am not similarly justified in not even attempting to maintain any kind of parental relationship, however tenuous it might be.

I'm well aware that this is a legitimate complaint. To many people, an absent father is not only strongly negative, but downright heartless. "Any relationship," they claim, "will be better than absolute silence. Surely you must at least make it known that you care, even if your daughter does not return the sentiment."

Yet this argument does not move me at all. I really was a terrible father (I seriously doubt I'd be any better of a father today, unless I adopted a child that was already partially grown). I honestly believe that the policy of no contact resulted in the best effects overall for all involved. I feel no regret nor shame at not being a real father. I regret many of my actions from that phase of my life, but not that I stayed absent. I'm not only comfortable with not being there -- I'm proud of the decision.

But this does not satisfy some critics. "You sound so cold when you say these things. You continually call her your "biological" child, rather than just your daughter. Don't you even feel a thread of responsibility? How can you live without even thinking of her?"

For many years, this objection really confused me. It has always seemed to me that my feelings on the matter are not cold, but instead quite reasonable. I am not her real father; a real father is someone who is there for a child: someone who takes care of, teaches, and helps them. That's not me. It never has been. I was, at most, a biological donor. I still wish her well; I want her life to be good and for her to experience good things in this world. But I'd say the same for the child of my neighbor, or the child that crosses the street on their way to the bus. I do not feel any special feelings for her -- furthermore, if I did, I can't help but to think that would be creepy. What right would I have to have special feelings for a thirteen year old child I do not even know? It honestly confuses me how others don't automatically see that such feelings would be genuinely creepy.

But, as the years have passed, I've come to understand a little more of what these critics are trying to convey. To them, the passing on of genetic material is somehow a sacred act, and there exists a duty for those who pass on such material to become a parent figure in the life of that child. It's still a terribly silly notion to my mind, but at least I'm starting to get why so many disparate people have made the same complaint.

To this, I can only say that my lack of special feelings does not mean I have negative feelings. If, for some reason, Adrianah Celes Herboso (or Guyer or whatever name she now goes by) wanted to contact me or otherwise have some kind of relationship, however trivial, I would not automatically be opposed to it. Even though I do not believe the passing of genetic material is important (far more important are the actual parents that do the work of raising a child), I can understand why she might not feel the same way. If that's the case, then I'd be willing to see if a positive relationship could be maintained. Not because I feel a special bond, but because if she felt it was important, then what reason would I have to dissuade her from it?

So, I will continue to not attempt contact of any kind, nor would I have any particular wish for her to initiate contact with me. But, if for some reason she does anyway, I would do my best to be a positive influence. Especially now that she's at an age where her reason might be tested in situations that could seriously impact her future life.

09 October, 2012

My Sense of Ethics

Perhaps the most interesting conversation I have when meeting new people is when they start to ask me about my ethical views. It generally comes up pretty early on when I meet people, as so many of the things that set me apart have a basis in my morality. I don't do this on purpose; it just naturally turns out this way.

I'm vegetarian (largely vegan), so if they happen to see me when I'm eating or otherwise ordering food, this is an early entry point into the ethics discussion. But far more often are the oft-asked questions: "what do you do?" or "what are you into?", both of which go straight into a description of optimal philanthropy. In either case, it isn't long before they start asking me why I speak so strangely when it comes to ethical issues.

If you haven't had the ethics conversation with me in person (or if you knew me before I fully fleshed out my views), then it would help to explain what I'm talking about. A typical exchange might go something like this:

New acquaintance: "So what kind of stuff are you into?"

Eric: "My main interest at the moment is in optimal philanthropy. I strongly prefer a world where charitable contributions get distributed rationally, so I do what I can to try and help determine which organizations have aims that make sense."

New acquaintance: "Oh, I get it. So you're into figuring out which charities are better than others. I've heard of that."

Eric: "I wouldn't put it exactly like that, but yes, I think you have the basic idea."

New acquaintance: "How would you put it?"

Eric: "I just wouldn't use the word 'better'; that's all. I mean, obviously some charities are indeed better at accomplishing their goals, but that doesn't make them better in the moral sense of the word."

New acquaintance: "Surely if they're better at accomplishing Good, then they're better morally speaking."

Eric: "For moral realists, yes; but I'm not a moral realist."

And this is where the vast majority of people will try to find a polite way of ending the conversation.

My moral anti-realism stance has caused countless numbers of otherwise rational competent people to think I'm nuts. To many educated (but not philosophical) people, moral anti-realism is just code for nihilism. Hell, even among anti-realist philosophers, the specter of nihilism informs many of their arguments. (Mackie, Blackburn, Timmons, Joyce, and even Rawls all endorse moral anti-realism while doing their damnedest to be dishonest about it, just to stay as far away from nihilism as they can.) So I guess it's understandable if the average new acquaintance I make will also make the same mistake.


Review: Robots and Empire

Robots and Empire Robots and Empire by Isaac Asimov
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The action really starts to heat up in this entrant to Asimov's epic series of scifi novels. Daneel Olivaw and Giskard Reventlov make up one of the most interesting teams you'll find in any scifi story. This is one of my favorites in the Robot series, and is definitely worth an extra slow read.

If you're new to Asimov, don't start reading here! Start at the beginning of his Robot series; otherwise, you'll regret reading them out of order.

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08 October, 2012

Review: The Sword of Good

The Sword of Good The Sword of Good by Eliezer Yudkowsky
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A fantasy enthusiast from our world is transported to a world of fantasy, wielding the Sword of Good. Dolf the wizard and Selena the pirate join him on his quest to confront the Lord of Dark.

More cannot be said without giving away the storyline, but rest assured that this is an excellent read for any fan of the fantasy trope.

I most definitely recommend this short story.

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06 October, 2012

Review: Three Worlds Collide

Three Worlds Collide Three Worlds Collide by Eliezer Yudkowsky
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This short story describes a spaceship of humans in the future who make first contact with not one, but two intelligent alien races. The result involves spirited debate as each of the three realize they all have very different views on which moral facts are true.

If you have a group of friends interested in metaethics, I strongly recommend you try printing out hard copies of this short story in sections, and read the story together in person. Each successive section will give you a lot to talk about, and there are few enough sections of short lengths that it will only take around 2.5 hours to read through every section with plenty of conversation between each.

Those not as interested in metaethics will still get something out of the story, though they might not rate it as highly as I have.

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