Manifisto posted:

I really like the story and have given it a decent amount of thought. I would be interested to know what the author intended, of course, and if someone can share I would appreciate it. I've come to my own views about the contradiction it encapsulates. From a utilitarian perspective you would have to say that minimizing suffering to one being is a maximal outcome; that if you were given a choice of a society to live in without knowing what your role would be, and you knew that there was a 99.99999% chance you would be free of suffering and a .00001% chance you would be suffering all the time so that everyone else did not have to suffer, you might well choose to live in that society. Such is earthly and human logic.

But I also view it from another perspective, the bodhisattva's vows, which basically states a purpose or commitment to do the impossible and not rest until earthly suffering is eliminated from all sentient beings:

Sentient beings are numberless,
I vow to save them.
Desires are inexhaustible,
I vow to put an end to them.
The Dharmas are boundless,
I vow to master them.
Enlightenment is unattainable,
I vow to attain it.

. . . or some variation of the above. So by this view the ones who walk away from Omelas are bodhisattvas: not content with the utilitarian maximum but living a more profound, perhaps alogical, commitment to enlightenment. Or maybe more specifically commitment to the process of striving for enlightenment, rather than enlightenment as an end or goal in itself.

Honestly neither is a particularly terrible goal for society to dedicate itself to, as compared to the way our world, as a whole, exists right now. IMO.

Manifisto posted:

I really like the story and have given it a decent amount of thought. I would be interested to know what the author intended, of course, and if someone can share I would appreciate it. I've come to my own views about the contradiction it encapsulates. From a utilitarian perspective you would have to say that minimizing suffering to one being is a maximal outcome; that if you were given a choice of a society to live in without knowing what your role would be, and you knew that there was a 99.99999% chance you would be free of suffering and a .00001% chance you would be suffering all the time so that everyone else did not have to suffer, you might well choose to live in that society. Such is earthly and human logic.

But I also view it from another perspective, the bodhisattva's vows, which basically states a purpose or commitment to do the impossible and not rest until earthly suffering is eliminated from all sentient beings:

Sentient beings are numberless,
I vow to save them.
Desires are inexhaustible,
I vow to put an end to them.
The Dharmas are boundless,
I vow to master them.
Enlightenment is unattainable,
I vow to attain it.

. . . or some variation of the above. So by this view the ones who walk away from Omelas are bodhisattvas: not content with the utilitarian maximum but living a more profound, perhaps alogical, commitment to enlightenment. Or maybe more specifically commitment to the process of striving for enlightenment, rather than enlightenment as an end or goal in itself.

Honestly neither is a particularly terrible goal for society to dedicate itself to, as compared to the way our world, as a whole, exists right now. IMO.

paul_soccer12 posted:

everyone in the idf must die

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joke_explainer posted:

Lem's works are legendary and influential beyond belief. And Bester's 'The Stars My Destination', absolutely an inspiration to probably some of your favorite books, thanks for mentioning it Kthulhu. It's interesting to contrast these two authors. Bester brought such an unorthodox character to life, while Lem brings brilliance in applying the potential of our universe to page in just such an amazing way.

Le Guin is of course a legend. I feel honored to have seen her talk a couple times at Powell's Books where I live in Portland. Her insight and feeling of... formidableness, I guess? Some aspect of the impression is no doubt just the psychological weight of meeting somebody you admire, but still... she seems so sharp. It was almost shocking. I guess a lot of famous writers are quick witted, I liked what she said though when someone random guy was asking her what she advice she had to become a famous writer, she was like "No, there's no real advice other than to just keep writing, and then get very incredibly lucky. I love what I wrote but I could have been anybody. I got lucky." Very humble person.

Kthulhu5000 posted:

Props to you for propping me on the Bester propping! And I've never met Ursula Le Guin, but I did take an introduction to mythology course taught by her daughter at PCC .

Bradbury was name dropped in this thread, but no particular titles were mentioned. So I'd recommend those interested in reading his works start off by reading the story compilations of "R Is For Rocket" and "S Is For Space", then "The Martian Chronicles", and then dip into "Fahrenheit 451". I think the first three are helpful to get an idea of the classic Bradbury style and tone, without having to try and invest one's self into an entire novel.

alnilam posted:

What's A Good Lem Book To Read

I've seen the movies of solaris and stalker

let i hug posted:

just wanted to say The Cyberiad by Stainslaw Lem is one of my favorite books of all time. not really sure if it's a novel or an anthology; it's a collection of short stories all revolving around two recurring characters, written in a way that makes each story easily digestable and fun while still giving you a world to explore and characters you learn more about over time.

FactsAreUseless posted:

He didn't do novels, but dig up some Cordwainer Smith short stories, he's fantastic and should be way more famous than he is.

quote:

The Child in the Basement
David Brooks
JAN. 12, 2015


Maybe you’re familiar with Ursula Le Guin’s short story, “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.” It’s about a sweet and peaceful city with lovely parks and delightful music.

The people in the city are genuinely happy. They enjoy their handsome buildings and a “magnificent” farmers’ market.

Le Guin describes a festival day with delicious beer and horse races: “An old woman, small, fat, and laughing, is passing out flowers from a basket, and tall young men wear her flowers in their shining hair. A child of nine or ten sits at the edge of the crowd, alone, playing on a wooden flute.”

It is an idyllic, magical place.

But then Le Guin describes one more feature of Omelas. In the basement of one of the buildings, there is a small broom-closet-sized room with a locked door and no windows. A small child is locked inside the room. It looks about 6, but, actually, the child is nearly 10. “It is feebleminded. Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition and neglect.”

Occasionally, the door opens and people look in. The child used to cry out, “Please let me out. I will be good!” But the people never answered and now the child just whimpers. It is terribly thin, lives on a half-bowl of cornmeal a day and must sit in its own excrement.

“They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas,” Le Guin writes. “Some of them have come to see it; others are content merely to know it is there. They all know it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children ... depend wholly on this child’s abominable misery.”

That is the social contract in Omelas. One child suffers horribly so that the rest can be happy. If the child were let free or comforted, Omelas would be destroyed. Most people feel horrible for the child, and some parents hold their kids tighter, and then they return to their happiness.

But some go to see the child in the room and then keep walking. They don’t want to be part of that social contract. “They leave Omelas; they walk ahead into the darkness and they do not come back.”

In one reading this is a parable about exploitation. According to this reading, many of us live in societies whose prosperity depends on some faraway child in the basement. When we buy a cellphone or a piece of cheap clothing, there is some exploited worker — a child in the basement. We tolerate exploitation, telling each other that their misery is necessary for overall affluence, though maybe it’s not.

In another reading, the story is a challenge to the utilitarian mind-set so prevalent today.

In theory, most of us subscribe to a set of values based on the idea that a human being is an end not a means. You can’t justifiably use a human being as an object. It is wrong to enslave a person, even if that slavery might produce a large good. It is wrong to kill a person for his organs, even if many lives might be saved.

And yet we don’t actually live according to that moral imperative. Life is filled with tragic trade-offs. In many different venues, the suffering of the few is justified by those trying to deliver the greatest good for the greatest number.

Companies succeed because they fire people, even if a whole family depends on them. Schools become prestigious because they reject people — even if they put a lifetime of work into their application. Leaders fighting a war on terror accidentally kill innocents. These are children in the basement of our survival and happiness.

The story compels readers to ask if they are willing to live according to those contracts. Some are not. They walk away from prosperity, and they make some radical commitment. They would rather work toward some inner purity.

The rest of us live with the trade-offs. The story reminds us of the inner numbing this creates. The people who stay in Omelas aren’t bad; they just find it easier and easier to live with the misery they depend upon. I’ve found that this story rivets people because it confronts them with all the tragic compromises built into modern life — all the children in the basements — and, at the same time, it elicits some desire to struggle against bland acceptance of it all.

In another reading, the whole city of Omelas is just different pieces of one person’s psychology, a person living in the busy modern world, and that person’s idealism and moral sensitivity is the shriveling child locked in the basement.

VideoTapir posted:

Uxzuigal posted:

Red Rising!