The expanding moral circles and the possibility for moral universality

We are accustomed to assume reason drives human agency. We think we understand the difference between feelings and reason, firmly standing on the Enlightenment ideals that forged humanism, the relentless driving force towards progress. Through human history, our moral circles have expanded; today we bring to the spotlight moral issues that were invisible in the past. Take, for example, the ongoing debate on the pay gap between women and men at the workplace, or the intensive campaigning against bullying. Fifty years ago, women could not even vote in many countries (Switzerland was the last European country to extend the right to vote in 1971), today the right is seen as universal and a no-brainer even in developing countries. Similarly, bullying in schools was common practice in the 60s, seen as natural and unavoidable in every school playground. Then, it was normal to target the weaklings and make them endure being mocked, ostracized, and humiliated, it was just part of school life. Today, we are quick to denounce the abusers and exhibit bullies to show why is wrong. It makes perfect sense to us to watch news on bullying making the headlines, and we see fixing bullying at school as an urgent issue for which we cannot give in if we are to stand for sane and healthy children. Fifty years ago, news reports on bullying or the male-female pay gap would be considered nearly a joke, entirely absent from our moral sensitivity.

This moral evolution is undeniable and has made inroads everywhere we look around. Our moral compass has become increasingly sensitive, from championing animal rights to environmentalism. Today, we start to challenge the judgement passed by religion or tradition, when Human Rights are vulnerated or come in conflict with human flourishing. Yet, to be fair, the barrier today seems to be right there. For the most, we are still rooted in our respective cultures and assume ourselves not qualified to judge if practices within a given culture are questionable, in the spirit of the universality of cultures, cultural relativism, and the self-determination of states, much of it heritage of post-modernist thinking.

But nothing is static. The moral circle will likely continue to expand, trascending tradition and religion. The real underlying question is whether an universal morality will emerge. Several philosophers envisage such morality based on the simplest of principles: the minimisation of suffering of any being or entity, starting with Humankind as a whole, then extensible to all living beings and the environment we live in. How would that come to be? Imagine religions to universally decay (developed economies show a slow but steady decay in number of believers) and be superseded by the principle of human flourishing, naturally extensible to animals, plants, and the environment. For this to happen, a necessary condition is the forces of tradition, tribalism, and self-righteousness to be played down and conquered. These counteracting forces are part of our human nature, built in the deepest part of our minds by evolution to maximise our ability to pass on our gene pools to the next generation. To this end, an important variable to imagine moral universality is multiplying and sustaining our ability to flourish and decrease suffering, which shall allow for the rest of Humankind to see its benefits and move forward. History has shown that thinking about the wellness of others comes always after self and kin: you are not likely to care for others if you are starving or in distress.

It is hard to tell whether the process of universal moralisation will overcome the apparent permanence of the evolutive forces driving self-interest and tribalist thinking. Yet, the advance to recognize the rights of others in the last century has moved at a pace that allows for entertaining the conjecture of moral universality.

Recommended reading: 

The Better Angels of Our Nature and Enlightenment Now, both by S. Pinker

The Moral Landscape by Sam Harris

The Righteous Mind by J. Haidt

Rotterdam, April 2018

Short thought on running long distances

A very busy September. Not a chance to do much in the weekend other than preparing suitcases and rushing to Schiphol. A month that started in full recovery sleeping in a camping, after running the TDS and finishing in one piece. It’s a pity I don’t keep a written record of the races I do, because without a doubt I have learned something new every time, simply because every race comes with unique circumstances, in the given mental and physical state I happen to be when I get there. 

While I always feel deep respect for the ultras I run (I believe I never take them lightly), having completed in May the 120 km of Transylvania 100 right under 32 h felt like the real feat of the year, considering the difficulty of the race and the state of my preparation, which was far from what I originally intended. To be fair, the black bears groaning in the woods and my continuous concern for marauding wolves was also a factor to weigh in the motivation to move forward! Back to my point, I have little special and lasting memories of this TDS, the race itself, I mean. I recall the effort, I always do, yet this time it feels less persistent. The views, for example, a typical highlight for every race, were not especially memorable. If I try to use a single word to summarise the race, I would use fatigue. It’s fatigue what didn’t allow me to sustain the effort, feeling every time obliged to nap to recover the drive to continue (I napped three times!). It didn’t come as a surprise I finished with the back of the pack. Another important factor was starting in the back a race that only a few kilometres later goes on a demanding single track, creating instantaneous runner jams. But let us not be distracted by the race itself, which may (or not) get discussed elsewhere in the future. What I want to rescue from this race is meeting really good company. Two runners with the same name: Arnaud (what are the odds?). Much of the credit for allowing this fortuitous encounter goes to the little and mighty woman running the camping. A Swiss-French lady who after learning I was signed in for the race, immediately suggested to pair with other two runners who were planning to reach the start line using their own vehicle. Coincidentally, right after checking in, I came across the first Arnaud, a man I immediately felt spontaneous and affable, an original of Brittany, a region I always associate with good living and friendly people. We agreed to meet later in the evening to explore the possibility to get a ride to the start line (the car belonged to the other Arnaud, from Besançon). Initially I didn’t feel I wanted to be a burden and mess up their own planning, as I am very used to solve my own problems. The friendliness I was struck with made me reconsider their kind offer. We met briefly, I got introduced to the other Arnaud, then we agreed to depart 3:30 AM sharp. I won’t describe in detail the rest of the race, as I am more interested in exploring what I learned from them after it. 

Now the setting is the camping grounds, a few hours after the race. We all feel like rusty metal work: stiff and unnatural. It’s cloudy, soon rain will shower the camping, forcing us to group under the small space in the tent one could intuitively name the apéro zone. After realising the wasted effort setting a clothes’ line in this weather represents, Arnaud-Besancon announces he is likely to depart earlier than planned (we all had planned to stay over the weekend to follow the progress of UTMB). We sat squeezing in the tent, had a beer and shared a bag of cashews and some shattered chips that made it this far. I enjoy the spontaneous familiarity of their company. They went on to finish the race together, enjoying the pace, both are very experienced runners, they finished under 27 h without much of an effort. We share our impressions, everything is as familiar as it can get when one has gone through the same transformative experience of running 120 km of the same track, non-stop. The rain ceased and we made way to Chamonix to redeem our coupons for free beer and free dinner offered in the city centre. Dinner is enjoyable, sharing the table with other finishers and staff, although the typical sleepiness strikes every time the stomach receives food and proceeds to recover using the ingested nutrients. The day after one Arnaud departed and with the other Arnaud I resolved to go for lunch. He booked a table at a well-known Italian restaurant. Hélène, another finisher who had dinner with us the night before, joined us for lunch too. It is during this time that I learn from them and absorb their viewpoints, with the clarity of mind offered by a glass of cold beer followed by ruby red wine and a very decent pizza.

Simply put, I see ultra running as a personal endeavour, a goal one sets to complete with the time and circumstances that are given, in which a good component of impredictable luck and learning is always involved. I see it also as a journey of introspection where one sets his own limits and then systematically pushes them (or fails in the attempt).  This is not necessarily at odds with making contact with others, I do it myself often during the race, yet most of the times I tend to refrain from doing it. The idea of overwhelming others restrains my approach. I fear I may be disrupting their concentration and balance. This is more or less the opposite Arnaud feels. He is an interesting example of the exact opposite: he once discovered he needs to pair with another runner to picture each other crossing the finish line. An odd thought if you will, an honour and a responsibility in any case! He reportedly draws energy and motivation from pushing and supporting each other. He first identifies the runner, often by the random workings of chitchatting, other times by circumstance (being at the same impasse or experiencing similar feelings). So far, this special bonding has only happened to him with other men. The other Arnaud makes no distinction for this bonding, being able to connect with all people. I must say I like the idea, I feel it draws an irresistible parallelism with the definition of introvert/extrovert, one such dimension being whether you produce/process energy from the contact with others or by drawing from within your own self. I am yet to test finding the connection in the collective and drawing energy and motivation from the interaction with other runners. That is not something I am used to, even my training is solo, and I must say I like it that way, I like to think I find myself when I run long distances. Is this strange ‘finding the flow’ that kicks in and offers a different, refreshing perspective of the self. At least that is what I like to believe.

For the record: running a 127 km ultra trial and staying in a tent is probably not the most comfortable way to get to the start line fresh. I arrived late to the camp, walked 5 km under the scorching sun with 30 kg on the back, set the tent, went back to Chamonix to collect the number, cooked dinner back in the camp, prepared the kit, then went to bed. Needless to say it was very late by the time I went into the sleeping bag, and that I was more than exhausted and did not sleep well. Woke up 2:30 am knowing that was not going to make it for enough rest. After leaving to Chamonix at 3:30 to take the shuttle to Courmayeur, it was impossible to get some rest. Once in the Centre Sportif at Courmayeur I tried to get some rest, but the inminent departure and anxiety always makes it impossible, besides, good luck trying to sleep wearing all the gear and sleeping on the cold floor, surrounded by runners stumbling upon you every time. After only 12 h of race I was yawning, after 18 h I really needed a nap and started to see my performance plummet. I napped after 22 h and then again after 26 h, I really needed to rest. It’s a pity, I could have done better. Next time come one full day earlier to the camp to get everything together and have plenty of time to get installed. For the rest, I really enjoyed sleeping in a tent and using the camping grounds. I met interesting people and spent more time close to nature. It was not that difficult to recover after the race, despite sleeping on hard ground. I did not appreciate the terrible weather for three full days, but I still felt it was worth trying it again. Will try to come back soon! Chamonix, despite the tacky feeling it gets as soon as you step out of the train, can still lure you to come back every year... 

Rotterdam, September 2017

Versiones

A raiz de escuchar con el rabo de la oreja una version del cuarteto de cuerdas numero 7 de Shostakovich en Radio 4 (la holandesa), tocada por el Cuarteto Ebonit, me entro la curiosidad y me puse a buscar otras cosas de onda similar. Me gustan las transcripciones, son refrescantes. Transmiten sonoridad nueva, ofrecen un ángulo distinto, casi siempre mas extenso. Es curioso que a pesar de ser reducciones --por ejemplo, una sinfonía reducida a una partitura para piano a cuatro manos-- siguen siendo expansivas. Supongo eso sucede porque se entienden desde una construccion conocida que inevitablemente se enriquece.

La busqueda me trajo a esta versión. Es un clip de un show dominguero holandes que me gusta y que a veces veo, cuando no estoy corriendo. Porque si hay un dia que corro religiosamente, es el domingo por la manana.

Otra version que me gusto fue esta del tercer movimiento de la primera sinfonia de Mahler, transcrita para cuarteto de clarinetes.y tocada por el Cuarteto de Clarinetes Amsterdam Nuevo (chafísima traducción de Nieuw Amsterdams Klarinet Kwartet). El clip viene de un festival muy cotorro donde tocan en lugares insospechados de Amsterdam. En este caso es la cocina de una antigua prision. Otras sedes pueden ser la habitacion de alguna casa o un parque o un subterráneo. Algun dia contare acerca de los conciertos en sedes inusuales que me ha tocado presenciar, creo que vale la pena.

Para terminar, el paseo por las transcripciones, un ejemplo mas. El YouTube me llevo a una version de la Rapsodia en blue de Gershwin y pues la tuve que escuchar. Escuchar la rapsodia tambien me recordo un poema de Jose Hierro, de su Cuaderno de Nueva York. Ese va si:

Con su video, la rapsodia es para orquesta, este es otra vez otro cuarteto de clarinetes.

Y mejor no nos metemos a las transcripciones para piano, porque empezamos tarde con la lista. En la coleccion de Naxos hay una seleccion de la musica de Brahms transcrita al piano a cuatro manos. Son diecisiete volúmenes. Creo que desde por ahi del 2010 ya no han sacado nuevos. Entre mis favoritos están el Requiem Aleman, la primera sinfonia y el primer concierto para piano. Lastima que no halle nada similar salvo la cuarta sinfonia enterita tocada por unas japonesas.

Visiblemente el tema da para mucho, asi que lo vamos a dejar de ese tamano por ahora.