Art - by Harry Wareham

To the death of the humanities. Here, Here. - By Ellese Elliott

To the death of the humanities. Here, Here.

Over one billion years had passed.  Whole worlds had transformed and yet one question still haunted the mind,"How can one know what is real?"
This question was about to appear fleetingly for the last time in the year 2064; just before humans destroyed each other as they gave up their freedom to think.
This story is for the last of those thinkers and all that preceded them. Let their long endeavours not be in vein. 

Once upon a time, after man had ravaged the earth, two feral boys scavenged through the rubble, among other vermin, searching for something to eat. Another, Aaron stood watch for the 'Red Lights' (the police), who taxed the boys for any morsel of valuable scrap they had. Such was the world driven by greed. But the boys outwitted the Red Lights on most occasions and sold their scraps down the Traders Path for rarities such as fizzy pop. As Aaron stood watch, he gazed into the sky, which too had been destroyed. One could see only thick black dust. The sun was not seen, nor the moon; they had become mere myths. But that indistinct night, Aaron's eyes were shown something other than what he had ever seen, "Wow". A twinkle of green light shone down.
He immediately left his watchmen's post, wading through the waist deep rubble.

"Boys! Boys! Look up!"

"What?" the boys replied, anxious that the 'Red Lights' had spotted them.

"Up there!" But as Aaron pointed toward the skies nothing but a quilt of darkness could be seen. "I swear" Aaron said, "I saw the sun!"

 "The sun? The sun isn't real! That's just a story that the crazies tell. You want to join them - ay?" 

"But I did see it" Aaron replied, "It was amazing!" "Go back to your post A' and watch out for the Red Lights." Aaron returned to his post, confused. That night he looked up at the sky for hours, but there was nothing, nothing but a void.

"How can I know if the light was real?  How can I ever know if anything is real?"  In a black hole of doubt, Aaron gazed into the flashing neon fires of the Traders Path, as the destitute world around him collapsed into nothingness.

But Aaron did see it.

The green twinkle of light had beamed over one billion years from a planet, long ago destroyed, where the question of reality first appeared in a great mind. The mind of Assyria; the hunter of the Endoxon tribe.   
She stood nine feet tall, her metallic scales shimmered in the glow of the moons and her giant webbed feet allowed her to hunt along the sea bed, un-anounced. She sat on top of a rock, contemplating the still waters when something caught her eye.
The hunt was on! Assyria ran into the waters. Within seconds she spotted her target as she sprint along the sea bed. Her prey swimming for its life, but it wasn't enough as her claws speared the creature; dead. She dragged her kill back to the land and the Endoxon Tribe ate that night.

The next day Assyria headed back down to the waters where Thalassa wander in the shallows. Once, Thalassa was a great hunter, but struck by a bolt of lightning, lost her memory and thus forever wandered the seas, alone. Thalassa,  whispered through the sounds of the sea, "Do you think your memory can be trusted? Beware!" Before Assyria could ask Thalassa what she meant, Thalassa disappeared into the waters which echoed her message. For a while Assyria stood, thinking about what Thalassa had whispered, gazing into the green light of the moons.

That night, Assyria walked across the desert and returned to the Endoxon tribe.  When she returned Assyria found that the tribe had starved! Their once proud armoured bodies had turned into bone and dust.  From Assyria's feet the last cried, "Why have you left us for weeks without food Assyria, why?" then finally perished. But Assyria had brought them food only yesterday.   Had Thalassa's prophecy turned into a reality; had her memory not shown her what was real? Assyria ran. She ran across the deserted land and jumped  from the tops of a jagged cliff into the deep waters, Splash!

Underneath the rough tides was a quiet, blurry realm. Assyria walked along the sea floors, confused. She could no longer turn to the tribe to know what was real, nor her memory. Then, in the corner of her eye, Assyria saw silver wavering locks of hair. It was Thalassa. "Wait!" Assyria cried as she ran towards Thalassa, disturbing this murky underwater world with her presence. However as Assyria drew closer it was not Thalassa. "Enhumi?" Tall flowing sea grass rooted in a rock formation towered over Assyria who stood in disbelief. First her memory and now her eyes could not be trusted to show her what was real.         

Assyria walked deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean wracking her mind, constantly questioning whether her memory or her eyes deceived her. The pins of green light faded under the force of the water and no creature was strong enough to live. "How can I know if anything is real?"

Looking out there was nothing, nothing but Assyria and the void.

In reality everything can be doubted, destroyed and fragmented. Assyria's world had broken down both in her mind and around her. One billion years later, on a different planet a young boy, Aaron did the same. But what he was about to do that Assyria didn't was amazing, he created a new world. As he gazed into the flashing neon fires of the Traders Path, he questioned. Casting all things into the domain of the unreal he realized; how can a  thing be unreal? How can anything, including the green twinkle that showed itself to me not possess reality.  And with this thought,, a thought that rendered the distinction of real and unreal nonsensical, he recreated a different world.

The End 

By Ellese Elliott

In defence of Utilitarianism - By Lloyd Duddridge

In defence of Utilitarianism

Perfect the Will, the Mind, Feeling, their corporeal organs and their material tools; be useful to yourselves, to your own ones, and to others; and Happiness, insofar as it exists on this earth, will come of itself.
- Bolesław Prus


The greatest happiness for the greatest number. On a instinctual level this appears to make sense. However Utilitarianism has faced many challenges from the philosophical community. They say that it undermines the idea of individual justice. That the idea would seemingly condemn an innocent individual if it suited the whims of the mob. That also seems instinctively correct, justice is not a numbers game, its not a mathematical equation. They also say that one persons conception of happiness, is not the same as another's,so how could happiness be seen in such general terms? They also say that it is bloody hard to spell. This final objection I concede to the prosecution. However it is the previous two objections that I wish to defend Utilitarianism against.
The first objection is usually formed by using an example such as this: Imagine a single man that holds views that are not dangerous,but make the mob angry. Now under simple Utilitarian argument the mob are entitled to do what they want with the man who makes them unhappy. The reason they are able to do this is their collective happiness,seemingly outweighs the happiness of the individual. Thus things such as gang rape,would be permissible. So how could Utilitarianism respond to such a damning objection?
I would argue that it could say this in response. Justice is a bedrock upon which most peoples happiness lies. Now the mob may seem the larger group in the example outlined. However the even greater number is the group that believe in justice. Thus in committing an unjust action, you are committing an action, that in the longer term would bring about greater unhappiness. The question of justice can be thrown back at the critics of utilitarianism. Does justice bring about the greatest happiness in the greatest number? The answer is seemingly yes. Thus it appears that even concepts go through the process of utilitarian judgement. We disregard injustice for the simple reason that it fails the utilitarian test. This is the simple answer to those who say that utilitarianism will always lead to unjust situations. The evidence is that all concepts we hold in either positive or negative go through a process of utilitarian testing. So if justice is utilitarian,how can utilitarianism be unjust?
The second objection is that utilitarianism is too general. One persons happiness is not another's. This is a point that I concede, but it is one that I feel can be overcome. This is because I feel that we must approach ethics and morality in a different way. We must see morals as useful myths. They may not hold in all possible universes,they may not be god given. However they are still vital to human life. They are myths given to us,in order to give us rules for action. They are bed time stories but no less important for that. Now if we see ethics as an individual call for action, what could be a better lessons for action than, you should act in a way you think will bring about the greatest happiness for the greatest number?
How can you understand other peoples happiness they will ask. I would answer that we should not view action as something that happens blind,and arbitrarily. We act after experiment, after seeing what works for people. We can do things such as ask others what makes them happy. Action does not happen in a vacuum. Or rather it should not happen in a vacuum. This is the difference between intelligent action, and unintelligent action. So how can we understand other peoples happiness? A good start may be by asking them what makes them happy. Communication and language make utilitarianism possible. Thankfully these are two tools that human beings possess.
So in summary. Happiness is increased by concepts such as justice. Thus utilitarianism rather than being the ethical school of the unjust, becomes the province where justice is taken most seriously. We do not value justice because it is our duty to value justice, we value justice because it makes us happy. Thus gang rape is not permitted under utilitarian logic, for it undermines justice and thus undermines happiness. Additionally we must see ethics as rules of action. Man made rules, rules that can be questioned, but vital rules none the less. Now can there be a rule that can be improved upon than this: When you act, act to increase the greatest happiness for the greatest number? I would argue there is not. However all ethical rules will only work if we do not make ourselves into islands. We must communicate with each other. We must ask other questions on just what they value,for we value that which makes us happy. It on this remark that I rest my defence for utilitarianism.

By Lloyd Duddridge

We Don't Own Our Bodies - by David McDonagh

We Don't Own Our Bodies

Give me the names and addresses

of citizens who don’t exist

then try with all your damndest might

to slap them on the wrist

teach their fake lives important lessons

about morals imaginary

permit them to relocate their enlightened lives

to places, though unreal, sanitary

For these lowly, miserable invisible souls

the state shall regard remorse

and with a resounding slap across their ears

changed minds will be forced

give them the spin in the printed press

these citizens who don’t exist

when they cast their vote for a fake candidate

their losses will not be missed

Send brigades that really aren’t there

to extinguish their unfortunate fires

and though there aren’t actually any problems

interference is what the state requires

send me those names, send them right now!

give them all to me

the maintenance of delusional people who don’t exist

is the essence of democracy

by David McDonagh

Still in the womb - By Selim 'Cynical Bastard' Talat

Still in the womb

You thought you had left the womb behind but this was very much a lie. You left *a* womb, yes, but not wombs altogether. You came out, covered in blood, severed from your physical mother, but now the womb you inhabit is one of ideology, religion, whatever. You were forced out of one womb, and clambered willingly back into another! Your umbilical cord is made invisible to you for habit, but look down at your belly and see it; handle it with your clammy paws and make it real in your mind. You are submerged in all manner of juices, fed from outside of yourself. Sadly, the gender-non-specific parent carrying you is probably hitting the booze and fags quite hard, so all of that information colouring the world view you have already decided to maintain could well be poison. Who knows? (and the one who knows, should they care?)

This is not a one-child-per-tummy job. You are joined by millions of people submerged into the same idea (or their version of it perhaps, but they will have a lot in common with you). Some of your fellows you can see, some of those people are abstract numbers on the internet or occupying some distant geography, some of those people are heroes who wrote books about this idea. Nonetheless they are all made real by your clutching after them.

Everyone else is unthinking. And they must be unchoosing, for they have not chosen what you have chosen. Remember that the neo/nouveau/pretentious jargon-womb must be climbed into; you cannot end up in an ideas belly by force; it cannot wrap tentacles around you and suck you through its gender-non-specific genitals! Thus, the strength of other people outside your womb is misled and becomes a blight on the meta-narrative of humanity; everyone else outside of your idea is an unthinking enemy to be feared. Those brainless not-you's are powerful springs pulled back by habit and animal desire, and they will burst out and lash whatever they strike. Poor fools  (go and save them ye evangelists).

You think that because you entertain the possibility that you are imbibing intellectual poison that this somehow vindicates you of any chance of being wrong - token resistance! What exactly are your real motives for believing in a "better" world? Dare to find them if you will: Guilt, weakness, fear - these things colour your utopian discourse. Guilt for being born on the right side of the tracks. Weakness for not being able to compete with powerful men (who do not question but merely act and devour anything in their path). Fear of what would happen if you were actually able to take power; fear of responsibility (sneering guffaw!).

Still, it's more dignified to be a foetus than a worthless sceptic. I don't know about you, but I'd much rather be...still in the womb! (punchline)

By Selim 'Cynical Bastard' Talat

Hands

 

Hands (plural),

my hands (also plural);

there’s two of them:

extensions from the same one trunk,

but also not hands,

also skin, hair

and bones I can’t see,

and blood I infer

from the swollen veins

of a languid summer tryst.

Hands but also tools

to tie, press, grasp, hold;

moving tools; climbing tools;

tools to turn things over

and make sense.

Hands but symbols also:

semaphores for the deaf,

a thumbs up and a clap.

Instruments for appreciative sounds,

together,

for anger slapped down

on a hard wood table.

 

Hands but also roots

for digging into the world;

lines of communication

for my sense, perception.

Digits on which I count

1, 2, 3, 4…

Palms on which I rest the coconut.

Hands but also evidence

of time:

of ageing, eating, that last cigarette

lingers on the fingers

Hands but also biographies:

the one broken page book of our lives;

an afterthought of DNA.

We say hands

but know the language fails us

and leaves us wanting

for imprecision,

so when I take your hand in mine

know, it makes so much more

than simply hands.

Simon Leake

Hands by Harry Wareham

How many more will desire destroy? - By Selim 'Selim' Talat

How many more will desire destroy?

The swirling vortex of desire forever threatens to suck us into its eye and toss our shattered hulls hurtling through the sky to collapse back into the amoral waves.

If you were asked to summarize the strongest element of human nature in a word, you would be making a wise decision to reply 'desire'. To be human is to desire. Yet before we open up this artery of thought, let me try and define the word desire in philosophical terms.

Desire comes before choice. It has to. We cannot choose to desire something. Desire is a reactive, pulling force to some material object external to us. At the same time, we have inside us machinery that allows us to desire in the first place. So, desire is a longing for something outside of us, that exists in addition to the ability to choose (and is not necessarily stronger than choice), and we have a natural inclination toward this desire. In other words, desire is the product of an emptiness inside, constantly provoked by some external force.

But why does desire destroy some people and not others? What force inside a person makes them more resistant to desire than another? Should we be more resistant to desire? Are the happiest among us not the ones who allow themselves to be carried along by this force?

What does Desire do to us?

Desire does not relate to happiness, but to satiation. The anticipation of desires fulfilment is itself what the body remembers when it nostalgically fantasizes over its past pleasures. In effect, the greater the speed at which desire can be satiated, the less satisfying the satiation of that desire, yet the more seductive the fulfillment of that desire (the easier it is to access a desire, the less pleasure it will bring, yet the very fact that this desire can be easily satiated makes it a more hounding force).

Desire is a habitual force, engrained in us. The desires we have become an essential part of our identities, regardless of how detrimental they are. To try and overcome a desire, therefore, is to shed part of what binds us together. Every morning we slip back into our identities and seek after our goals - often that goal is the satiation of some desire. Quite simply put, desire gives us something to do. Without this busy chase after the tail-of-want, we would forever question how it would have felt to have caught it, and this feeling cannot be extinguished.

Many religions are littered with examples of asceticism (denying oneself the fulfilment of material desire). These romantic religions are damned to self-pity: By recognising fulfilment of desire as pleasure and then denying it, the religious figure is asking to be looked upon as a sacrificer. Yet this ascetic is just as empty as someone forever trying fill the 'leaky vessel' of want with the 'clichéd metaphorical water of satiation'. Denial of something is nothing to build ones personality upon. Polarizing oneself with the greater mass, and thinking oneself good for not participating in something is a negative means of defining oneself. The faith in God/nirvana that monks/nuns supposedly seek in the place of material fulfilment is just as much a whimsical dream. Asceticism - it's a load of bollocks!

The religious drives away from the material world will never succeed anyhow - the power of something shiny and plastic will win over "higher spiritual goals" every-time. The only way to overcome the endless tugging, clutching at things beyond us is not to play holier-than-thou, but to argue that those desires would never lead to happiness in the first place - thus we are not denying ourselves by turning away from mass consumption, we are actually approving of ourselves (for what should replace endless outward desire, but a philosophic introspection and the cultivation of ones own creativity; yet this is the seed of another article).

If each mastered their own desires, what would happen?

It is foolish to be arrogant. We all have desires we succumb to, be it sex, lust for power, food, gadgets, war-gaming miniatures and so on. The question is not whether humanity can escape its desiring doom, the question is to what extent humanity will limit the damage it does to itself and its surroundings.

Desire overrides a persons moral codes; it overwhelms the barricades a person has prepared against the impending flood. It drives people to act in an irrational way. It cuts off understanding of cause and effect, it blinds us to consequences.

If everyone we lived with was able to understand and to some extent control their desires, then our world as we knew it would cease to function. The foolish neo-peasantry, forever running upon the treadmill of work would have nothing driving them to perform tedious, machinate and/or physically demanding tasks if they did not have some trivial reward to pursue. We live in a society where being wise with power would lead to its collapse - thrift would clog the engines of civilization and the walls will crumble. Desire, on a wider scale, is the only thing maintaining the alienating, miserable (yet sadly necessary) experience individuals have of consumerism. Only as an individual can one duck out of this seductive (but ultimately fruitless) game, and live ones selfish life free from shopping malls, pointless purchases, and fast foods.

For the greater masses to wake up and realize they are living a lie is too terrifying a change for one to comprehend, far less wish for.

By Selim 'Selim' Talat

The Philosophy Tales - Grandpa Will - By Ellese Elliott

The Philosophy Tales - Grandpa Will

One murky night, deep inside a village, Grandpa Will sat in his dusty old chair warming his socks by the fire.   It was a cold night, colder than usual.  The wind outside howled, the vines on the trees whipped the window pane and every so often you would hear a swarm of bats shrieking and flurry past the front door.  Grandpa Will was just nodding off, his mouth wide open when he heard a creak. His head turned in an instant. Grabbing his walking stick, embellished with skulls, he slowly crept toward where the sound came from, ready to strike.

He felt his heart beating in his mouth and his knees knocked together as he saw a tall shadow stretch around the corners of the living room. 

“Grandpa, I can’t sleep.” Little Lois had stumbled out of bed “Will you tell me one of your stories, please” she begged.  Grandpa Will let out a sigh of relief and sat back down in the same chair that he had for over one hundred years. A cloud of dust filled the air as he slumped down letting out a heaving cough “ergll cough cough cough erlg cough.” He placed his stick back down beside the fire and said in a coarse voice:

            “Come and sit by the fire Lois. I will tell you a story. It begins on a cold murky night, just –like- this one.”

As she sat by the fire little Lois asked, “What’s that key?” pointing to around his neck.  Grandpa Will ignored Lois and continued...

In the early hours of darkness, in a far away land, the wind howled and hail assailed the slopes of Mount Kismet. Only lit by the light of the moon, one could see a crazed scientist hiking up the mountain dragging a huge sledge of wrangled scrap.  All the villagers who dwelt below Mount Kismet knew the story of the crazed scientist, who every night trawled the mountain dragging his supplies, but no one had ever spoken to him. Some said he was lonely, others just thought he was wild, but a word to the wise, he was in fact- a genius.

That night he stumbled, at the peak of the mountain into his cave in a mad frenzy.  His work was nearly complete!

 For seventy three years the scientist had been working on ‘Project Automaton’. This project spawned out of a fateful night when wife Amelia, whilst searching for supplies for her husband, tripped and plummeted from Mount Kismet. That night she gave up her ghost and with it went the scientist’s sanity.

He had captured her ghost in a small, peculiar jar that bared an ancient symbol, the Ouroborus; The ‘eternal return’.          

The scientist believed that if he built a machine that replicated his wife he could breathe her ghost into the machine and she would come back to life.

 Tonight he added the last part to his machine.

 It was ready!

 Many scientists before him had laughed, “How stupid” they would say, “Every one knows you can’t bring a robot to life” and “Every one knows there is no such things as ghosts.” But this was the moment and he was about to find out if you can bring a machine to life.

He took the peculiar looking jar from the shelf and unscrewed the top. A whiff of perfume filled his nostrils. It was her.

 He locked his lips around the jar and he inhaled deeply inward, sucking every last drop of her ghost out of the jar. For a moment his heart felt warm. He then placed his lips over the machines and breathed out so hard he collapsed to the ground.

Feeling nostalgic from the perfume and a little light headed he pulled himself up and opened his eyes.

“And what do you think he saw?” Grandpa Will asked.

Little Lois shrugged.

The machine lay down in the same position as before and the ghost floated out of the cave towards the skies.

The scientist frantically grabbed the jar and ran out onto the mountains. He must catch her. The hail was hitting hard, the conditions were slippery. “Amelia” he shouted “Come back, come back!”

He jumped over great heights defying death over and over. How could he have been wrong, why didn’t she come back? He approached the very top of the mountain and he had her ghost in sight. He leaned over the edge, desperately reaching out.

Then the rocks became unsteady from underneath his feet and the scientist tumbled down Mount Kismet rolling and bashing into rock after rock, continuously being beaten by the hail.

From the ground he gazed up – he gave one last whimper as he saw her ghost float into space and cried a single tear.

All that he had hoped for, worked for and longed for had evaporated. The crazed scientist felt beaten and his heart broken. He looked down and saw that was not the only thing broken. 

Protruding from the torn flesh was not blood covered bone, but sparks of electricity and twisted metal. He was a robot.

After all this time, was what he had tried to prove in front of him? Was he the real ghost in the machine?

The hail turned to rain.

By this time little Lois had fallen sound asleep; sure enough dreaming of her own stories she will one day tell to her grandchildren. Grandpa Will pulled a blanket over her shoulders and kissed her on the head. Grabbing his stick he walked wearily over to the far side of the room where he unveiled a box bearing a familiar symbol- the ouroboros. He removed the key from around his neck and after many years passed opened the box. As he peaked inside, a tiny beam of light sat in the box, it was her  Grandpa Will opened a window and uttered the words “I love you”- before softly blowing the last part of Amelia’s ghost into the sky.

 He cried a single tear and then he finally fell asleep.

The End 

By Ellese Elliott

Art by Harry Wareham

The Sentient Rubik’s Cube

We sometimes like to perceive the world as an objective reality, but what if we were that objective reality to a subjective world that actually perceives us? What if it is us (who boldly like to make the claim of being empiricists) that actually were the experience to a rational ‘thinking’ and subjective world? Maybe David Hume’s argument regarding the problem of induction and the limitations of Knowledge could possibly fall down to the probability that we are nothing more than an object such as a Rubik’s cube that is manipulated into presenting different colours. These colours could be representatives of beliefs, ideologies, religious beliefs to emotions such as happiness and sadness. Just as we would like to believe that we are turning a Rubik’s Cube to find the right combination, it is the world that turns us in order to complete the puzzle.

As the saying goes ‘you have to try to think outside of the box,’ well maybe we are a box! What I mean by this is that we can detect an external presence (being the “objective” world), and as we can detect ‘it,’ it also detect us. Therefore, if the world were to be a ‘rational thinker’ and we were nothing more than a historical development for the world to experience, then surely this might explain just as an experience does not last forever, we also do not last forever and in fact we have more in common with experiences than the rational world has with us. The world is constantly in motion and yet we are not and the world, quite obviously, has a robust mechanism that must be rational as we are constantly pursuing empirical data to find some form of rational argument to prove our theories.

If we were supposed to be rational agents, we need not look around the corner to see what we could find, we would know just what was round the corner as we would be rational agents and who else but the world should know their body better than anyone to know just what is round the corner? I think it may be fair to suggest that maybe we are not philosophers at all and could be nothing more than literature that the world studies in order to shape a better future and a better world. We are made up of words after-all!

Sean Ash

Untitled

I live in one moment by likely default

perched from the surface of a granule of salt

not gazing not blaming for all who take fault

in the pleasure of enormity

not professing our infancy

until we’ve all seen it

and can agree.

I live in one body, I do not possess

but somehow I do perceive my chemical dress

and perch to observe one growing nest

in the groans of desire

sugary envy to perspire

until we’ve all seen it

and may inquire.

I live in one mind written by men

perched from the summit of one gallant pen

drunk near the litter of their community den

in the gossip of black ink

pooled into one celestial sink

until we’ve all seen it

and then think.

David McDonagh