Homeostasis

I first encountered the word homeostasis in the context of psychology. Later I discovered that it has more to do with biology.

Organisms seek homeostasis. They «want» to return to an ideal level of electrolytes, blood sugar or whatever, when these deviate from that ideal. To this end, they have feedback loops analogous to the thermostats and ball-cocks that regulate our room temperatures and water levels. I imagine psychology comes into the behavioural and emotional side of this search for homeostasis.

Incidentally I watched a video recently that advocated an emotional golden mean. A psychologist argued that you shouldn’t seek positive states of mind such as passion and enthusiasm. Rather you should aim for a neutral state, like the mindset you have prior to brushing your teeth. You’re not enthusiastic about brushing them, but neither are you antagonistic. You just do it. And, what’s more, you do it consistently day after day. This is the key to achieving your goals, she said.

The coverage and discussion of the UK’s general election prompted me to write this post. Most ordinary people don’t think much about politics, and their knowledge is sketchy. On the other hand a minority are obsessed with it, to the extent that it defines who they are. This minority includes politicians, keyboard warriors and, to a lesser extent, journalists. I’m somewhere in between. At times I get caught up in the political drama. At other times I’m aloof.

In my view, politics – like other mundanities such as plumbing and waste disposal – is a means to achieve societal homeostasis rather than collective rapture. Good governance – like good plumbing – won’t make you happy. But if you don’t have good plumbing – or governance – you’ll be somewhat unhappy. Political obsessives, on the other hand, don’t see it that way. For them politics is a highway to the promised land. The angrier sort remind me of Bertrand Russell’s words in The Conquest of Happiness (1930):

But not infrequently a man will engage in activities of which the purpose is destructive without regard to any construction that may come after. Frequently he will conceal this from himself by the belief that he is only sweeping away in order to build afresh, but it is generally possible to unmask this pretence, when it is a pretence, by asking him what the subsequent construction is to be. On this subject it will be found that he will speak vaguely and without enthusiasm, whereas on the preliminary destruction he has spoken precisely and with zest. This applies to not a few revolutionaries and militarists and other apostles of violence. They are actuated, usually without their own knowledge, by hatred; the destruction of what they hate is their real purpose, and they are comparatively indifferent to the question of what is to come after it.

So their happiness (and unhappiness) is tied up in politics – or the revolution. But how will they live their lives when they get what they want? They’ll be the dog that caught up with the bus.

Suppose you acquire the perfect floor, walls, ceiling, diet, body, plumbing. What will you do with your life now that it has a perfect backdrop and container? How will it profit you? Will you read better books, bake a better cake, write a better novel, or develop a theory of everything?

Take the current culture wars. Many people are materially better off than the silent and pre-silent generations. They already have the basics, so they’re looking for a new political product that promises non-material happiness. The flavour of the cultural water they swim in means more to them even than potholes or the NHS. They’re prepared to become poorer to win this war: to cut off their noses to spite their faces. Many are more interested in personalities than policies – albeit those personalities are charlatans. Perhaps they sense that the «plumbing» of society isn’t going to bring them joy, no matter how good it is.

Could AI replace me on WordPress?

If you live in the UK or follow UK politics you may know that we have a General Election coming up on 04 July 24. You may also know that things are looking bad for the Tories in the polls. Rishi Sunak left the D-Day celebrations in Normandy early – to do a TV interview – and that didn’t go down at all well. He’d disrespected the veterans and alienated the very voters the party wants to woo – or so they said. The Tories’ rival far-right party Reform couldn’t believe their luck.

Now although I’m no fan of the Tories I felt moved to blog about the faux outrage generated by Sunak’s D-Day blunder – but it was too late for me to start writing, so I went to bed. Then, as happens most nights, I woke at about 2 am with ideas popping up in my brain – so I thought I’d better jot them down before I forgot them. I grabbed the nearest piece of paper and you can see the results in the image above. This scrappy document lay on my desk untouched for a couple of days – then an idea occurred to me: suppose I give it to ChatGPT and let it write the post? So I took the photo above and used the following prompt:

• Write a 500-word blog post based on the words in the image.

And ChatGPT produced this:

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The Illusion of Outrage: Unpacking the Phenomenon of Faux Anger in Modern Society

In an era where information is abundant and connectivity is constant, a peculiar social phenomenon has emerged: the prevalence of faux outrage. The term «faux outrage» refers to the simulation of anger or moral indignation, often displayed more for social optics rather than genuine concern. This modern-day theatrical performance is characterized by a pattern where «nobody cares themselves, but everybody assumes other people care.»

The ubiquity of social media platforms has amplified this behavior, turning trivial matters into perceived crises. This spectacle of outrage is often less about the issue at hand and more about the perception and optics surrounding it. It becomes a game of appearances where the primary concern is how actions are viewed by others, rather than their intrinsic merit.

A closer look reveals that this faux outrage is not a product of genuine concern but a reaction to the belief that «other people care». This cycle creates a domino effect where each individual’s response is influenced by the presumed reactions of others, perpetuating a collective illusion of concern. In this digital age, where algorithms amplify the most engaging content, outrage, whether real or feigned, becomes a tool to garner attention.

The script of faux outrage often follows a predictable pattern. Initially, an issue is highlighted, often sensationalized to provoke a reaction. This is followed by a flurry of social media activity where people express their indignation. However, beneath the surface, a critical examination reveals that «nobody cares what anybody does». The performative nature of this outrage becomes evident when the fervor dissipates as quickly as it arose, replaced by the next trending topic.

One of the underlying drivers of faux outrage is the need for social validation. The act of participating in this collective display of indignation serves to signal one’s moral or intellectual stance, seeking approval from peers. This behavior can often be patronizing, as it assumes a moral high ground while implicitly suggesting that those not participating are indifferent or complicit.

Moreover, this phenomenon can be manipulated to achieve specific ends. Public figures, influencers, and even corporations can stoke faux outrage to distract from more pressing issues or to shift public focus. The ensuing frenzy diverts attention, creating a smokescreen that obscures underlying problems.

A critical consequence of this performative anger is the desensitization to genuine issues. When outrage is constantly manufactured and consumed, it diminishes the capacity for real empathy and concern. The repetitive cycle of rising and falling indignation creates a numbness, making it difficult to distinguish between what truly matters and what is merely an optical illusion.

In navigating this landscape, it is essential to develop a discerning eye. Recognizing the difference between genuine concern and performative outrage requires critical thinking and a willingness to look beyond the surface. It involves questioning the motivations behind the outrage and examining the substance of the issues at hand.

In conclusion, the spectacle of faux outrage is a reflection of a society caught in a loop of perceived concern, driven more by social optics than genuine empathy. As we continue to navigate the digital age, it is crucial to be mindful of this phenomenon, ensuring that our responses and actions are rooted in authenticity rather than the illusion of concern. Only then can we break free from the cycle of performative indignation and focus on what truly matters.

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The above impressed me when I first read it. The AI has managed to decipher my handwriting and identify my main theme: faux outrage.

Its first paragraph expands on another of my points: nobody cares themselves, but everybody assumes other people care. I doubt any of the commentators felt any outrage themselves, but they assumed other people would. They’d worked themselves up into a frenzy about how Sunak’s misstep would appear to others.

In the fourth paragraph the AI has tried to weave in my phrase «nobody cares what anybody does» – but I hadn’t intended to deploy it in the way the AI has done. Rather I’d wanted to point out that people don’t care much about other people’s blunders. They’re just thankful it wasn’t them that screwed up – and if they’re honest they can probably imagine doing something similar if they were distracted and took their eye off the ball.

Faux outrage cannot, of course, acknowledge this.

In the fifth paragraph the AI talks about social validation (which isn’t in my notes). It sounds close to virtue signalling, but in Sunak’s case the commentators were signalling the virtue of others rather than their own virtue. The King has cancer yet he attended the whole event. My uncle saw his comrades blown up on D-Day. That sort of thing.

I can’t argue with paragraph six. The Sunak screw-up does indeed distract the voters and media from scrutinising the other parties.

In paragraph seven the AI mentions something else that’s absent from my notes: the desensitisation that results from excessive exposure to outrage. But it’s taken my word optics and shoehorned it into the paragraph in an odd way: it talks about an optical illusion, which doesn’t make sense in this context.

All this «outrage» makes me think of The Self Righteous Brothers in the 1990s British TV comedy show Harry Enfield & Chums. These sketches – I admire Armstrong, Inglesias etc – remind me in particular of the way some internet males interact with public figures on social media.

In our household we have a private joke: we sometimes refer to random people by their surnames alone, in homage to the genius of Enfield and Whitehouse.

In the last two paragraphs ChatGPT does its public-spirited duty by ending on an edifying and improving note, as it is wont to do.

The AI’s take on my word patronising seems a bit off, and differs from what I’d intended. I’d imagined commentators having «patronising» thoughts such as: I understand why Sunak made this error but others won’t understand. (Underestimating would be a better word.)

ChatGPT has also omitted my «relate to girl on TikTok» note. That must have seemed a bit random, I guess. It came from viewing a video in which a young woman said she didn’t feel like a real person. She saw other people as real and she put on an act to fit in with them. This need to role-play a real person made her feel weird and unusual. I wanted to make a link between her (unwarranted) concern and «assuming other people care when you don’t yourself».

She also mentioned an acronym I’ve met once before: NPC (non-player character). Google says it comes from video gaming and refers to a game character that’s not controlled by a human player. (The game’s software generates the NPC, which therefore behaves according to pre-programmed rules.) She said she viewed other people as NPCs in the sense that they had no inner life and acted in ways programmed by society. (Or did she see herself as an NPC? I can’t recall exactly.) In another video a man encountered two Japanese people throwing a ball on a European beach. He later described this scene as the most NPC thing I’ve ever experienced. Did he mean to say that some Matrix God had placed these exotic ball-throwers on the beach merely to stop it looking empty? I guess so – but he missed the fact that other people could view him in the same way.

So anyway – could AI replace me blog-wise?

I guess it could if I just wanted to write a boilerplate article about faux outrage. In fact if I wanted it to do that I’d be better off using the prompt faux outrage on its own and omitting my handwritten notes. After all, others must have written about faux outrage, and the AI knows how to find their musings – whereas some of the weak points in the AI’s article arise from its attempts to incorporate my jottings.

In summary, ChatGPT has produced some good stuff that I hadn’t thought of – yet I reckon it would struggle to generate my more personal takes. I doubt it would have those in its cache, though it may pinch them for future use. We humans lead and the AI follows – for now.