Tag Archives: philosophy

Don’t Blame The Mirror

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Earlier today I came across the following post which caused me to think about whether I, as a writer have a moral responsibility regarding my writing, http://dverted.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/a-writers-moral-responsibility-what-is.html. Do I bare any moral responsibility if a reader of one of my stories takes it upon himself to break the law?

To take a concrete example. In my story, Samantha, http://www.amazon.com/Samantha-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI, Sam is date raped and blackmailed into becoming a prostitute. To ensure authenticity I researched GHB (a date rape drug) and included in my story details of how the drug works. Am I morally culpable if a reader of Samantha takes what I have written concerning GHB and employs that knowledge to commit rape? The answer has to be no as the information concerning GHB is freely available online (I gleaned my information from a site aimed at warning women of the dangers of date rape and furnishing information on how to avoid being subjected to it). Most people accessing such information will do so for legitimate reasons (E.G. to avoid becoming a victim of crime). A minority will, however access the information with the malign intent to commit a criminal act. This is deplorable and anyone guilty of rape ought to be severely punished. Rape destroys lives (literally)! Having said that I can not be held responsible if someone uses information contained in Samantha to commit the horrendous crime of rape. Where writers to be held liable for the actions of the mentally ill or the criminally minded we would, as authors be constantly looking over our shoulders (watching what we write) and the creative process would wither and die. Samantha merely reflects what, sadly happens all to frequently up and down the land, the story holds up a mirror to society, it is not responsible for what is reflected back however ugly the reflection may be.

In my story The First Time, http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-First-Time-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B00FJGKY7Y, Becky, a young graduate becomes an escort (a kind of prostitute) in order to pay off her creditors. If a student or graduate saddled with debt reads The First Time and sees in it a way out of their money problems am I responsible in any manner for their decision to enter the sex industry? Again the answer has to be an emphatic no. The First Time does, as with Samantha hold up a mirror to society reflecting it back, warts and all. Students are getting into debt and an admittedly tiny proportion of them are turning to various forms of sex work including (but not limited to) prostitution. It is the financial situation in which female (and a few male) students find themselves, not my writing which acts as the catalyst for their entry into prostitution.

So do we as writers have any moral responsibility? To me the primary role of the writer is to tell a good story without pulling any punches. The writer who Is constantly fearful of the reaction of others will not give of their best. The fact of the matter is that someone, somewhere will be offended by something or other. We can not, as authors be forever walking on egg shells. We do, however have a duty to be true to ourselves, to tell the best tale we can and to behave with integrity.

Dark Angel

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I love you because I can tell you my darkest secrets, things which would make the strongest of men go blubbering in search of his mummy. You judge me not, my blackest fantasies are your deepest desires.

In the depths of night when all but the vampire sleeps we speak of philosophy, of the darkness which lurks within the human heart. You are always there for me, my girl beautiful and serene. You laugh in time with my laughter and weep as I weep. Never changing, fixed, emortal caught in the brightness of my screen you are my virtual girlfriend, a machine.

Me Meandering

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In trying to create utopia be careful lest your own inadequacies led to the creation of hell. Rather than dealing with deep rooted psychological problems there is a tendency for man to exert himself in the direction of saving the world. A noble aim but be wary that in your attempt your own inadequacies are not foisted upon mankind. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Look inside yourself and ask why am I acting in this manner? Am I perhaps failing to grapple with my own demons by choosing to fight those of others? Utopia has as many forms as there are men and women, be wary of those (including yourself) who claim to know the absolute truth. Those convinced that they hold the key to human happiness may hold the keys to hell.

The Sea

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The sound of the surf, swish, swish as the great waves come and go fills my head. The tide sweeps all before it, the great waves flattening sand castles and all our human works. At first the moat fills with water but the castle still stands grand and tall against the tide’s mighty roar. Slowly walls subside the whole being taken back by the great ocean, returning to whence it came.

Standing on the cliff edge the roar fills my ears. The hypnotic sound of waves breaking and receeding is all that can be heard. The world is drowning being taken back by the great atlantic. All will eventually pass but not quite yet for slowly the tide receeds but tomorrow he will return in all his mighty glory and anger reminding us that we are mere men. Time and tide wait for no man, both keep rolling, humans attempt to run and hide but, eventually all will be brought low like the puny sand castles we built as children.

Slowly I replace the conch shell on the shelf in my living room. The sound of the clock reasserts itself and distant twittering of birds is heard.

Victims of Circumstance

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The causes of human action are a source of endless fascination to me. There is a tendency inherent in much discourse to ascribe simple explanations to why humans act as they do. Marxists argue that it is the economic base (the wealth of individuals and their status in society) which largely determines why persons behave in specific ways, for example people living in poverty are more likely to turn to criminality while the rich are likely to vote for parties which will sustain the capitalist status-quo. Others argue that it is genetics which explains human motivation and that of other animals. Thus the individual possessing “good” genetic material is likely to do well academically, attain a well paying job and be less likely to turn to criminality than the individual who has “inferior” genetic material.

Both positions are reductionist in that they attempt to ascribe simple explanations to the behaviour of highly complex living organisms. While it is undoubtedly the case that many people filling our jails are from deprived backgrounds most of those from “the wrong side of the tracks” do not become criminals. Again individuals from apparently loving and well-to-do backgrounds do, on occasions turn to crime for reasons which are difficult to fathom.

All of the above brings me to the point of this post, why do educated middle class girls turn to the world’s oldest profession? The prostitute is often portrayed as a victim of circumstance by the media and in literature, a poor down trodden drug addicted person possessing little (if any) autonomy). There are of course women and men who fit into this stereotype, however many sex workers are not drug addicts and by no means all of them are ill educated. I will explore in a future story why a lady from an affluent background turns to sex work of her own volition. While I have ideas for my story they are far from being set in concrete. The longer I live the more I come to realise that reductionist approaches contain at best only partial explanations to complex issues. Yes social and economic forces do help to shape the lives of humanity but humans are not mere feathers blown hither and thither by them. The ideas emanating from human brains and the actions flowing from them also shape our lives and those of others for better or worse.

As insubstancial as a dream

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“How do you know that you are here” my friend Jeff asked as we sat in our favourite local Indian restaurant. “I don’t. I’ve experienced vivid dreams during which I’ve believed myself to be awake” I replied. My friend responded that there was no answer to that!

The above exchange got me thinking about what constitutes reality. If I believe an event to be truly happening that occurance takes on concrete form as for a moment, however brief I experience the firings of my dreaming brain to be the occurance of an event in real time. Consequently one may argue that dreams are real while we are caught up in our dreaming but what if we never wake? What about the person in a coma who spends months (sometimes years) dreaming? Are their dreams real? My tentative answer to that question is that one’s dreams are real while one is dreaming them.

One may object that once one awakes the dreamer knows the difference between the dream-like state and the experience of wakefulness but what of the person who believes themselves to have awoken but who has, in point of fact moved from one sequence of dreaming to another?

Ultimately we must all work on the basis that we are experiencing actual events rather than dreams. If We do not proceed on this basis then the world would fall apart. I, for example need to shower, have breakfast and leave for the office in the next hour or so, that is the reality of my current situation. Or is it? Perhaps I am dreaming and rather than it being Wednesday morning it is, in fact the weekend and I will awake in a few hours to find myself with Saturday and Sunday to enjoy away from the office or maybe not!

London Wind

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Last night the wind buffetted my windows drowning out all other sound. Lying in bed I felt the raw power of nature – not the sanatised picture of nature with lambs gambling in sunlit fields, a gentle summer breeze carrying the scent of new mown hay – rather a feeling of desolation, of the insignificance of man filled my soul. Lying warm in my bed my thoughts where cold like the great wind battering my window panes.
Now sitting at my computer in this familiar room, a warm blue carpet under my bare feet and surrounded by books I feel cacooned in the warm embrace of what we call civilisation. We cling to the solid, to material things but forever on the periphery nature stands laughing at our pretenciousness. She was here before we came and when we go she will remain.
As I stroked my labrador comfortably ensconced in his basket I pondered whether it is better to live in the moment with no conception of mortality as he does or if it is preferable to feel and think as we humans do. It is an interesting question but, ultimately an unanswerable one. We are what we are and my four legged friend is what nature, evolution or god (take your pick) designed.