Before I really get started, I feel obliged to preface with the warning that this post contains some political passages, and also some philosophical ones. As such, it should be taken merely as an opinion. And one of some random guy on the internet to boot. Which is to say that it is to be taken with a grain of salt. It is worth mentioning, though, that this random guy on the internet would love to chat with you about it, should you be so inclined.

There was a little … ahem … incident during a lecture recently¹, which I haven’t been able to shake. Not really because something bad happened, don’t you worry, but rather because there was something that I was unsure what to think about. Said lecture — though I realise that does not sound very thought-provoking — was about the concept of abstraction. Now, this is something we humans are really good at — some people even describe it as one of the very things that make us human — but it is also something that we seldom point out or put into words outside of the context of scientific work.

To show you what I mean — or maybe even what abstraction is, if you are unsure — let me give you an example. It is, admittedly, a relatively contrived one, but I think it should still serve its purpose. Say we look at a weird little object. It’s quite beautiful, actually. It’s of a deep blue colour, with dust-like golden specks all over it. It has six sides, all of which are of the same size, and each side has a number of strange dots upon it.

Now your brain is probably screaming at you that this is a die. This is exactly what abstraction is about! You have just taken something you’ve seen — or rather something I’ve described to you — and have applied a familiar abstraction to it. And now, because you know that dice can be rolled on a table to generate a random number between one and six, you now that you can use this weird little object to do just that.

The professor giving that lecture I was attending distilled the utility of abstraction — quite aptly, in my opinion — into the following two points:

• Abstraction means simplification. By an abstraction, one ignores all aspects of a system that are not relevant for the problem at hand, concentrating on the properties that matter.

• Abstraction also means generalization. If one proves a property of a system described at an abstract level, then this property holds for any system with the same abstraction, independently of any details.

– Ueli Maurer, Diskrete Mathematik Herbstsemester 2024

In our example, the second of those two points crystallises in the fact that we know that a die can be used to generate random numbers. So, as soon as we have identified that our object is a die, as soon as we have applied that abstraction, we know that our object can do that as well.

And the first one becomes clear in the fact that after we have applied that specific abstraction to our object, we have cruelly stripped away the rest of what the object might be or do. Which might be useful. Maybe even what we wanted. But it might also blind us. It’s a die in our minds now, never mind that it is also a heap of atoms. And a choking hazard for small children. And an object with a long cultural heritage. And a work of art.

You can probably see that this concept is immensely powerful. It allows us to connect different ideas with each other, and, when we want to build upon a specific one, it allows us to focus our cognitive intent upon a manageable subset of properties of that idea.

But — as we have seen with the simplification aspect of our example — there is also danger in abstraction, precisely because of its power. And here we come to the crux of it all. Because, somewhere in his explanations, our professor said:

“Abstraction is a very human thing. For example, racism is also an abstraction.”

At this, the whole room fell quiet, everyone looking around themselves in that distinctive “Did he really just say that?” way that is characteristic of a crowd that has just witnessed something that it knows warrants a reaction, but in which everyone first wants to check whether or not everyone else feels the same.²

The lecture then went on without much more acknowledgement of what had just happened, but to this day I hear people talking about this event in a way that insinuates that the professor had just done something that was obviously not okay. But whenever someone did, I felt like I did not really agree. Which felt … wrong somehow?

Which … I don’t know. All of it just kind of left a bad taste in my mouth.

But I have thought about it quite a bit in the meantime, and I think it would be a good idea to write those thoughts down. Primarily because that generally forces me to re-examine them in detail — which is always a good thing, especially with a topic as culturally sensitive as this. But also, perhaps, because someone else might find them useful.

Now, the professor’s statement is not what I was feeling unsure about. I was — and am — actually relatively certain that, on a logical level, I agreed with it, as heretical as that may sound.

I don’t think anyone could argue against the statement that abstraction is a very human thing, as it is something all of us do all day, every day. And I also don’t know how I would argue against racism being an abstraction. Because racism is — at least by the definition I know — nothing else but applying the abstraction of “race” to the people around us and then misguidedly deriving negative properties of a person or even the general inferiority of that person from said abstraction.

So what, then, is it, that made my insides scrunch up at hearing those two sentences in succession?

I think it begins with the transitivity of the inconspicuous little word “is”. And the fact that then, from “abstraction is a very human thing” and “racism is an abstraction” follows:

“Racism is a very human thing.”

Which is uncomfortable, because I believe that within most of our minds, there is an additional implicitly assumed sentence, namely:

“Human things are good things. Or if not that, then at least okay to do.”

The conclusion of which I would rather not put into a piece of text with my name on it. I hope you sympathise.

So that, I think, is why this incident is often cited as some kind of moral failing. Because coming to and believing in this specific conclusion, by my stark belief, would be one such failing. But I don’t think that this is the right conclusion to draw here. And, for what it is worth, I don’t believe that it is the one our professor was making.

Immediately, one might point out that, to arrive here, we applied rigid mathematical logic to both language and morality which, quite topically, is a dangerous abstraction to make, and often a bad idea. That would, however, be refuting the conclusion on account of it using a tool that often doesn’t work, which is an argument I also find relatively weak.

Rather, I would argue that our logical approach does indeed apply here and that the error is within the application, namely at taking “Human things are good things or at least okay to do” as absolute truth. Everything before that, I think, has quite some truth to it.

Which brings me to the first actual point I want to make here. And interestingly, it is one that I think I have always kind of believed in on a surface level, but had never fully thought out. For if I had, I don’t think that the professor’s statement would have made me as uncomfortable as it did. My point is the following; I do not believe that human things are generally good things. Or even just okay to do, for that matter.

Take war, for example. It has happened so regularly in recorded history, that I would find it hard to believe that it is not fundamental to our behaviour, at least in our current post-agricultural societies.

Look at slavery.

Look, generally, at violence and oppression amongst ourselves and towards the ecosystems that sustain us.

The same thing goes for racism and any other kind of discrimination. I would dare say that none of us are completely immune to thinking of “those others” as evil ne’er-do-wells that will destroy everything in their wake and must therefore be subjugated, thrown out, killed or stripped of their rights, be that distinction by skin colour, religion, sex, nationality, age or opinion. We only need a strong enough incentive to dehumanise other people and good enough a story to convince ourselves that we are on the right side.

So, what am I trying to say here? That we are all vile creatures, held back only by the law and a fear of divine retribution from committing atrocities? That we are all sinners by birth and must prove ourselves or be condemned to an eternity in hell?

Not at all.

What I want to say is that I believe that “the human” is neither fundamentally good, nor fundamentally bad. I would even argue that a single person is neither fundamentally good nor fundamentally bad. Don’t we all have our darkness? Thoughts that creep up on us? Telling us to hate? Telling us to burn? To do things we’re not proud of? Both to others and to ourselves, at times?³

Which brings me to my second, and final, point. Namely to what I believe is the best way forward after acknowledging this fundamental duality. And while that may seem odd, I’m going to address this next part exclusively to myself. Because I don’t want this piece to be a commandment to anyone, but rather an introspection. I don’t want to say “you should”, as I don’t pretend to know enough to be sure what is best for other people. I will only say “I want to”.⁴

Firstly, I want to stare my darker half in its ugly face. I want to accept that, because I am human, I am capable of terrible things. That there have been, and there will be, situations in which that side of me wins. For in denial lies too much danger of blinding myself to such an event when it happens. But with acceptance comes the ability to see. And the power to take these failings and their consequences upon me as my responsibility. And as my burden. To bear. Always.

Secondly, I want to see it as my duty to never stop trying to resist that half. And I am in luck, because I am human. One of those wonderful creatures who can do so much good.

Think of exchanging stories with a handful or regulars at the local cafe. Community.

Think of millions of people raising money for others in need. Charity.

Think of people of all walks of life singing together to the songs of their favourite musician. Art.

Think of listening to a friend talk about their newest project and feeling their excitement in your own chest. Empathy.

Think about the way your heart rejoices when your special someone just so much as smiles at you. Love.

That is the side of humanity I want to choose — and to focus on in others — as often as humanly⁵ possible. I know it will not always be easy. And, crucially, when it is not … well … in my experience it is usually then that doing it anyway is most important.

So I will try.

And I will fail.

But I will try. Again. And again.

Always one more time.

And that’s what counts.

Right?