I feel a little disoriented, like the ground is shifting under my feet. Then I feel like I do the mental equivalent of making a box: I put the argument inside the box and try to evaluate it with detachment. Often, if the topic is ‘soft’, there is indeed a sudden drop in empathy that causes me to act enraged and indignant but which actually feels on the inside like being ostracized and persecuted. I feel like if people around me aren’t logical that this is an attack on logic itself, and, somehow, therefore, an attack of my inner person. I don’t feel confident that I can uphold logic all on my own and it’s going to die or disappear. (For this, I relate to Steven’s comment—it has something to do whether people are ‘getting away’ with their bad logic.)
The billboards on church signs on the drive home are the worst. I fantasize about calling the pastor and demanding he stand behind his statement no matter how absurd the consequences.
As I grow more intellectually mature and confident, I can sometimes manage to feel a little more smug than defensive. This is especially true for obvious errors in logic, like contradictions. But minor errors—like asserting that things are equivalent when they only overlap—can be really, really frustrating. (Richard Dawkins comes to mind. That chapter on how he also happens to be a moral person was so irrelevant.)
On the other hand, I am pleased when people tell me I’m not logical. This makes me feel like I’m safe. Usually, I’m illogical in the second way described above, making rough equivalencies so that I can form a faster causal chain. I do try to make sure that the conclusion is correct first, so I work backwards from the answer (which you’re not supposed to do). I enjoy this, especially if I can work in an actual apparent contradiction and still say exactly what I meant to say.
Humor is supposed to be about anxiety, and the release of it. I think I enjoy forming illogical statements not because I perversely don’t like being logical, but because it makes me feel like I’m more in control of the absence of logic, which makes me anxious.
(Rereading this statement, it occurs to me that a reader will expect me to insert some apparent contradictions. While there is the obvious hypocrisy, that I hate it when others are illogical but like it when I am, I haven’t deliberately put any in and I’m actually not skilled enough to put them in deliberately. Whenever it happens it just happens naturally … some days I’m on a roll and it happens more or less without any effort.)
I feel a little disoriented, like the ground is shifting under my feet. Then I feel like I do the mental equivalent of making a box: I put the argument inside the box and try to evaluate it with detachment. Often, if the topic is ‘soft’, there is indeed a sudden drop in empathy that causes me to act enraged and indignant but which actually feels on the inside like being ostracized and persecuted. I feel like if people around me aren’t logical that this is an attack on logic itself, and, somehow, therefore, an attack of my inner person. I don’t feel confident that I can uphold logic all on my own and it’s going to die or disappear. (For this, I relate to Steven’s comment—it has something to do whether people are ‘getting away’ with their bad logic.)
The billboards on church signs on the drive home are the worst. I fantasize about calling the pastor and demanding he stand behind his statement no matter how absurd the consequences.
As I grow more intellectually mature and confident, I can sometimes manage to feel a little more smug than defensive. This is especially true for obvious errors in logic, like contradictions. But minor errors—like asserting that things are equivalent when they only overlap—can be really, really frustrating. (Richard Dawkins comes to mind. That chapter on how he also happens to be a moral person was so irrelevant.)
On the other hand, I am pleased when people tell me I’m not logical. This makes me feel like I’m safe. Usually, I’m illogical in the second way described above, making rough equivalencies so that I can form a faster causal chain. I do try to make sure that the conclusion is correct first, so I work backwards from the answer (which you’re not supposed to do). I enjoy this, especially if I can work in an actual apparent contradiction and still say exactly what I meant to say.
Humor is supposed to be about anxiety, and the release of it. I think I enjoy forming illogical statements not because I perversely don’t like being logical, but because it makes me feel like I’m more in control of the absence of logic, which makes me anxious.
(Rereading this statement, it occurs to me that a reader will expect me to insert some apparent contradictions. While there is the obvious hypocrisy, that I hate it when others are illogical but like it when I am, I haven’t deliberately put any in and I’m actually not skilled enough to put them in deliberately. Whenever it happens it just happens naturally … some days I’m on a roll and it happens more or less without any effort.)