10,000 Days – Thoughts on a Murder
Today. I learn about the Murdering Lonely Man who hadn’t had sex in eighteen years, cooked up a plot to kill “Woman” in the form of several actual women, plotted and planned it for nine months, and went into a LA Fitness yesterday and opened fire, killing three.
He documented his madness. His loneliness. His detachment and isolation. Mitdasein and Non-Mitdasein. Alone, choking on his own ego. Cannot become that. Not violent. No need for glory me. I respect the lives of others — yes, they’ll die. But not for me to say how or when. I let things be.
Still — scary. There are people who love me. And I am normal. And not violent. Not even towards myself. Still — in twenty years? What madness would an isolated whiteboxed room wrought on my imaginary life? The life lived within the skull that looks exactly identical to the life lived in the world. Can’t even tell that you’re living in your head instead of in the world, with others. The first step that you’ve falled down that rabbit hole is that the lives of others — their significance — falls away. In a twist on the Philosophical Zombie Problem, we identify the Zombie Hypothesis as being this:
If Others are plausibly Zombies, You Are Living in a Skullspace Simulacra instead of in the World. You are using your perceptions to Simulate the World in real-time, instead of pulling yourself into that Hard, Harsh, Moment that Will Kill You.
And therein lies the question: Can the Solipsist, who lives the Imaginary, actually experience Death? Or, distracted by the elaborate set he’s built, will he miss it, and then be gone.
And maybe this is the Ultimate Distinction:
Those who experience death, and those who can’t. Those who experience life, and those who experience their experience.