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What of the Husnock?

I don't agree that we could ever be within our rights to eradicate a sentient species, no matter its behavior. We don't have the right to be moral judges for the other races of the universe. Self-defense is one thing, but that doesn't justify exterminating an entire race including those who aren't actively threatening you.

And it would be a gross misreading of the episode to interpret Kevin's act as anything other than a horrific overreaction. Kevin himself saw it that way. He never remotely claimed that he was justified in his act. He acknowledged it as an act of insanity, an unthinking retaliation beyond any reasonable justification. He called it his crime and his sin.
 
Humans are special. We are the only ones who actually exist IRL, so far, so I never get worked up when an alien race is xenocided.
 
^But when discussing events within the fictional reality of Star Trek, it makes no sense to argue along those lines, because obviously humans are not the only extant sophonts within that reality. It's a bizarre basis to argue from. Obviously a hypothetical philosophical premise is not real, but for the sake of discussion one examines what the ramifications would be if it were real.
 
...The interesting angle here might be the Husnock actually being right. That is, thanks to the ability to see into the future (via time travel or superb powers of deduction), they know that at least the vast majority of intelligent species extant in the 24th have to be made extinct instead, or something even more horrible will happen.

Classic scifi ideas on that include some sort of a limit on how much intelligence space itself can tolerate before it collapses into a demonic singularity; some inevitability in even the most benevolent humanoid psyche that will bring about a horrible and irreversible political event or technological invention after X centuries of interstellar coexistence; or a plague that will spread from mind to mind once the mind density of our galaxy reaches a certain point.

Perhaps humanoids aren't meant to serve as antibodies for Space Amoebae? Perhaps rather Space Amoebae are there to keep the numbers of humanoids down to tolerable levels? And perhaps the Husnock are giving them a helping hand?

Timo Saloniemi
 
I've always been willing to accept a view of the Husnock as more one-dimensional than I'd usually be comfortable with (which is why my first post suggested it be accepted that Kevin was more or less accurate in his description, plausibility aside). This is because I think it reinforces the power of the Kevin character, and the intensity of his guilt. He's truly alone. Not only alone in the sense that he couldn't face other beings after what he'd done, but in the sense that not all those beings would truly understand his crime as he does. It's just a result of how I seem to have personally related to the episode, I guess, rather than what's necessarily the best interpretation.

If Kevin had said "a Bolian killed my wife, and in a moment of rage I killed all Bolians, everywhere", then everyone would share in the horror. Who in the galaxy wouldn't be crying "you monster!"? They'd all understand Kevin's self-disgust and agree with him that he was right to feel that way. But if the Husnock were a scourge, a people who in the eyes of almost all other races had few "redeeming" features or recognizable "innocents", would as many people understand the weight of his crime and view him with the horror he knows he should be viewed with? A lot of people would probably be more likely to respond "hmmm, well. Not good, of course, but no real loss to the galaxy?" Except Kevin knows and believes it is. I always thought this was an important part of the power and tragedy of the Kevin character; that he knew and acknowledged the extent of his crime, but perhaps beings of lesser conscience wouldn't - and that's an additional burden he knows he must carry.

I'm not sure a close look at the episode in question would necessarily support that, but it seems to be one of the stronger impressions I was left with.
 
...The interesting angle here might be the Husnock actually being right. That is, thanks to the ability to see into the future (via time travel or superb powers of deduction), they know that at least the vast majority of intelligent species extant in the 24th have to be made extinct instead, or something even more horrible will happen.

Classic scifi ideas on that include some sort of a limit on how much intelligence space itself can tolerate before it collapses into a demonic singularity; some inevitability in even the most benevolent humanoid psyche that will bring about a horrible and irreversible political event or technological invention after X centuries of interstellar coexistence; or a plague that will spread from mind to mind once the mind density of our galaxy reaches a certain point.

Perhaps humanoids aren't meant to serve as antibodies for Space Amoebae? Perhaps rather Space Amoebae are there to keep the numbers of humanoids down to tolerable levels? And perhaps the Husnock are giving them a helping hand?

Timo Saloniemi

The Husnock as something akin to the Shadows from Babylon Five - as in, corresponding to most races' ideas of evil and immorality while having a genuine moral commitment to helping other life through the very process of destroying some of it? I suppose that certainly allows them to be more interesting and engaging than they seem from the original description, without contradicting it ("they destroy and aggress, and that's pretty much it").

It wouldn't have to even be a real threat or potential crisis, would it? Or even make sense from an outside viewpoint. It could just be some insane theory the Husnock culture adopted and since then they've been running around saying "we must exterminate the vast majority of other life, or else the universe will have known so much intelligence over the eons that one day it will become sapient - and then drink itself to death in celebration. Many must be sacrificed, lest existence end on the vomit-coated bathroom tiles of the Infinite Plain!" :lol:
 
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I've always been willing to accept a view of the Husnock as more one-dimensional than I'd usually be comfortable with (which is why my first post suggested it be accepted that Kevin was more or less accurate in his description, plausibility aside). This is because I think it reinforces the power of the Kevin character, and the intensity of his guilt. He's truly alone. Not only alone in the sense that he couldn't face other beings after what he'd done, but in the sense that not all those beings would truly understand his crime as he does.

That's an interesting interpretation, and I can see your point from a dramatic and philosophical standpoint. I'm just not sure how credible it is from (for lack of a better term) an anthropological standpoint. Like I said, a technological civilization is a complex thing to create, and it's unlikely that a species with a monolithic drive to aggression would have the necessary social complexity to achieve it. There would have to be some more constructive drives within the society, something to nurture education and innovation, to drive its members to wonder about the laws of physics and the nature of the stars and stuff that people preoccupied with violence wouldn't be interested in. And if a species were preoccupied with violence, wouldn't that violence mostly be turned against other members of their own species on their own planet? Wouldn't they be more likely to kill each other off before they ever mastered starflight?
 
I've always been willing to accept a view of the Husnock as more one-dimensional than I'd usually be comfortable with (which is why my first post suggested it be accepted that Kevin was more or less accurate in his description, plausibility aside). This is because I think it reinforces the power of the Kevin character, and the intensity of his guilt. He's truly alone. Not only alone in the sense that he couldn't face other beings after what he'd done, but in the sense that not all those beings would truly understand his crime as he does.

That's an interesting interpretation, and I can see your point from a dramatic and philosophical standpoint. I'm just not sure how credible it is from (for lack of a better term) an anthropological standpoint. Like I said, a technological civilization is a complex thing to create, and it's unlikely that a species with a monolithic drive to aggression would have the necessary social complexity to achieve it. There would have to be some more constructive drives within the society, something to nurture education and innovation, to drive its members to wonder about the laws of physics and the nature of the stars and stuff that people preoccupied with violence wouldn't be interested in. And if a species were preoccupied with violence, wouldn't that violence mostly be turned against other members of their own species on their own planet? Wouldn't they be more likely to kill each other off before they ever mastered starflight?

I can't argue with any of that, so I accept that if we're doing what we usually do and making the Husnock "real" (rather than just a dramatic device to showcase Kevin's character) they're going to have to be more complicated. I suppose this highlights how fandom works on multiple levels, doesn't it? - there's a conflict here between my desire to immerse in the fictional universe and "pretend it's real", in which case Husnock have to be plausible within the context if it's to be worthwhile, and my desire to respond to the episode in question as a piece of art that I feel is the more powerful without that immersion. Any attempt to explore the Husnock in novels would require fleshing out their culture and motives -- and if it tried to have them be exactly as Kevin described them, then it would run up against the problems you outline here. The Husnock as I envision them can't really survive in the novels. So I guess I have an interesting dilemma -- do I want to see the Husnock fleshed out in novels like I do pretty much everything in Trek that hasn't yet been expanded on, or do I want to leave them as they are, in order to preserve an idea of them that only works in a "non-expanded" universe? The agony of fandom! :lol:

Of course, you're a writer/fan, so I imagine that you (along with all the other writers here) have a lot of interesting things to say on that front.
 
You know, the human race isn't exactly a bunch of doves.

According to some credible points of view, we survived the latter half of the 20th century because the US and USSR "enjoyed" Mutually Assured Destruction.

Suppose in the next few hundred years (IRL), we colonize other worlds, say the Moon, Mars, Ceres, Europa, Titan, etc. Would there be such a thing as MAD then? What if there weren't? Would some asshole nuke all life off one of the worlds, if he thought it was the right thing to do and he could get away with it?

Without positing anything definitive about our future, my point is simply that I can't necessarily agree that our own future will be free of aggression and destruction. Once we get enough of our eggs out of this one basket, I don't believe it's out of the question that our future could be more bloody than it ever has been. Strictly speaking from the point of view of survival, perhaps aggression need only be curtailed during the atomic age, a critical period at the end of the planet bound era of star faring species.
 
^ Aggression and conflict are usually about fear of others, are they not, stemming from survival instincts that understand the world in terms of scarcity - is there enough resources to sustain both them and I, will my progeny thrive or will theirs, will they attack me to ensure they have the best chance of getting what they need even if I don't feel like attacking them? And of course emotional, intellectual and cultural assumptions that grow out of all this. I'd say, at the simplest level, the more resources and space available, the less there should be desire for aggression. Although I understand it's far more complex than that - will the psychology catch up with the reality? Will increased alienation resulting from settling different planets/moons/asteroids, combined with technology that simultaneously lets us be aware of each other's presence (one big interconnected web) actually strain a people to some sort of breaking point? The fear of the other competing for limited survival opportunities might be heightened as well as potentially lessened?

In a post-scarcity world, where everyone had also adapted to the idea that it was post-sacrcity and there was no need to fight, we might assume the instinct to aggress or compete or fear might well sink so deep it's not meaningful anymore. But the path to that society would be difficult, I think. Perhaps there's a bottleneck of sorts when a race reaches the level of interplanetary but not interstellar, when they're just starting their diaspora but are still all truly tied to home? Advanced enough to have a global worldview but not advanced enough to ensure full comfort for all. Reality and instinct and conscious psychology all trying to work it out and not fall off the bridge. And maybe the bridge does narrow out around about now. A race just needs to focus on the other side and not start scuffling too much, because scuffling here might be a lot more dangerous than scuffling back when the bridge was wider. Maybe the initial push into space colonization is where the elder races of the universe hush and lean forward in their seats, waiting to see if they've bet on the right species this time? ;)
 
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You know, the human race isn't exactly a bunch of doves.

Welcome to the great dichotomy of Human nature -- it encompasses both horrific violence and aggression, and extreme peacefulness and empathy. The only thing all Humans have in common is that they're all Human.
 
Social scientist Steven Pinker has done work indicating that human society has actually grown less violent over time as we've evolved into a more modern civilization with more institutions in place to provide alternatives to violence, including government, law, and commerce. Human cultures grow more violent when governments and social institutions collapse, when the civilizational clock turns backward, as it were. The more advanced we get, the more we learn from our history and our mistakes and the more we innovate new methods of dealing with our problems, the less we need to resort to violence.
 
Social scientist Steven Pinker has done work indicating that human society has actually grown less violent over time as we've evolved into a more modern civilization with more institutions in place to provide alternatives to violence, including government, law, and commerce. Human cultures grow more violent when governments and social institutions collapse, when the civilizational clock turns backward, as it were. The more advanced we get, the more we learn from our history and our mistakes and the more we innovate new methods of dealing with our problems, the less we need to resort to violence.

Book Review: The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined online at Scientific American criticizes Steven Pinker's 2011 book as suffering from "confirmation bias", it is critical of his choice of relative numbers as a measure of violence, and it is critical of his failure to address unprecedented contemporary issues.

Criticisms from the review are:
According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), worldwide military expenditures have been growing annually for the past 15 years, and between 15 and 20 major armed conflicts—yes, wars—are in progress as you read this. All told, upward of 175 million people died in war-related violence during the 20th century, plus another eight million because of conflicts among individuals.

Even so, according to a weighty new book, The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined (Viking Adult, 2011), by Harvard University psychologist Steven Pinker, the "better angels" of human nature have actually brought about a dramatic reduction in violence during the past few millennia. Yes, the absolute number of victims has been rising, but relative to the world’s population, the numbers look good.

(...)

Pinker wants peace, and he also believes in his hypothesis; it is no surprise that he focuses more on facts that support his views than on those that do not. The SIPRI arms data are problematic, and a reader can also cherry-pick facts from Pinker's own book that are inconsistent with his position. He notes, for example, that during the 20th century homicide rates failed to decline in both the U.S. and England.

(...)

By this logic, when we reach a world population of nine billion in 2050, Pinker will conceivably be satisfied if a mere two million people are killed in war that year.

(...)

Yes, when you move from the Stone Age to modern times, some violence is left behind, but what happens when you put weapons of mass destruction into the hands of modern people who in many ways are still living primitively? What happens when the unprecedented occurs—when a country such as Iran, where women are still waiting for even the slightest glimpse of those better angels, obtains nuclear weapons? Pinker doesn’t say.
 
Of course Pinker isn't saying violence and oppression are ceasing to exist. He's saying the overall trends show that they're affecting a smaller percentage of the human species as a whole, and that the influence of societal mechanisms like government and commerce that provide alternatives to violence have a correlation with that (i.e. violence is most common in those places without stable governments and other institutions). And that offers hope. While I do not for a second deny that a great many people still suffer from violence, I think Pinker's research suggests that there are ways that humanity can address that problem. I think we need to believe that we can address that problem, because the only way we'll ever make things better is if we accept that it's possible and devote ourselves to the effort. A confirmation bias isn't necessarily a bad thing if it motivates us to turn it into reality, to deliberately bias our social structures in favor of those mechanisms that do the best job of reducing violence. On the other hand, I believe it is self-defeating and criminally irresponsible to throw up our hands and insist that humanity is doomed to perpetual violence and cruelty, because that's just an excuse to do nothing to change it. That's just as great a confirmation bias, but in a far more harmful direction.
 
Confirmation bias is definitely a bad thing.

If we really want to reduce violence, sound science is better than whistling past the graveyard. Sound science has a much better chance (a) of coming up with effective remedies and (b) convincing people that you are on the right track. That's better than (1) sinking resources into executing ill-conceived plans and (2) proving to people that your ideas are wrong when they uncover the blunders in your work.

Since when are fair criticisms equivalent to throwing up one's hands in defeat? More to the point, are we so stupid that the only choices are between two different manifestations of bias?
 
^Fair points. But I think some of the criticisms I'm hearing about Pinker are making incorrect assumptions about just what it is he's actually saying. Pointing out that violence still exists is not refuting him, because he's not claiming it doesn't. It strikes me as a straw-man argument rather than a legitimate criticism.
 
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