I am interested in the notion that you object to provoking emotion on purpose objectionable.
That conclusion about my general preferences does not follow from my stated specific preferences.
Does this apply to art in general?
Not... in general, no. I do strongly dislike it when authors/directors/etc. provoke emotion in a deliberate attempt to misdirect the reader/viewer/etc. from considering what is going on in the work. That is, when there is an attempt to provoke emotion directly, rather than as a result of seeing/reading/otherwise apprehending the content. I will attempt to provide examples when I think of some.
(On a similar note - do you go to movies or see plays? Do you go ever dim lights for romantic purposes?)
I do go to movies, and even Broadway shows, though not plays, and do on occasion dim lights for romantic purposes (or, to be more precise, locate intended-to-be-romantic activities in locations with suitable light levels... which phrasing makes it sound rather unromantic, I suppose... ah well).
I am mostly just clarifying that you are someone who likes to explore and engage intellectually, but not emotionally
I don't actually think this is a fair characterization. As I said to Kaj_Sotala here, it's the collectivization of emotion, and of the emotion of sacredness in this case, that I object to.
If a group is meeting regularly, doing things you like, does it make your world worse if they start meeting additional times, doing things that you don't like?
Maybe. It depends on the relative extent to which the activites I like and the activities I dislike contribute to the group's identity and cohesiveness.
That conclusion about my general preferences does not follow from my stated specific preferences.
I may have worded it more strongly than you intended, but I thought you said:
deliberately provoking emotional responses (without attempting to build group cohesion or call to action)
Somewhat. I'm very wary of this sort of thing, but I don't think I find it inherently objectionable.
In any case, I think I have at least a reasonable understanding of where you're coming from. That's all I have to say for now, although if you are able to articulate some of...
One winter ago, twenty aspiring rationalists gathered in a room, ate some food, sang some songs, and lit some candles. We told some stories about why the universe is the way it is, and what kind of people we want to be.
I wrote some things about the experience. But here's a fairly succinct description:
Last year, we had fun. A few people reported being emotionally affected. By and large, though, the dominant conclusion was “This was good first effort, but much, much more is possible.” In truth, I considered it a dress rehearsal, more a proof-of-concept than a finished product. I spent the last year working to do something better, but worried that I wouldn’t be able to. That maybe people don’t create holidays from scratch that actually latch on because it’s just damn hard to do and I wouldn’t be up to it.
And I was worried that either I wouldn’t be able to make the experience as grim and intense as I wanted, or that I’d succeed, but then not be able to lift people back out of it. This was a problem for some people last year, and last year I didn’t push things nearly as dark as I was planning to this time.
I worried that even if I succeeded at creating the experience for other people, I wouldn’t be able to experience it myself. A year ago, I didn’t feel like a participant. I felt like an anthropologist - clinically detached from the bonding ritual I had created.
But six months ago, four friends and I acquired a large, three story house named “Winterfell.” And one week ago, fifty people squeezed into that house to celebrate humanity. The house seems a lot smaller once you crammed fifty people into the living room. But we managed to fit.
And then... I feel a desire to maintain some kind of modesty here, but honestly, I spent a year stressing about this and I think I’m just going to say that it went beautifully.
Not perfectly - nothing is ever perfect, and now more than ever it is clear how much more is possible with this endeavor. Yvain wrote a pretty good review of which parts went well and which parts needed work. But I got emphatic gratitude from people who had been merely lukewarm about it last year.
In the darkest section of the evening, people cried, and held each other, and I was one of them. And I was one of them as we watched time lapse footage of the stars from the international space station, and sang about a tomorrow that could be brighter than today.
This will be the first post of another short mini-sequence (either one or two additional posts elaborating on the design process, what comes next and what I’m concerned about). For now, I'll just note the one biggest flaw with this years was that it was too long. (Last years was too short, and I decided to err on the side of "test a bunch of ideas at once" so that future Solstices could settle into an ideal, traditional state faster).
I would like to note that I want to strongly encourage people who are weirded out by this to speak out (if for no other reason than to be counted as people who are turned off by it). If you have specific negative consequences beyond a vague dislike of the idea, I'd like you to articulate them, after looking through my post from last year - The Value and Danger of Ritual.
Below is a link to the 2012 Ritual Book, and a collection of links to online media for the songs and videos that we listened to and watched during the event, which you can follow along with as you read to get something (vaguely) resembling the actual experience. (Plus side - you’ll get to experience higher quality of music performance. Downside - you miss on the warm experience of singing with a group of people).
I couldn’t find links for all the songs, but there should be enough to give you the idea.