There are three different ways of going about riding a bike.
The most intuitive way is to give it your all and effort to maintain maximum speed, Tour de France style, where it is all muscle all the time. Full speed ahead, legs thumping and whooshing. Oontz oontz oontz oontz. Faster, harder, overtake that Scooter. This usually occurs when you are in a hurry to get somewhere, want the exercise, or simply have not thought too hard about how to go about biking.
Then there is the economical way, where you effort just enough to get the bike into enough sufficiently sustained momentum that you can move forward without additional input. Just keep on rolling, maybe lean forward a bit, until more power is required. Then repeat the process as many times as necessary, alternating between building momentum and effortlessly moving forward. Eventually, you'll get where you are going, minimum effort style.
And then there is the low-speed high effort method, where you effort just enough to get moving, but not enough to actually move at sustained speed, and thus have to continually apply leg power to move at a crawl. Friction and gravity keeps on slowing down the bike to such an extent that every pedal push becomes akin to the initial oomph to transition from standstill to motion. Previous efforts do not accumulate or help you sustain momentum, and every iota of speed has to be reestablished anew every step along the way.
At this point, you might be asking yourself - is this some sort of metaphor for life in general, where the different modes of biking represent different approaches to everyday activities and how to approach them? Or, possibly also, different states of mind that a person might slip into as they go about doing the thing called being alive?
To which I say: yes. Yes it is.
Showing posts with label humans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humans. Show all posts
Thursday, October 25, 2018
Tuesday, August 7, 2018
Active listening by the numbers
I like hearing mathematicians talk about doing math things. Usually I do not follow along, but it's nice to listen to. The [name] algorithm passed through the [name] filter and then cleaned up through the [name] process. It all makes sense to someone, probably.
There are different ways to approach discourse you do not understand. One is to simply throw up your hands and declare you do not understand any of it. Sometimes, this is in fact the most useful approach - radical honesty and all that.
Another approach is to take what you do understand and try to parse it using available data. If we know that, in math, procedures are often named after those who formulate them, we can gather that each time a name is mentioned, some sort of procedure is brought into the context. The names themselves do not matter as much as the courses of action they connote; they are shorthand for what to do and how to go about it.
This does not make the specifics any clearer, to be sure. But when someone objects "but what about the [name] conjecture?", you are now clued in to the fact that there is something amiss with the proposed course of action, which needs to be addressed. The content of this objection is unknown, but the form of it is clear. Whatever comes next - be it an "oh, but the [name] postulate solves that" or a heartfelt "shit shit shit shit shit" - your act of active listening has provided you with some insight into what's going on.
The same goes for any context. There are always two conversations going on at any given time, where one might be more prominent than the other. There is the factual conversation where specifics are tossed around left and right, where knowing what's what helps tremendously. These facts are timeless, and can be grappled with later on, on their own terms. There is also a very time-sensitive conversation going on in the now, where everything is specific to the very moment it is happening. This is the realm of moods, postures, physical positioning within the room, hierarchy - everything that affects a situation without necessarily being explicitly mentioned by anyone involved.
Needless to say, the fact that it goes without saying does not mean it is unimportant.
There is an ideal out there that conversations ought to take place solely in terms of the first conversation. Putting ideas against each other and all that. It has the merit of being an ideal, but as an analytic approach to actual social situations, it leaves out too many relevant aspects to generate useful insight. The "shit shit shit" response above might be a response to the fact that the [name] conjecture makes the thing difficult to perform, but it might also be a response to the fact that the person in question was planning on going home early that day, and just had that very plan dashed to pieces right there and then. Merely thinking in terms of content leaves out the very real life implications of form.
Be sure to keep both ears open as you move through life. Arguments are very seldom about the things they are about, and there are cases where losing the argument in the first kind of conversation means winning in the second. You just have to know to listen for it.
There are different ways to approach discourse you do not understand. One is to simply throw up your hands and declare you do not understand any of it. Sometimes, this is in fact the most useful approach - radical honesty and all that.
Another approach is to take what you do understand and try to parse it using available data. If we know that, in math, procedures are often named after those who formulate them, we can gather that each time a name is mentioned, some sort of procedure is brought into the context. The names themselves do not matter as much as the courses of action they connote; they are shorthand for what to do and how to go about it.
This does not make the specifics any clearer, to be sure. But when someone objects "but what about the [name] conjecture?", you are now clued in to the fact that there is something amiss with the proposed course of action, which needs to be addressed. The content of this objection is unknown, but the form of it is clear. Whatever comes next - be it an "oh, but the [name] postulate solves that" or a heartfelt "shit shit shit shit shit" - your act of active listening has provided you with some insight into what's going on.
The same goes for any context. There are always two conversations going on at any given time, where one might be more prominent than the other. There is the factual conversation where specifics are tossed around left and right, where knowing what's what helps tremendously. These facts are timeless, and can be grappled with later on, on their own terms. There is also a very time-sensitive conversation going on in the now, where everything is specific to the very moment it is happening. This is the realm of moods, postures, physical positioning within the room, hierarchy - everything that affects a situation without necessarily being explicitly mentioned by anyone involved.
Needless to say, the fact that it goes without saying does not mean it is unimportant.
There is an ideal out there that conversations ought to take place solely in terms of the first conversation. Putting ideas against each other and all that. It has the merit of being an ideal, but as an analytic approach to actual social situations, it leaves out too many relevant aspects to generate useful insight. The "shit shit shit" response above might be a response to the fact that the [name] conjecture makes the thing difficult to perform, but it might also be a response to the fact that the person in question was planning on going home early that day, and just had that very plan dashed to pieces right there and then. Merely thinking in terms of content leaves out the very real life implications of form.
Be sure to keep both ears open as you move through life. Arguments are very seldom about the things they are about, and there are cases where losing the argument in the first kind of conversation means winning in the second. You just have to know to listen for it.
Monday, July 23, 2018
Universal literacy and you
Every once in a while, I remind people that writing (and reading) is a technology. This might seem an obvious point, but it has a series of non-obvious implications. One of the most important implications is that no one is born literate, and everyone has to attain it somehow. Writing is not an intrinsic ability of human beings, but a technology that can be mastered through practice. There is no natural age at which literacy occurs; it's all culture.
If you consider this in the context of education, the implications become slightly more tangible. Especially with regards to standardized education, where everyone is supposed to achieve the same goals at the same time. On the one hand, there are organizational and administrative reasons for having a system like that; standardization brings interoperability and routine. On the other hand, it is easy to over time begin to view the goals as natural stages of development. By age x, the standardized child is supposed to know a, by age y b, and so on. Performance becomes both expected and measurable.
The thing about technologies is that they are not one size fits all. Like clothing (another technology), it fits differently on different bodies. Some can just put it on, no big deal, while others have to struggle to even get an elbow in. Everybody is different, and expecting everyone to conform to the same standards becomes something of a contradiction in terms. Or, to invoke Foucault, a power tool.
Literacy has the advantage of having a high adoption rate. A large proportion of everyone can attain some basic level of literacy with effort, enough to process the written word for functional purposes. A high adoption rate is still less than 100%, however, and there will inevitably be those who for various reasons are simply not cut out for it. Not because of personal defects or lack of effort, but because that's how statistics work. Even at an adoption rate of 99%, there will be a sizable number of non-adopters. By feat of statistics, the illiterate walk among us.
To be sure, this is not an either/or issue. There are a significant number of dyslectics in the world, who can do the reading but have to effort for it. This is a result of the same process; the technology simply does not sit right with how their bodies work.
By reminding people that writing is a technology, I perform the slightly violent act of recontextualizing illiterate persons from deficient to unfortunate. Being illiterate in a society which expects universal literacy is a massive disadvantage, no two ways about it. If writing is a technology with less than 100% adoption rate, however, those unfortunate souls who end up being born as non-compatible become an expected (indeed inevitable) side-effect of a policy choice, rather than malfunctioning individuals. It is not their fault that one of the major societal technological choices made happened to have the side-effect of excluding them.
Writing is a technology. It is an obvious point, with many non-obvious implications.
If you consider this in the context of education, the implications become slightly more tangible. Especially with regards to standardized education, where everyone is supposed to achieve the same goals at the same time. On the one hand, there are organizational and administrative reasons for having a system like that; standardization brings interoperability and routine. On the other hand, it is easy to over time begin to view the goals as natural stages of development. By age x, the standardized child is supposed to know a, by age y b, and so on. Performance becomes both expected and measurable.
The thing about technologies is that they are not one size fits all. Like clothing (another technology), it fits differently on different bodies. Some can just put it on, no big deal, while others have to struggle to even get an elbow in. Everybody is different, and expecting everyone to conform to the same standards becomes something of a contradiction in terms. Or, to invoke Foucault, a power tool.
Literacy has the advantage of having a high adoption rate. A large proportion of everyone can attain some basic level of literacy with effort, enough to process the written word for functional purposes. A high adoption rate is still less than 100%, however, and there will inevitably be those who for various reasons are simply not cut out for it. Not because of personal defects or lack of effort, but because that's how statistics work. Even at an adoption rate of 99%, there will be a sizable number of non-adopters. By feat of statistics, the illiterate walk among us.
To be sure, this is not an either/or issue. There are a significant number of dyslectics in the world, who can do the reading but have to effort for it. This is a result of the same process; the technology simply does not sit right with how their bodies work.
By reminding people that writing is a technology, I perform the slightly violent act of recontextualizing illiterate persons from deficient to unfortunate. Being illiterate in a society which expects universal literacy is a massive disadvantage, no two ways about it. If writing is a technology with less than 100% adoption rate, however, those unfortunate souls who end up being born as non-compatible become an expected (indeed inevitable) side-effect of a policy choice, rather than malfunctioning individuals. It is not their fault that one of the major societal technological choices made happened to have the side-effect of excluding them.
Writing is a technology. It is an obvious point, with many non-obvious implications.
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
Musing on being less on Twitter
Over the recent months, I have found myself looking less and less at Twitter. This manifests itself in many forms, the most dramatic being that I nowadays only occasionally turn on my middle monitor, which main use is to display a never ending live-updating stream of tweets flowing like a less stylized version of the Matrix. The monitor just stands there, a black mirror in portrait mode.
The strange thing is that Janetter - my ancient twitter client that new users can not run due to long-forgotten arbitrary API limits - still runs, in preparation for the ever rarer occasions when I turn the monitor on just to see the flow of tweets again. As if closing the program would be some kind of definite gesture, irrevocable once performed.
Less strange is that I find my thinking has changed. This is to be expected - as Byung-Chul Han noted, it is difficult to focus during a noisy party. But it is also more subtle than simply having less input to process. I find that I direct myself towards different company. Even if I were to think about something that happened to be trending on Twitter right this very instant, it would be from a different starting point, with different aims.
"Company" is the key term here, I suspect. Booth uses it to muse on the fact that we spend time in someone's company when we read their words, and conversely become company as others read ours. The quality of our company, both reading and writing, in many ways shape who we are, and who we try to be. Good company inspires upwards, while bad company keeps you down.
In more Twitter-related terms, this manifests as an implicit demand to become company to those we follow and those who follow us. As we think through the issues introduced and reiterated by those in our timelines, we ever so gradually come to feel the pressure to add our own thoughts to the flow. After seeing fifteen tweets about something, it becomes almost a knee-jerk reaction to write a sixteenth. Even if we only just heard about something mere minutes ago, we feel compelled to have said something about it.
This dynamic creates a very specific and other-directed way of thinking. You build up a sensitivity to trends and keywords, and act on what you see. Others see this as well, and react to your reactions; the fact that you both see and react to the same things is an immense sense of community; it is sometimes referred to as social media validation. It is company, good or bad.
This thinking is like riding a bike, though. True, once learned, you do not forget it. But if you've not rode a bike in a while, there is a strong possibility that the muscles used to pedal things forward have become less muscular than you remember, and thus the going is slower than it used to be. You still know what to look for - the trends, the keywords, the subtweets - but it is an effort to care. An uphill effort, to combine metaphors.
Thus, on the ever rarer occasions when I power up my middle monitor, I see what is going on and how it unfolds. The impulse to contribute to the goings on and insert myself into the company, however, is not strong enough for me to do it as often and as energetically as I used to. I'm simply not in that frame of mind any more. My thoughts and words are directed elsewhere.
It is only prudent that I mention this somewhere. For future reference.
The strange thing is that Janetter - my ancient twitter client that new users can not run due to long-forgotten arbitrary API limits - still runs, in preparation for the ever rarer occasions when I turn the monitor on just to see the flow of tweets again. As if closing the program would be some kind of definite gesture, irrevocable once performed.
Less strange is that I find my thinking has changed. This is to be expected - as Byung-Chul Han noted, it is difficult to focus during a noisy party. But it is also more subtle than simply having less input to process. I find that I direct myself towards different company. Even if I were to think about something that happened to be trending on Twitter right this very instant, it would be from a different starting point, with different aims.
"Company" is the key term here, I suspect. Booth uses it to muse on the fact that we spend time in someone's company when we read their words, and conversely become company as others read ours. The quality of our company, both reading and writing, in many ways shape who we are, and who we try to be. Good company inspires upwards, while bad company keeps you down.
In more Twitter-related terms, this manifests as an implicit demand to become company to those we follow and those who follow us. As we think through the issues introduced and reiterated by those in our timelines, we ever so gradually come to feel the pressure to add our own thoughts to the flow. After seeing fifteen tweets about something, it becomes almost a knee-jerk reaction to write a sixteenth. Even if we only just heard about something mere minutes ago, we feel compelled to have said something about it.
This dynamic creates a very specific and other-directed way of thinking. You build up a sensitivity to trends and keywords, and act on what you see. Others see this as well, and react to your reactions; the fact that you both see and react to the same things is an immense sense of community; it is sometimes referred to as social media validation. It is company, good or bad.
This thinking is like riding a bike, though. True, once learned, you do not forget it. But if you've not rode a bike in a while, there is a strong possibility that the muscles used to pedal things forward have become less muscular than you remember, and thus the going is slower than it used to be. You still know what to look for - the trends, the keywords, the subtweets - but it is an effort to care. An uphill effort, to combine metaphors.
Thus, on the ever rarer occasions when I power up my middle monitor, I see what is going on and how it unfolds. The impulse to contribute to the goings on and insert myself into the company, however, is not strong enough for me to do it as often and as energetically as I used to. I'm simply not in that frame of mind any more. My thoughts and words are directed elsewhere.
It is only prudent that I mention this somewhere. For future reference.
Wednesday, February 7, 2018
Avoiding the problem head on
Valentine's Day approaches, and with it, a new blog project. This one will be the tenth iteration, and thus I wanted to do something special. My usual approach is to figure out a concept and use it as a template for new ideas - Relationship Statues is an example of that. This means I do not have a great deal of verbiage at hand on day one, and ever so gradually figure out what kind of posts to write. It's discovery and exploration as much as anything. This time, however, it is different.
This time, the new blog has a definite beginning, middle and end. And - more importantly - it is frontloaded to a never before seen degree.
This has me worried.
The funny thing about being worried is that there are different kinds of worry. There is the worry that the world will end, an all-consuming paralyzing worry. Or the worry that some dangerous element in one's immediate presence will spring into action, like a tiger. Or the worry that some elaborately planned course of events will fail to occur, leaving you in an awkward position (or botching that job interview). Or the worry that some unforeseen aspect will reveal itself and cause all previous plans to become obsolete - the factory closes, the application is rejected, the price goes up instead of down. Tangible, concrete worries about very specific things.
And then, there is my worry. I worry about capitalization.
That's right. Should I spell certain words beginning with an uppercase or lowercase letter? This is something I worry about.
There are two ways to understand this worry. One is to take it at its word, and face it head on. In the grand scheme of things, there are arguments for either case, and the matter can be resolved by simply picking one course of action and sticking with it. It might raise an eyebrow, but since it is consistent, it won't be a big deal. The worry is about a concrete problem that can be solved.
The other way to understand this worry is as a symptom. What I'm really worried about is not actually the capitalization (although having it solved would be a minor step forward). It is, however, a convenient thing to be worried about - thinking about it means not having to confront other things that are also worrying, but more indirect and difficult to pin down. If it was not this, the generalized worry would find some other minute aspect to zoom in on and fuss about.
This goes not only for this project, but for everything. Sometimes, you are worried about some minor detail because you genuinely do not know if it's this way or that, and the problem will go away if a solution comes along. At other times, the problem is not the problem, and the solution is to zoom out and take stock of the larger picture.
The difficulty is telling which is which, and when. -
This time, the new blog has a definite beginning, middle and end. And - more importantly - it is frontloaded to a never before seen degree.
This has me worried.
The funny thing about being worried is that there are different kinds of worry. There is the worry that the world will end, an all-consuming paralyzing worry. Or the worry that some dangerous element in one's immediate presence will spring into action, like a tiger. Or the worry that some elaborately planned course of events will fail to occur, leaving you in an awkward position (or botching that job interview). Or the worry that some unforeseen aspect will reveal itself and cause all previous plans to become obsolete - the factory closes, the application is rejected, the price goes up instead of down. Tangible, concrete worries about very specific things.
And then, there is my worry. I worry about capitalization.
That's right. Should I spell certain words beginning with an uppercase or lowercase letter? This is something I worry about.
There are two ways to understand this worry. One is to take it at its word, and face it head on. In the grand scheme of things, there are arguments for either case, and the matter can be resolved by simply picking one course of action and sticking with it. It might raise an eyebrow, but since it is consistent, it won't be a big deal. The worry is about a concrete problem that can be solved.
The other way to understand this worry is as a symptom. What I'm really worried about is not actually the capitalization (although having it solved would be a minor step forward). It is, however, a convenient thing to be worried about - thinking about it means not having to confront other things that are also worrying, but more indirect and difficult to pin down. If it was not this, the generalized worry would find some other minute aspect to zoom in on and fuss about.
This goes not only for this project, but for everything. Sometimes, you are worried about some minor detail because you genuinely do not know if it's this way or that, and the problem will go away if a solution comes along. At other times, the problem is not the problem, and the solution is to zoom out and take stock of the larger picture.
The difficulty is telling which is which, and when. -
Sunday, January 14, 2018
It's not the end of the world, but we can see it from here
The world did not end yesterday.
This statement has two qualities. One is that it is universally true for literally every situation you will find yourself in, a precondition for situations being that yesterday led to the present. The second, and more immediately pressing quality, is that it is related to a very specific event.
If you are reading in the future, then here is the context: yesterday, an alarm went off in Hawaii, warning about an imminent ballistic strike. Which is a technical way of saying that the nukes are coming, and they are coming this way. As you might imagine, this caused quite a bit of emotional anxiety for everyone involved. The fact that the whole ordeal happened because someone pressed the wrong button (I have been given impression that this is the literal truth, rather than mere evocative language) - did not help.
In fact, very few things help when the world is about to end. That is kind of the point of the world ending.
This is a very immediate situation to find oneself in. Everything becomes irrelevant, and one singular question becomes the totality of all possible lines of thinking: what do you do? Nothing matters any more, and thus the only thing that matters is what you do. Other questions, such as "what would others think?" "would this look good on my CV?" "does this affect my credit rating?" "can I really afford it in the long run?" - are swept away, and you are left with the immediacy of choice: do or do not, do this or do that. The long term is gone, this is your moment to define yourself in terms of your own. For the duration, you are the most important thing in your reality. You decide. What do you do?
This immediacy is both terrifying and, in a perverse way, liberating. The word that most perfectly summarizes the situation is the old version of "awesome": to be struck to one's very core with awe in the presence of some overwhelming factor which quite literally is larger than anything one has ever encountered before. It is the kind of experience that leaves you mouth agape and your mind repeating: everything I knew was wrong. Nothing makes sense any more, and because of that, the multitude of considerations that permeate everyday life melts away. Nothing makes sense, and the only thing that is of any importance whatsoever is:
What do you do?
Fortunately, the news about the world ending happened to be greatly exaggerated. We are still here to talk about it, and to try to get a grip on what this all means. Most, I suspect, will see it as just another news item among many, and not think too closely about it; there are still plenty of everyday chores to be done, and the non-ending of the world means they will not do themselves. Life goes on, with ruthless indifference, and this confronts us with a single, even more pressing question:
What do we do now?
This statement has two qualities. One is that it is universally true for literally every situation you will find yourself in, a precondition for situations being that yesterday led to the present. The second, and more immediately pressing quality, is that it is related to a very specific event.
If you are reading in the future, then here is the context: yesterday, an alarm went off in Hawaii, warning about an imminent ballistic strike. Which is a technical way of saying that the nukes are coming, and they are coming this way. As you might imagine, this caused quite a bit of emotional anxiety for everyone involved. The fact that the whole ordeal happened because someone pressed the wrong button (I have been given impression that this is the literal truth, rather than mere evocative language) - did not help.
In fact, very few things help when the world is about to end. That is kind of the point of the world ending.
This is a very immediate situation to find oneself in. Everything becomes irrelevant, and one singular question becomes the totality of all possible lines of thinking: what do you do? Nothing matters any more, and thus the only thing that matters is what you do. Other questions, such as "what would others think?" "would this look good on my CV?" "does this affect my credit rating?" "can I really afford it in the long run?" - are swept away, and you are left with the immediacy of choice: do or do not, do this or do that. The long term is gone, this is your moment to define yourself in terms of your own. For the duration, you are the most important thing in your reality. You decide. What do you do?
This immediacy is both terrifying and, in a perverse way, liberating. The word that most perfectly summarizes the situation is the old version of "awesome": to be struck to one's very core with awe in the presence of some overwhelming factor which quite literally is larger than anything one has ever encountered before. It is the kind of experience that leaves you mouth agape and your mind repeating: everything I knew was wrong. Nothing makes sense any more, and because of that, the multitude of considerations that permeate everyday life melts away. Nothing makes sense, and the only thing that is of any importance whatsoever is:
What do you do?
Fortunately, the news about the world ending happened to be greatly exaggerated. We are still here to talk about it, and to try to get a grip on what this all means. Most, I suspect, will see it as just another news item among many, and not think too closely about it; there are still plenty of everyday chores to be done, and the non-ending of the world means they will not do themselves. Life goes on, with ruthless indifference, and this confronts us with a single, even more pressing question:
What do we do now?
Saturday, January 6, 2018
Backstage sociology
This semester, we talked a lot about Goffman's concepts of frontstage and backstage. One of the things that struck me about it is that it is, as so many other concepts, fractal. You can apply it to just about any level, and then move either upwards or downwards, finding roughly the same processes going on. The scales differ, but the process remains the same.
These words have the advantage of meaning what you think they mean. Backstage is the social space behind the stage, where the last-minute rehearsals, costume changes and informal banter takes place, while frontstage is, well, on stage. The two spaces have different social dynamics, and things that are proper in one is improper in the other, and vice versa. While the play is on, only the actors who are supposed to be on stage are on stage, and they have very defined roles to play; the show must go on. Only when they have retreated backstage can the actors let their guard down, stop acting and - quite unceremoniously - collapse into the post-performance heaps they really are.
The audience members, too, have roles to fill whilst the show is on. The fact that these roles mostly consist of sitting and watching makes them comparatively easy to play; this does not, however, take away from the fact that things get very strange very fast if audience members suddenly decide to join in on the action. Everyone present have roles to fill, and most everyone present know these roles implicitly.
A non-theatrical example is a restaurant. Out among the tables, things are quiet and posh, with hushed conversations taking place among the dining guests, a reprieve from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. In the kitchen, however, the hustle and bustle is in full swing, with yelling, fast-paced motions and a stress level that is through the roof. The difference between frontstage and backstage is not subtle.
The fact that these two states of things happen in close proximity to each other means that there have to be boundaries between them. Often enough, these boundaries are subtle until you try to cross them. A restaurant guest is usually not allowed into the kitchen, and quickly escorted out should they somehow stumble into it. Shoppers are allowed to browse the store area, but any attempt to enter the back rooms will be ever so efficiently discouraged. If you do not have a keycard, you are not allowed into the office building. At concerts, only those with backstage passes are allowed into these mystical spaces.
Most spaces can be analyzed using these concepts. They are very versatile in this regard.
They are also fractal. Individuals act differently when they are frontstage (often quite literally meaning that they are not alone) than when they are backstage, and the boundaries between these states allow very few persons access. A small group (beginning at two persons) can similarly act differently when in a frontstage setting than when alone, with similar boundaries to entry. A large group (a theatre production, for instance) can project a particular image frontstage, while having very different dynamics backstage. And so on, scaling up as much as need be. (I suspect the discovery of alien life will have interesting implications in this regard.)
The only thing needed to use these concepts is an impulse to apply them to concrete situations. Upon reading this, you now have this impulse.
Have fun.
These words have the advantage of meaning what you think they mean. Backstage is the social space behind the stage, where the last-minute rehearsals, costume changes and informal banter takes place, while frontstage is, well, on stage. The two spaces have different social dynamics, and things that are proper in one is improper in the other, and vice versa. While the play is on, only the actors who are supposed to be on stage are on stage, and they have very defined roles to play; the show must go on. Only when they have retreated backstage can the actors let their guard down, stop acting and - quite unceremoniously - collapse into the post-performance heaps they really are.
The audience members, too, have roles to fill whilst the show is on. The fact that these roles mostly consist of sitting and watching makes them comparatively easy to play; this does not, however, take away from the fact that things get very strange very fast if audience members suddenly decide to join in on the action. Everyone present have roles to fill, and most everyone present know these roles implicitly.
A non-theatrical example is a restaurant. Out among the tables, things are quiet and posh, with hushed conversations taking place among the dining guests, a reprieve from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. In the kitchen, however, the hustle and bustle is in full swing, with yelling, fast-paced motions and a stress level that is through the roof. The difference between frontstage and backstage is not subtle.
The fact that these two states of things happen in close proximity to each other means that there have to be boundaries between them. Often enough, these boundaries are subtle until you try to cross them. A restaurant guest is usually not allowed into the kitchen, and quickly escorted out should they somehow stumble into it. Shoppers are allowed to browse the store area, but any attempt to enter the back rooms will be ever so efficiently discouraged. If you do not have a keycard, you are not allowed into the office building. At concerts, only those with backstage passes are allowed into these mystical spaces.
Most spaces can be analyzed using these concepts. They are very versatile in this regard.
They are also fractal. Individuals act differently when they are frontstage (often quite literally meaning that they are not alone) than when they are backstage, and the boundaries between these states allow very few persons access. A small group (beginning at two persons) can similarly act differently when in a frontstage setting than when alone, with similar boundaries to entry. A large group (a theatre production, for instance) can project a particular image frontstage, while having very different dynamics backstage. And so on, scaling up as much as need be. (I suspect the discovery of alien life will have interesting implications in this regard.)
The only thing needed to use these concepts is an impulse to apply them to concrete situations. Upon reading this, you now have this impulse.
Have fun.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Indirect rationality
Humans are strange. They have the darnedest ways of absorbing new information, and the way it is presented to them more often than not matters more than the information in and of itself.
For instance: simply stating something in the most literal straightforward way possible is usually the least efficient method of getting the information across. One would think that it'd be a straightforward proposition, but it isn't. Even if the thing stated is both true and self-evident.
To be sure, if it was sufficient to say something once, a lot of problems would have been solved moments after the Sermon on the Mount.
On the other hand, indirect and circuitous methods of presenting information have a tendency to be far more effective than intuition would suggest. If the information is embedded in, say, a narrative framework with complex storytelling conventions and mechanisms acting out over a large number of pages, this very same information is absorbed with alacrity. Despite the massive overhead.
It might be tempting to attribute this to a failure of rational thinking, but that would be a failure of rational thinking. Rational thinking takes the situation as it is and uses it as a basis for further action, and the situation is that human beings think in terms of contexts and relations rather than singular statements presented in isolation. A rational approach to human beings would take this into account, and present information in need of presenting with an appropriate measure of indirectness, so as to give the contextual and associative thinking time to occur.
Thus, I present to you this following information, in the most straightforward manner possible:
Homeopathy doesn't work.
For instance: simply stating something in the most literal straightforward way possible is usually the least efficient method of getting the information across. One would think that it'd be a straightforward proposition, but it isn't. Even if the thing stated is both true and self-evident.
To be sure, if it was sufficient to say something once, a lot of problems would have been solved moments after the Sermon on the Mount.
On the other hand, indirect and circuitous methods of presenting information have a tendency to be far more effective than intuition would suggest. If the information is embedded in, say, a narrative framework with complex storytelling conventions and mechanisms acting out over a large number of pages, this very same information is absorbed with alacrity. Despite the massive overhead.
It might be tempting to attribute this to a failure of rational thinking, but that would be a failure of rational thinking. Rational thinking takes the situation as it is and uses it as a basis for further action, and the situation is that human beings think in terms of contexts and relations rather than singular statements presented in isolation. A rational approach to human beings would take this into account, and present information in need of presenting with an appropriate measure of indirectness, so as to give the contextual and associative thinking time to occur.
Thus, I present to you this following information, in the most straightforward manner possible:
Homeopathy doesn't work.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Optimizing for the wrong situations
Optimizing for the wrong situations is a very common condition in the modern world. Not due to any fault of the individuals who happen to do it, but because of the sheer volume of complex interlocking systems that are in existence and the impossibility to know them all well enough to avoid it.
An example is when a traveler hears about the very strict custom checks in a country they're about to go to, and efforts profusely in order to make sure everything is in order prior to arrival. Time and energy goes into the preparations, in order to optimize for these checks. Then, when the day arrives, the custom official looks indifferently at the luggage, shrugs and waves them through with a bored gesture. Not just with regards to our traveler, but all travelers passing through.
These things happen all the time. You hear something, prepare exceedingly in accordance to what you heard, only to find out that the preparations were completely unnecessary. Even though you've spent weeks or months agonizing about this one particular thing.
Again, this is not due to any particular fault on your part. It's just that you didn't know the situation well enough to know that it's not a big deal.
This will happen to you, again and again There is no real way to avoid it, other than to only do things you've already done before. Which, to be sure, is the mostest expression of optimizing for the wrong situations. -
An example is when a traveler hears about the very strict custom checks in a country they're about to go to, and efforts profusely in order to make sure everything is in order prior to arrival. Time and energy goes into the preparations, in order to optimize for these checks. Then, when the day arrives, the custom official looks indifferently at the luggage, shrugs and waves them through with a bored gesture. Not just with regards to our traveler, but all travelers passing through.
These things happen all the time. You hear something, prepare exceedingly in accordance to what you heard, only to find out that the preparations were completely unnecessary. Even though you've spent weeks or months agonizing about this one particular thing.
Again, this is not due to any particular fault on your part. It's just that you didn't know the situation well enough to know that it's not a big deal.
This will happen to you, again and again There is no real way to avoid it, other than to only do things you've already done before. Which, to be sure, is the mostest expression of optimizing for the wrong situations. -
Monday, August 24, 2015
The war on accidents
Virilio defined accidents as the unavoidable side-inventions of new technologies. A commonly used example is the train accident - you cannot invent and build a train system without at the same time building the possibility of trains derailing. The mere act of moving trains on rails necessitates the possibility of them going off them. You can't have one without the other, as Sinatra sang it.
Then, in September 2001, someone weaponized the accident. Rather than using a conventional weapon, such as a bomb or a missile, they used the inherent and unavoidable potential for accidents built into airplanes. (That which goes up and so on.)
Ever since, the fear of accidents have been ever present. Of course, it has not been packaged as a fear of accidents, as that would be a hard sell. Rather, it went (and still goes) by the fancier name War on Terrorism. The difference between terrorism and accidents in this case being merely propagandistic - it is hard to conceive that the ever more draconian measures put in place are meant to stop bombs, missiles and other traditional tools of the trade. The aim is not to stop terrorism - it is to prevent accidents.
Thing is, though. Accidents are inherent to everything. As in, everything. The only way to prevent them is - as Aristotle put it - do nothing. Even then, nothing is guaranteed. There is no shortage of accidents of the human body, and even being in a position to read these words puts you at risk of the unforeseen (or worse, foreseen) accident.
One day, you too will die.
Question is how to live until then. Embodying the war on accidents is an option. It can be chosen as a way of life. It doesn't work, but nevertheless.
Always the less, as it were. -
Then, in September 2001, someone weaponized the accident. Rather than using a conventional weapon, such as a bomb or a missile, they used the inherent and unavoidable potential for accidents built into airplanes. (That which goes up and so on.)
Ever since, the fear of accidents have been ever present. Of course, it has not been packaged as a fear of accidents, as that would be a hard sell. Rather, it went (and still goes) by the fancier name War on Terrorism. The difference between terrorism and accidents in this case being merely propagandistic - it is hard to conceive that the ever more draconian measures put in place are meant to stop bombs, missiles and other traditional tools of the trade. The aim is not to stop terrorism - it is to prevent accidents.
Thing is, though. Accidents are inherent to everything. As in, everything. The only way to prevent them is - as Aristotle put it - do nothing. Even then, nothing is guaranteed. There is no shortage of accidents of the human body, and even being in a position to read these words puts you at risk of the unforeseen (or worse, foreseen) accident.
One day, you too will die.
Question is how to live until then. Embodying the war on accidents is an option. It can be chosen as a way of life. It doesn't work, but nevertheless.
Always the less, as it were. -
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Counting my blessings
Any given statement has more than one reason for being made. Some of these reasons might be readily apparent - such as "could you pass the salt" - while others might be more opaque. Most of the time, it's not so much what is said but the fact that it is said at all.
Such as this:
This tells you many things. Such as that I'm soon gonna move (yay!), that I've done some preliminary scouting around the new place, and that I've found no less than seven pizza places near it.
Good news all around, as you can see. Until we encounter these followup statements:
You might think that the first tweet would cover the last one - eight is in fact also not less than seven. Six would be wrong, eight is just one more than advertised. From a position of pure formal logic, they are identical.
Thing is, though, that the statement is not a logical proposition. The words "no less than" do more that simply state a minimum, and the number is more than just an amount. There's more going on here than just a simple statement of fact.
What reason could I have for retracting the seven and restating the eight? Of all the possible things I could have said, I said these things in particular. Why?
There could be all sorts of reasons, and we could speculate endlessly about it. Which is the position we find ourselves in most of the time when pondering why people say what they say. Sometimes, we have nothing but the statement itself to go on, leaving us free and/or forced to invent any number of fanciful reasons for why it was said. Sometimes, these speculations lead us down paths that are less than spectacular.
This time, though, we have me around. And I can tell you what's what. Shed some light on this pizza mystery.
I the first tweet, what I say is this: there are seven pizza places near my new place of residence, AND IT'S GOING TO BE AWESOME!
In the second tweet, what I say is this: IT'S GOING TO BE EVEN MORE AWESOME THAN I THOUGHT!
This has implications. Both for how to read and understand what people are saying, and for my continual well-being.
I predict good things in the future.
Such as this:
I just scouted the new place and its surroundings
There are no less than seven pizza places within minutes of walking from it
— 475% quality content (@sargoth) April 7, 2015
This tells you many things. Such as that I'm soon gonna move (yay!), that I've done some preliminary scouting around the new place, and that I've found no less than seven pizza places near it.
Good news all around, as you can see. Until we encounter these followup statements:
I have a confession
I was wrong
— 475% quality content (@sargoth) April 15, 2015
There are no less than eight pizza places within walking distance of my new place
— 475% quality content (@sargoth) April 15, 2015
You might think that the first tweet would cover the last one - eight is in fact also not less than seven. Six would be wrong, eight is just one more than advertised. From a position of pure formal logic, they are identical.
Thing is, though, that the statement is not a logical proposition. The words "no less than" do more that simply state a minimum, and the number is more than just an amount. There's more going on here than just a simple statement of fact.
What reason could I have for retracting the seven and restating the eight? Of all the possible things I could have said, I said these things in particular. Why?
There could be all sorts of reasons, and we could speculate endlessly about it. Which is the position we find ourselves in most of the time when pondering why people say what they say. Sometimes, we have nothing but the statement itself to go on, leaving us free and/or forced to invent any number of fanciful reasons for why it was said. Sometimes, these speculations lead us down paths that are less than spectacular.
This time, though, we have me around. And I can tell you what's what. Shed some light on this pizza mystery.
I the first tweet, what I say is this: there are seven pizza places near my new place of residence, AND IT'S GOING TO BE AWESOME!
In the second tweet, what I say is this: IT'S GOING TO BE EVEN MORE AWESOME THAN I THOUGHT!
This has implications. Both for how to read and understand what people are saying, and for my continual well-being.
I predict good things in the future.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Emotional pylons
Recently, I've been thinking about the notion of emotional pylons. Partly because I like the words, but mostly because I like the notions. Emotional pylons. What is it? And what could it be?
The latter question is, as always, more interesting than the former.
They could be a great many things. Over at my other blog - you know, the one with strange standalone nonsensical pieces of almost-fiction - I imagine them being some sort of disembodied system that caters to a towns emotional needs. It's just metaphysical enough to almost be theological, and just technological enough to almost be magical. It's almost fiction.
Another imagining is that they are social spaces. Social spaces where people get together, share their stories and experiences, discuss current events and difficulties, build shared values and generally support each other in various ways. Including in the ever important but also ever invisible emotional dimension, the one that underlies all others due to the human conditions. We are all human beings, human feelers, and these feels need to be attended to from time to time. And place.
There's a marked lack of places where people go in order to feel genuinely better when they leave. Where people can recharge emotionally, both themselves and others.
Another image is of memetics/semiotics. Sort of like pictures of kittens, only more so. Pictures, sayings, phrases, gestures - small everyday things that confirm and reaffirm that you (yes, you) still have a place in the order of things, that you are an accepted part of this here group of people. The nods and grunts and elaborate rituals that marks members as members, and that marks you as such, embracing you as you reciprocate. Or don't, as the case might be, depending on just how tired you are.
Another image:
This could keep going for a while. I'm not too terribly interested in defining what an emotional pylon is. I am, however, deep into thinking about what they might be, and how they might be implemented in a world near us.
On a street near us, as it were. -
The latter question is, as always, more interesting than the former.
They could be a great many things. Over at my other blog - you know, the one with strange standalone nonsensical pieces of almost-fiction - I imagine them being some sort of disembodied system that caters to a towns emotional needs. It's just metaphysical enough to almost be theological, and just technological enough to almost be magical. It's almost fiction.
Another imagining is that they are social spaces. Social spaces where people get together, share their stories and experiences, discuss current events and difficulties, build shared values and generally support each other in various ways. Including in the ever important but also ever invisible emotional dimension, the one that underlies all others due to the human conditions. We are all human beings, human feelers, and these feels need to be attended to from time to time. And place.
There's a marked lack of places where people go in order to feel genuinely better when they leave. Where people can recharge emotionally, both themselves and others.
Another image is of memetics/semiotics. Sort of like pictures of kittens, only more so. Pictures, sayings, phrases, gestures - small everyday things that confirm and reaffirm that you (yes, you) still have a place in the order of things, that you are an accepted part of this here group of people. The nods and grunts and elaborate rituals that marks members as members, and that marks you as such, embracing you as you reciprocate. Or don't, as the case might be, depending on just how tired you are.
Another image:
This could keep going for a while. I'm not too terribly interested in defining what an emotional pylon is. I am, however, deep into thinking about what they might be, and how they might be implemented in a world near us.
On a street near us, as it were. -
Thursday, July 24, 2014
The power of two
Jews are cool.
Israel is not cool.
These two statements are, in the minds of some people, mutually exclusive. The one is the other, and vice versa - as inseparable as can be.
Thing is, though, they are separable. And it is important to separate them.
The recent and historical atrocities committed by the state of Israel can be understood by recent and historical atrocities committed by other states. They follow the same patterns, no matter who happens to be in charge; there is a systemic slide into barbarity inherent in states as such.
If you look at the history of Europe, you'll see it action over and over and over again. Sometimes against jews. Sometimes against each other. Mostly against defenseless innocents who happened to be in the wrong place.
Statehood does that to people. Decides who's in the right and wrong places. And removes those who are in the wrong.
So. There's jews all over the world. They are cool.
The state of Israel is in one place. It is uncool.
Now there's two thoughts to think at the same time.
Israel is not cool.
These two statements are, in the minds of some people, mutually exclusive. The one is the other, and vice versa - as inseparable as can be.
Thing is, though, they are separable. And it is important to separate them.
The recent and historical atrocities committed by the state of Israel can be understood by recent and historical atrocities committed by other states. They follow the same patterns, no matter who happens to be in charge; there is a systemic slide into barbarity inherent in states as such.
If you look at the history of Europe, you'll see it action over and over and over again. Sometimes against jews. Sometimes against each other. Mostly against defenseless innocents who happened to be in the wrong place.
Statehood does that to people. Decides who's in the right and wrong places. And removes those who are in the wrong.
So. There's jews all over the world. They are cool.
The state of Israel is in one place. It is uncool.
Now there's two thoughts to think at the same time.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
The on/off relationships of social media people
Social media is all about conversation. Or, rather, conversations, in plural. If it was just the one conversation, we could apply the old standard conventions to it and go from there. But it isn't, and we can't.
Instead, there are several emerging new conventions, most of them emerging in parallel and with some overlaps and areas for conflicting expectations.
One thing everyone seems to be on board with is that there are, in fact, several conversations going on at the same time. Not one, not two, but a whole bunch of them. No conflicts here. Until it's time to end one of these conversations, for whatever reason.
Some people (me included) are of the opinion that you can't reasonably be expected to talk to everyone all the time, and that conversations naturally fade away, only to be reopened again when new topics arrive. It's not so much one single conversational thread going on from start to finish, as it is a continuous string of interaction about whatever comes along. Sometimes, exchanges happen; sometimes, they don't. But whenever something pops up, the social space includes the option of saying "hey, look at this, what do you think?".
The subtle shift from "conversation" to "social relation" inherent in this view are not coincidental. It is the very essence of the social media thing.
Not responding to a particular input is not a big deal in this view. There will be more inputs, and more things will be said. The social relation will endure when any one particular conversation ends.
As you might imagine, there are other opinions, other conventions. Some of which are much stricter on when you can legitimately not respond to things, and which social markers you need to employ to disengage from a conversation in a proper manner. In fact, they closely resemble the old style rules of conversation: you are talking to someone, with someone, and this deserves the respect the situation warrants. No matter the number of conversations.
The analogy here would be to hang up on someone mid-sentence - that simply will not do.
I've already proclaimed myself partial to the first way of looking at things. This doesn't mean it's the right, only and true way - it's just useful information for those who want to talk at me (@sargoth, hi, talk at me). I'm just the one person, and by no means in a majority. But you will run in to people from my neck of the woods, and you will run in to people from the traditional woods of the neck, and you will most likely have social media conversations with both of them at the same time. Knowing that there is a difference will help you avoid those subtle social transgressions that so often happen when different conventions meet up and talk to each other.
Social media is all about conversation. And conversations. And conventions. And [the blog post fades to a close, opening up a social space for commenting and conversing]
Instead, there are several emerging new conventions, most of them emerging in parallel and with some overlaps and areas for conflicting expectations.
One thing everyone seems to be on board with is that there are, in fact, several conversations going on at the same time. Not one, not two, but a whole bunch of them. No conflicts here. Until it's time to end one of these conversations, for whatever reason.
Some people (me included) are of the opinion that you can't reasonably be expected to talk to everyone all the time, and that conversations naturally fade away, only to be reopened again when new topics arrive. It's not so much one single conversational thread going on from start to finish, as it is a continuous string of interaction about whatever comes along. Sometimes, exchanges happen; sometimes, they don't. But whenever something pops up, the social space includes the option of saying "hey, look at this, what do you think?".
The subtle shift from "conversation" to "social relation" inherent in this view are not coincidental. It is the very essence of the social media thing.
Not responding to a particular input is not a big deal in this view. There will be more inputs, and more things will be said. The social relation will endure when any one particular conversation ends.
As you might imagine, there are other opinions, other conventions. Some of which are much stricter on when you can legitimately not respond to things, and which social markers you need to employ to disengage from a conversation in a proper manner. In fact, they closely resemble the old style rules of conversation: you are talking to someone, with someone, and this deserves the respect the situation warrants. No matter the number of conversations.
The analogy here would be to hang up on someone mid-sentence - that simply will not do.
I've already proclaimed myself partial to the first way of looking at things. This doesn't mean it's the right, only and true way - it's just useful information for those who want to talk at me (@sargoth, hi, talk at me). I'm just the one person, and by no means in a majority. But you will run in to people from my neck of the woods, and you will run in to people from the traditional woods of the neck, and you will most likely have social media conversations with both of them at the same time. Knowing that there is a difference will help you avoid those subtle social transgressions that so often happen when different conventions meet up and talk to each other.
Social media is all about conversation. And conversations. And conventions. And [the blog post fades to a close, opening up a social space for commenting and conversing]
Friday, February 28, 2014
Chatter chatter chatter
Energy is the basis of all things. But not all things are created equal - not all things demand the same amount of energy to happen. And, to drive this point further, the same things do not demand the same amount of energy to happen for all people. Some people can do certain things with a lack of effort, while others have to struggle their hearts out in order to make that very same thing happen.
Energy is not a universal currency, as it were.
This applies very much to communication. Some people can communicate rather effortlessly, going on and on and on in a state of constant chattering about this and that. Others have to make the effortial equivalent of climbing a hill to say just the one thing. Not to mention two things.
Communication is not a universal constant, as it were.
This is important to keep in mind, as you will run into people who have to effort to communicate. You will run into them at a regular basis, and you will most likely misunderstand their energy requirements for something else. In benign cases, you'll take it for a certain ponderousness, a tendency to think that one extra second before speaking. In other cases, you'll take it for rudeness slowness (with a negative connotation). Or something else, for better or worse.
It's not what they're saying. It's how much they have to effort in order to say it.
As it were.
Energy is not a universal currency, as it were.
This applies very much to communication. Some people can communicate rather effortlessly, going on and on and on in a state of constant chattering about this and that. Others have to make the effortial equivalent of climbing a hill to say just the one thing. Not to mention two things.
Communication is not a universal constant, as it were.
This is important to keep in mind, as you will run into people who have to effort to communicate. You will run into them at a regular basis, and you will most likely misunderstand their energy requirements for something else. In benign cases, you'll take it for a certain ponderousness, a tendency to think that one extra second before speaking. In other cases, you'll take it for rudeness slowness (with a negative connotation). Or something else, for better or worse.
It's not what they're saying. It's how much they have to effort in order to say it.
As it were.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Connecting the polka dots
You have awesome people around you. You know awesome people.
Thing is: they don't know each other.
So here's an easy thing to make the world just that much better: introduce them to each other. Right now.
Do say hi from me. (:~~~~
Thing is: they don't know each other.
So here's an easy thing to make the world just that much better: introduce them to each other. Right now.
Do say hi from me. (:~~~~
Friday, January 3, 2014
The future is your oyster
Predictions are hard. Especially those about the future. And especially those about humans.
You'd think it work something along these lines:
You make a prediction. It turns out to be right.
You make a prediction. It turns out to be wrong.
Clean, precise and simple. It's either true or false. Or true to a sufficient amount of digits to justify the wanton use of the phrase "Pearson product-moment correlation coefficient".
You'd think it be that easy. But then these things happen:
You make a prediction. Because you made this prediction, people made a conscious effort to make this prediction come true, and thus made it happen.
You make a prediction. Because you made this prediction, people pulled together and made it their solemn duty to make this prediction not come true. And this it didn't.
Suddenly, the prediction becomes a part of the thing it's supposed to predict. Which, to be sure, makes the whole prediction business that much trickier. Not as clean and simple as one would think.
You'd think this would be the end of it. But no! It gets worse!
You make a prediction, and people act in such a way to facilitate the prediction coming to pass. However, their actions are of such a nature that they undermine the conditions which would make it possible to come true, and thus it doesn't.
You make a prediction, and people act in such a way as to try to prevent it from happening. However, in their eagerness they manage to do precisely those things that makes the predicted thing happen, and thus it happens.
As you can see, predictions can have all kinds of effects on things. Especially humans. Things can happen because you predict them. Things can fail to happen because you predict them. Things that might have happened might unhappen because of your prediction. Things can be caused to happen by your prediction of them.
I predict you managed to get your head around all of that. And that you're thinking: well, it can't get any worse than that, can it?
Well, you could predict something that is quite obviously going to happen whether anyone predicts them or not. And that others have predicted before, but not in quite as loudmouthed a way. By being among the most vocal of those doing the predicting, you elevate yourself to a higher social status by virtue of saying true things about the future. Loudly.
To which I predict you thinking: wait, predictions can change the thing they predict, the person doing the predicting, and the relationship between predicted, predictor and predicated? What maze of recursive mutually dependent dialectic twists and turn is this?
You'd be excused for thinking that sometimes, it's easier to not think about these things.
Such as in the comparatively easy hard sciences. -
You'd think it work something along these lines:You make a prediction. It turns out to be right.
You make a prediction. It turns out to be wrong.
Clean, precise and simple. It's either true or false. Or true to a sufficient amount of digits to justify the wanton use of the phrase "Pearson product-moment correlation coefficient".
You'd think it be that easy. But then these things happen:
You make a prediction. Because you made this prediction, people made a conscious effort to make this prediction come true, and thus made it happen.
You make a prediction. Because you made this prediction, people pulled together and made it their solemn duty to make this prediction not come true. And this it didn't.
Suddenly, the prediction becomes a part of the thing it's supposed to predict. Which, to be sure, makes the whole prediction business that much trickier. Not as clean and simple as one would think.
You'd think this would be the end of it. But no! It gets worse!
You make a prediction, and people act in such a way to facilitate the prediction coming to pass. However, their actions are of such a nature that they undermine the conditions which would make it possible to come true, and thus it doesn't.
You make a prediction, and people act in such a way as to try to prevent it from happening. However, in their eagerness they manage to do precisely those things that makes the predicted thing happen, and thus it happens.
As you can see, predictions can have all kinds of effects on things. Especially humans. Things can happen because you predict them. Things can fail to happen because you predict them. Things that might have happened might unhappen because of your prediction. Things can be caused to happen by your prediction of them.
I predict you managed to get your head around all of that. And that you're thinking: well, it can't get any worse than that, can it?
Well, you could predict something that is quite obviously going to happen whether anyone predicts them or not. And that others have predicted before, but not in quite as loudmouthed a way. By being among the most vocal of those doing the predicting, you elevate yourself to a higher social status by virtue of saying true things about the future. Loudly.
To which I predict you thinking: wait, predictions can change the thing they predict, the person doing the predicting, and the relationship between predicted, predictor and predicated? What maze of recursive mutually dependent dialectic twists and turn is this?
You'd be excused for thinking that sometimes, it's easier to not think about these things.
Such as in the comparatively easy hard sciences. -
Saturday, December 21, 2013
On privilege
Being privileged is many things. Being privileged is also not many things. Both at the same time.
First things first: being privileged does not make you a bad person. It is just a statement of fact - you have something others don't. Whatever that might be.
It might be money.
It might be time.
It might be access.
It might be social recognition.
It might be available life choices.
It might be expectations.
It might be all of these things at once, intertangled in a complex web of interlocking mutually reinforcing causes and effects, transcribed into our cultural DNA and determining our fates like those old norns of yore -
It probably is. Only without the norns.
The way to read this non-exhaustive list is to see it as things that might be relevant to look at, either by themselves or in combination. The best advice is to start out with the one thing, and go from there.
So, one thing. Money. On the face of it, it is rather straightforward. The ultrarich are more privileged than the ultrapoor. The moderately rich more than the moderately poor. And so and so forth. Nothing strange going on here. And, to be sure, nothing interesting. Yet. Let's add complexity.
Now, two things. Money and time.
It is tempting to quote the old adage that time is money. And it is, in oh so many ways. Most markedly if you happen to be employed by someone, and have to remain employed by this someone to keep yourself in money. Which, in most cases, mean you have to be at work all those hours, every day five days a week.
That's a lot of hours, all taken together.
It works in reverse, too. The one thing money is best at buying is time. In a direct sense, you buy other people's time when you buy things - whether it being indirect in the product of someone's labor, or the very immediate sense of making that labor happen. In whatever way, shape or form it might manifest itself.
Or, sideways: with enough money, you have time to do whatever it is you want to do. And, moreover, you don't ever have to spend time worrying about money - a big pastime among those who don't have it.
It is, of course, possible to flip this. I'm sadly enough privy to the details, but I hear that tax returns and financial instruments can get quite complicated and time-consuming really fast. Meaning that not all money is equally efficient time savers, and that sometimes you're better off timewise having no money at all.
And, in another reversal: debt.
Let's make things even more complicated. Three things. -
Or, well. I imagine you're getting the picture at this point. Privilege is not always a clear cut thing, obvious for the world to see. It is, sometimes (hello, fellow westerners), but in the hustle and bustle among the people you actually meet, it ain't. Some people are rich, but so bogged down by what they have to do to stay rich that it's not worth it in any rational sense. Some are poor, but also free from debt and social obligations that stand in the way of what they want to do. Some are part of marginalized minorities, discriminated against in every sense, yet have social bonds with and solidarity for each other that makes all of "my" problems into "our" problems. Some have to work their literal and metaphorical arses off to get what others get for free; sometimes, this comes back to haunt the latter in more ways than they'd ever know.
It's not easy. It's not fair, either, despite the above paragraph about how things sometimes balance themselves. Adaptation to injustices is not a justification for them, and it is a mistake to think so. Despite it being a comfortable option for those with the privilege to be able do so.
The biggest privilege, and thus the most hard to fathom for those who have it, is to not have to bother with shit. Which male white people are very privy to, and even more so in that they don't even have to think about it. This freedom from having to deal is a huge load of free(d) time, energy, effort, money and all other forms of resource one might care to mention. Whatever it is one might want to do, it gets easier with access to these resources. Add to this that they might be used to accrue more resources, and we get ourselves into a situation where some people are very comfortable in the boat, while others inevitably will rock it while trying to get in.
With the resources not spent on staying afloat.
Privilege. It's a thing. It's many things.
It's not all things, though. There's still room for freedom, change, and sharing.
I encourage you the privilege to use it.
First things first: being privileged does not make you a bad person. It is just a statement of fact - you have something others don't. Whatever that might be.It might be money.
It might be time.
It might be access.
It might be social recognition.
It might be available life choices.
It might be expectations.
It might be all of these things at once, intertangled in a complex web of interlocking mutually reinforcing causes and effects, transcribed into our cultural DNA and determining our fates like those old norns of yore -
It probably is. Only without the norns.
The way to read this non-exhaustive list is to see it as things that might be relevant to look at, either by themselves or in combination. The best advice is to start out with the one thing, and go from there.
So, one thing. Money. On the face of it, it is rather straightforward. The ultrarich are more privileged than the ultrapoor. The moderately rich more than the moderately poor. And so and so forth. Nothing strange going on here. And, to be sure, nothing interesting. Yet. Let's add complexity.
Now, two things. Money and time.
It is tempting to quote the old adage that time is money. And it is, in oh so many ways. Most markedly if you happen to be employed by someone, and have to remain employed by this someone to keep yourself in money. Which, in most cases, mean you have to be at work all those hours, every day five days a week.
That's a lot of hours, all taken together.
It works in reverse, too. The one thing money is best at buying is time. In a direct sense, you buy other people's time when you buy things - whether it being indirect in the product of someone's labor, or the very immediate sense of making that labor happen. In whatever way, shape or form it might manifest itself.
Or, sideways: with enough money, you have time to do whatever it is you want to do. And, moreover, you don't ever have to spend time worrying about money - a big pastime among those who don't have it.
It is, of course, possible to flip this. I'm sadly enough privy to the details, but I hear that tax returns and financial instruments can get quite complicated and time-consuming really fast. Meaning that not all money is equally efficient time savers, and that sometimes you're better off timewise having no money at all.
And, in another reversal: debt.
Let's make things even more complicated. Three things. -
Or, well. I imagine you're getting the picture at this point. Privilege is not always a clear cut thing, obvious for the world to see. It is, sometimes (hello, fellow westerners), but in the hustle and bustle among the people you actually meet, it ain't. Some people are rich, but so bogged down by what they have to do to stay rich that it's not worth it in any rational sense. Some are poor, but also free from debt and social obligations that stand in the way of what they want to do. Some are part of marginalized minorities, discriminated against in every sense, yet have social bonds with and solidarity for each other that makes all of "my" problems into "our" problems. Some have to work their literal and metaphorical arses off to get what others get for free; sometimes, this comes back to haunt the latter in more ways than they'd ever know.
It's not easy. It's not fair, either, despite the above paragraph about how things sometimes balance themselves. Adaptation to injustices is not a justification for them, and it is a mistake to think so. Despite it being a comfortable option for those with the privilege to be able do so.
The biggest privilege, and thus the most hard to fathom for those who have it, is to not have to bother with shit. Which male white people are very privy to, and even more so in that they don't even have to think about it. This freedom from having to deal is a huge load of free(d) time, energy, effort, money and all other forms of resource one might care to mention. Whatever it is one might want to do, it gets easier with access to these resources. Add to this that they might be used to accrue more resources, and we get ourselves into a situation where some people are very comfortable in the boat, while others inevitably will rock it while trying to get in.
With the resources not spent on staying afloat.
Privilege. It's a thing. It's many things.
It's not all things, though. There's still room for freedom, change, and sharing.
I encourage you the privilege to use it.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
I know that feeling, and so do you
Imagine yourself at your angriest. The most angry you've ever been. The apex of rage, fury and utter will to krush, kill and destroy. Those moments where your whole being is turned into a solid, focused point of malign intentionality, where any and all thoughts are singularly directioned into the will to harm. Where no amount of retribution is enough, and the proper time and proper place to act on this cosmic injustice is right about this fist -
Imagine this anger. Feel it.
Now think it being directed. At you.
Empathy is not soft and squishy. Empathy is fucking scary.
Imagine this anger. Feel it.
Now think it being directed. At you.
Empathy is not soft and squishy. Empathy is fucking scary.
Monday, December 16, 2013
A short story about religiosity
Protagonist A: Ach! Religious superstition is so stupid! People do the craziest things to appease someone who isn't there and don't care! They believe in stories about mystical powers that will punish them if they act the wrong way, and can't even think about not doing what these powers tell them to do. They're unfree, unhappy and unthinking - and they don't even know it!
Protagonist B: Speaking of things. Why is it that you have a stuffed elk in your living room? It doesn't really fit the decor, and it's a bit of a squeeze to get to and fro.
Protagonist A: Well, you see, my insurance company sent me a letter, claiming that they won't cover it if I don't keep it in a dry and safe place. And I couldn't think of a safer and drier space than my living room!
Protagonist B: Speaking of things. Why is it that you have a stuffed elk in your living room? It doesn't really fit the decor, and it's a bit of a squeeze to get to and fro.
Protagonist A: Well, you see, my insurance company sent me a letter, claiming that they won't cover it if I don't keep it in a dry and safe place. And I couldn't think of a safer and drier space than my living room!
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