Local Optimism

             Local Optimism

Voltaire mocked Leibnitz (in the guise of Dr. Pangloss) for proposing that this is the ‘best of all possible worlds’. But Leibnitz, co-inventor of the calculus, knew the difference between local and global maxima. A global maximum is the largest value that a function reaches, for any input; whereas a local maximum is the largest value that a function reaches, in some neighborhood of the locally-maximizing input.

I therefore propose this modification of Panglossian optimism; Local Optimism, which states that this is the best of all sufficiently similar possible worlds. Any stable world locally optimizes; it’s the best of all nearby possibilities.

          Local optimism suggests that there may be many stable worlds, some better than ours. There may also be inherently unstable worlds, that are the worst of all sufficiently similar possible worlds.

          Any continuous path from one stable world to another must begin by getting worse.

          Any continuous path from one stable world to a better one must, in between, pass through the worst world on the path.

          A path from one stable world to a better one that never gets worse must be discontinuous.

          Analogs of local optimism are confirmed - and fundamental - in biology and physics; Darwinian evolution for biology and the Law of Least Action for physics. Local Optimism has sufficient scientific support to appeal to the likes of Leibnitz; yet also sufficient satiric undertones to appeal to the likes of Voltaire.

          For why does the universe minimize action? Is it lazy?

Collective Individuality

            Collective Individuality

 

            In my writngs I call into question the existence of money. I call this philosophy ‘aplutism’; it calls money a fiction. Any money system’s reality is at best social; money’s value is determined by a market, which is by definition transpersonal. Therefore there is no such thing as “my” money system; it is by definition “ours”.

            Therefore money is collectivist! It has to be, otherwise it wouldn’t be fungible. The same goes for language. Words have to have shared meanings, or they have no meanings at all. Or take Reason; there is certainly no such thing as “my” rationality, distinct from “ours”. If anyone has Reason, then Reason is the common property of all mankind.

             (Once Calvin, of the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, was told to answer a test question “in your own words”. A loophole! So he answered in gibberish.)

             A curious political paradox emerges. Money, speech and Reason are the gods of libertarian individualism, but they’re also as collectivist as the fire department! Money, speech, reason and much else (for instance the Rule of Law) is collective by nature. We all have rule of law or none of us do. In such a situation the only rational policy is to build government relating to such things on collective principles.

             The money that you make is yours; but it is denominated in terms that are ours. Your speech is free, you may say whatever you like, but you’d better use English, and not some private language of your own, if you wish to be understood. You have your individual rights under the law; but the law is a creature of the State. And so on.

            The individual and the collective are interdependent; they only make sense in terms of each other. Yin and Yang.

             The paradox works in the other direction as well. Every collectivist movement ends up being run by a powerful individual, usually an alpha male. The army needs a general, the church needs a priest, the commune needs a manager.

             The human dilemma is that we are individual yet social. Monty Python parodied the paradox in this scene from their “Life of Brian”:

            Brian to crowd: “I mean, you’re all individuals!”

            Crowd: “YES, WE’RE ALL INDIVIDUALS!”

            Lone man in crowd: “I’m not!”

             Rudyard Kipling celebrated the paradox with:

            The strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.

  

            Signed,

            the illusion of the individual Nathaniel

 

 

Against Uniqueness

             Against Uniqueness

  

          What does it mean, to be unique? To be the best, the exception, the only? It seems a positive thing somehow, but really it has a lot of negativity built in.

          To be unique is to have a certain description – that indeed is the positive part of uniqueness, especially if the description is flattering; but to be unique also means that nothing else has that same description. Nothing else whatsoever is like the unique; hence there is negativity within uniqueness.

          Were a lover to say, “I love my friends and relatives and many others, including you,” well, the one wooed might find his ardor limited, but soothing; but were he to say, “I love only you,” well how thrilling, but stressful. The lover of many needs keeping an eye on; but the lover of only-one is needy, clingy, and potentially dangerous.

          Once I was walking through Harvard Square when someone ran up to me, calling another man’s name. It turned out that there was another mathematician there, one who looked like me, at least from behind. I found this revelation reassuring; if I’m part of a type, then we must be on to something.

I felt the same sense of collective security when I noticed that raccoons have hands. Evidently hands are a good idea; someone else seconded the motion. If we were the only animals with hands, then I might doubt the soundness of the concept; but as is, if there’s something that we ought to do with these hands, but we fail, then there’s a back-up team, to do it in our place. How reassuring!

          Uniqueness is the enemy of positivity just as the best is the enemy of the good. The unique is the least positive of the positives; for irreplacibility equals insecurity. Uneasy rests the One, for fear that there might be another One.

          All could be good but only a few can be best; therefore the good are a better bet than the best.

          Therefore we should all renounce uniqueness. Never sell your soul, not for a treasure, nor even a penny; instead give it away for free.

 

Zurn, Tork and Bobrick Explained

       Zurn, Tork and Bobrick Explained

 

          One BayCon, at the Santa Clara Hyatt Regency, I was in the men’s-room on the first floor. I noticed that all the urinal plumbing bore a corporate logo: ZURN. I thought, “Zurn?!”; then I turned to wash my hands. The towel dispensers had a corporate logo: TORK. And the hot-air hand-dryers bore the name BOBRICK.

Zurn? Tork? Bobrick? Corporate names are weird for some reason; they have a dream-like quality. This, at a science-fiction convention, invited appropriation by imagination. I figured that Zurn has got to be an evil interstellar emperor, and Bobrick the Earthling adventurer who overthrew him, but I wasn’t sure about Tork. Was he Zurn’s minion, or Bobrick’s sidekick?

          Puzzled by this, I proceeded towards the science-fiction convention’s Info desk. Before reaching the escalators, I met a fellow conventioneer; a tall fellow wearing a fez. I told him about Zurn, Bobrick and Tork, and asked about Tork. He said, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to wipe your memory.” I replied, “Maybe we’ve had this conversation before.”

          I went up the escalator, to the science-fiction con’s Info desk. I told them about Zurn, Bobrick and Tork, and asked about Tork. They handled this absurd question with aplomb, and between them and me, we figured out that Tork started out as one of Zurn’s minions, but ended up as Bobrick’s sidekick.

          Later I met the fez fan again. I said, “Your attempts to suppress the truth have failed.” Then I told  him about Tork’s switching sides.

          And that is how much sense corporate names make.

Against Uniqueness

             Against Uniqueness

 

 

          What does it mean, to be unique? To be the best, the exception, the only? It seems a positive thing somehow, but really it has a lot of negativity built in.

          To be unique is to have a certain description – that indeed is the positive part of uniqueness, especially if the description is flattering; but to be unique also means that nothing else has that same description. Nothing else whatsoever is like the unique; hence there is negativity within uniqueness.

          Were a lover to say, “I love my friends and relatives and many others, including you,” well, the one wooed might find his ardor limited, but soothing; but were he to say, “I love only you,” well how thrilling, but stressful. The lover of many needs keeping an eye on; but the lover of only-one is needy, clingy, and potentially dangerous.

          Once I was walking through Harvard Square when someone ran up to me, calling another man’s name. It turned out that there was another mathematician there, one who looked like me, at least from behind. I found this revelation reassuring; if I’m part of a type, then we must be on to something.

I felt the same sense of collective security when I noticed that raccoons have hands. Evidently hands are a good idea; someone else seconded the motion. If we were the only animals with hands, then I might doubt the soundness of the concept; but as is, if there’s something that we ought to do with these hands, but we fail, then there’s a back-up team, to do it in our place. How reassuring!

          Uniqueness is the enemy of positivity just as the best is the enemy of the good. The unique is the least positive of the positives; for irreplacibility equals insecurity. Uneasy rests the One, for fear that there might be another One.

          All could be good but only a few can be best; therefore the good are a better bet than the best.

          Therefore we should all renounce uniqueness. Never sell your soul, not for a treasure, nor even a penny; instead give it away for free.

Stalked by a Bot

Stalked by a Bot

 

 

 

The phone rang. I picked up on the third ring and said, “Hello, who is there?”

A robot voice said, “Good-bye.”

 

Several days later, the phone rang, I picked up on the third ring, “Hello, who is there?”

A robot voice said, “I’m sorry, that is not a valid extension.”

 

After that I picked up on the third ring every time, in the hope of getting a third creepy robot. Finally: Ring, ring, ring, I pick up, “Hello, who is there?”

Silence.

 

And that’s a trifecta! Have I been rejected by a bot?

Inoculating my Daughter

          Inoculating my Daughter

 

I once had the honor of giving my daughter Hannah an inoculation against a common teenage ailment. I refer to Objectivism; for she asked me about Ayn Rand, and I gave her my informed opinion.

Specifically I told Hannah about the infamous railroad scene in “Atlas Shrugged”. I detailed the set-up; the dangerous tunnel, the idiotic bureaucrat’s suicidal demand, the chain of buck-passing, the fatal go-ahead, the complaisent workers, the train’s doom... all of which I described with admiration for Rand’s meticulousness (for once not tiresome) and her passion. A death machine of incompetence and spinelessness, clickety-clicking right there before your eyes! A masterpiece of eldritch horror! That scene was this close to Literature!

But the moment the train entered the tunnel, her writing all went horribly wrong! For Rand then focused on the passengers; a risky move if you do it wrong, and she did. For what if (I asked Hannah) that train had been full of good people? Or perhaps even a few of them super-virtuous by Rand’s elitist Objectivist standards? For them to die alongside the idiot bureaucrat would been supreme injustice; a raw red wound, an affront against humanity! What if Rand had raged and wailed against the sick cruelty of the idiot world? That (I told Hannah) would have been writing!

But no! By the way Rand told it, everyone on the train was an idiot moocher, as bad as the bureaucrat, and so everyone got what they deserved! (Hannah rolled her eyes upon hearing this.) Instant justice, automatic karma, all’s well with the world! Rand got that close to Literature, but at the last moment she turned it into Propaganda!

        The trainwreck scene was itself a trainwreck!  And that (I told Hannah) is Ayn Rand.