pnrj's Xanga

Virulent Senioritis

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 20:25:51 GMT

This has not been a good semester for me. I suffered H1N1 influenza, I experienced a relapse in my depression and migraines; I have been getting mediocre grades (Bs and Cs instead of As); I've done basically nothing on my honors thesis after being completely discouraged by a lack of support from professors.

It could just be luck: The infection and subsequent recovery triggered my depression, which triggered my migraines; the combination of the three and the resulting loss of attendance and focus has damaged my academic success. I have ambitious research plans that are difficult to achieve, and I reasonably expected better support in my research than I actually received; thereby I became discouraged.

But it could also be subconscious or semi-conscious intentions on my part. I stand before a crossroads in my life, with many options laid out before me. I could go on to graduate school; I could join the Peace Corps; I could seek a teaching fellowship; I could combine these things through Peace Corps Master's International; I could take a year off to finish my book; and there are thousands of other options I might sometimes be tempted to consider but would generally consider less viable.

And in the face of all these options, I am afraid, or anxious,or some similar aversive emotion. I fear that I will make the wrong choice, or that I won't be given the opportunity I deserve. I feel as a tiny kayak on a fast and forking river, trying desperately to choose my course as I am swept ahead. I feel that I need time to consider these options, time to reflect upon my true goals and aspirations, time to plan my future. And yet I am not being given this time; the hours and days and months carry me relentlessly closer to graduation.

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans" said John Lennon, and a month later he'd been murdered. I am continually reminded of this thought, because it is so troubling to me. I don't want my life to be so random, so far beyond my control.

I want time to think about what I want to do in my life; I want time to develop deeper theories of the Hard Problem; I want time to write my books. I want to shunt a log across the river so that I can plan my course.

I'm not sure this is a reasonable desire; life goes on regardless of what we want. Yet at the same time, I see so many people around me with no plans, no dreams, simply carried forth into lives in which they will ultimately be unhappy and unfulfilled. Worse, even if they are happy, they are unlikely to achieve great good in the world; some might be satisfied with helping only those near to them, but I feel a deep drive to achieve something great, something lasting. In order to do that I need to seriously reflect upon the best path for myself.

Perhaps I should take the next semester off? That's the closest I can see to shunting the river. I could spend the winter of 2010 reflecting, then come back in 2010-2011 to finish my degree. This feels unappealing to me... I think this is primarily because it seems "weak" or like "surrender". I feel as if I am giving in to my anxiety—or even to my depression. I am "losing" some sort of "battle".

Alternatively, with significant effort I could psych myself back to full potential, finish my degree in time. This latter plan raises additional questions: Should I cancel my honors thesis? What should I do after graduation—and shouldn't I be applying to these things now?

Increasingly I'm thinking time off is warranted. I'd need to make sure that I use the time—that it isn't just wasted—but I think I could do that. The sense of "weakness" or "surrender" increasingly seems a poor reason for choosing a particular direction in my life. Indeed, I feel a sense of relief simply from proposing the option: Even if I ultimately decide not to do so, I have found a way to shunt the river. Will my parents be disappointed? Will others think less of me? Possibly—though not necessarily. And even if I make the wrong choice, there will be time to change that decision—many people change careers well into middle age. I could stay on this path now and change later.

Yet this is my life, and my life's direction that I am trying to decide. I want to do it right the first time. My autonomy here is not negotiable. In the absence of some foolish fantasy of divine destiny, autonomy in planning our lives is essential to fulfillment. Achieving what I want means knowing what I want and planning appropriately. I should not sacrifice that autonomy for the sake of some mild and transient disapproval.

CFI hosted a speaker tonight.

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 00:07:17 GMT

First, it proved that the local chapter of the Center For Inquiry has odd taste in events---why a political scientist to dissect New Atheism, and a miniscule promotion campaign that only attracted CFI members and a few from the SSA?

Second, it reprised much about what I despise about criticism of the New Atheists. "You're too angry! You're too strident! Why can't you be nicer?" The speaker even began by accusing the New Atheists of being the "New Dogmatists"---he in fact proceeded to use the word "dogmatic" to describe at least three separate phenomena: first, angry dismissal of obviously false beliefs ("New Dogmatists"), second, strongly held belief without sufficient evidence (the usual definition), and third, violent militancy for ideological causes (Marxist, Islamist, Maoist dogma; what we'd usually call "fanaticism"). The third is obviously terrible, and the whole point of the New Atheists is to point out that the second is almost as bad; but to then place us in the same category, simply because we're a little "aggressive"? This is an inversion of morality that rightly angered me.

But speaking of my anger, Ewan pointed out to me that I may have become too angry in the discussion. My raised voice (though I note I never used profanity, name-calling, or really anything but logical argument delivered with vocal emphasis) may have been off-putting to some, in this case and perhaps in others as well. For all the absurdity of comparing Richard Dawkins to a suicide bomber, there was a kernel of truth in the speaker's argument---namely that perhaps our anger, however justified, might be hurting our ability to persuade. In my own case I know I anger easily when faced with foolishness, and I think this probably describes the "stridence" of Dawkins and Hitchens as well.

It's not that I get angry at those who disagree with me: Propose a competing theory of the Hard Problem, or disagree about the best approach for resolving global warming, or even debate with me about the proper time in gestation to allow abortion, and I will be civil and rational. But try to claim that there is an invisible immortal soul, or that global warming is a myth, or that zygotes deserve full human rights, and yes, I'll raise my voice at you. Some ideas are just wrong, and like Dawkins and Harris and Hitchens, I am sick of stupid ideas being respected and considered on equal terms with obvious facts.

On the other hand, it may not be working. Perhaps a calmer approach would be better. Then again, when have calm logical arguments changed history? Maybe outrage is precisely the proper response, both in principle and in practice.

I certainly don't see a lot of evidence to the contrary.

A truly excellent analysis of theology

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 23:41:18 GMT

I couldn't have said it better myself, so read it there: it's the God Conundrum.

Orthogonal versus independent: The linear algebra of truth

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 13:35:17 GMT

Philosophers are quite promiscuous in their usage of the word "orthogonal".For instance: Daniel Dennett writes in Freedom Evolves that free will and determinism are orthogonal. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy article on "Moral anti-realism" has a section arguing that subjectivism and relativism are orthogonal. Accommodationists toward religion will often claim that science and religion are orthogonal.

What these philosophers seem to mean is that the concepts are independent, that when one changes it is not logically necessary that the other change as well. This is no doubt correct; but orthogonal is a far stronger notion than this, one which has not at all been demonstrated.

Two vectors are (linearly) independent if they are not parallel or antiparallel; similarly, two concepts are independent if they are not perfectly correlated or anticorrelated. Determinism and free will, subjectivism and relativism, science and religion, are surely independent.

But two vectors are only orthogonal if they are perpendicular, if they share no linear components whatsoever. Similarly, two concepts should only be considered orthogonal if they are completely uncorrelated. This is difficult to find in nature, though it does occur---typically in completely unrelated domains. Belief in free will is basically orthogonal to theoretical claims about dark matter.

Clearly determinism and free will are not completely uncorrelated---in theory and in practice beliefs about determinism are closely connected with beliefs about free will. Similarly, subjectivism and relativism are closely correlated, and belief in science and belief in religion are strongly anticorrelated (hence, 95% of the National Academy of Sciences is atheist or agnostic).

It's not a big deal, I suppose; but I think more consistent usage might alleviate some confusion. When one person says "orthogonal" and another objects that the two concepts aren't completely unrelated, and the first responds that this isn't what he meant... basically the two are talking past each other until both can agree about what "orthogonal" really means.

What is emotion?

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 17:34:27 GMT

We all feel them, we all think we know what they are... but what are emotions, really?

Are they cognitive states? Are they physiological reactions? Perceptions? Behaviors? Motivations?

I know when I am angry or I am sad---indeed I know so deeply no one could ever convince me otherwise---but what exactly does that say about me?

It seems to me that emotions are in fact what makes a sentient being; while a car or a rocket ship could be outfitted with sensors that detect outside objects (perception) or detect damage (sensation), we would not say it actually sees or suffers. But if such a vehicle could be made to feel emotions, to actually hurt when it was damaged, it would seem to me much more like a real sentient being. Similarly if I look at an injured squirrel or even an injured fly, the motions it makes suggest to me that it doesn't like this experience, that it is hurting in some emotional way. The empathy I feel for these creatures is not due to their cognitive processing or their perceptual acuity, but due to their display of emotional experience.

Yet if I stop to think about just what "emotional experience" entails, I really can't say. The way I observe it in a squirrel or a fly is in particular behaviors, but these are behaviors that could be easily simulated by a robot or a computer program. In my own brain emotions are accompanied---perhaps even caused---by particular patterns of electrical and chemical activity; but it seems deeply perverse to say that emotion just is a particular chemical, that the essence of anger is C₈H₁₁NO₃. Indeed it seems obvious to me that other beings---perhaps aliens or AIs---could experience anger without anything remotely like this chemical acting within them; for an ammonia-based lifeform perhaps anger is CO₂; for a silicon AI perhaps it is 1011101110101010001011101.

I don't have an answer. But I think we need one. I think emotional experience is central to what it means to be conscious, and without an understanding of emotion I do not think we can have a coherent theory of cognitive science.

Lest it be said that I am biased toward atheist authors...

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 15:05:34 GMT

[JD 2455131.21]

Stephen Frederick Uhl's Coming Out of God's Closet is really quite awful. I would never have bought it; I received it free from the Center For Inquiry. (In the future I recommend the CFI use better books, like The God Delusion or The End of Faith.)

It starts with bizarre formatting; the opening sections are random vignettes that clearly Dr. Uhl had no idea what else to do with, filled with heavy overuse of bold font: "When I was a little boy, a very little boy, I learned that I would go to heaven and be very happy: if I obeyed my mother and father; if I loved Jesus, the son of a special virgin; if I believed in the one God the Trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost; if I did not eat meat on Friday; if I attended Mass on Sunday."

It moves on to jokes inserted at random intervals, including one about a donkey that has nothing to do with religion except it happens to use the words "Amen" and "Hallelujah". Another involves television preachers, but is ultimately about erectile dysfunction. Hardly any of them are very funny. These jokes are generally near the beginning and end of chapters, but you never really know when one will pop up.

And then of course there is the text itself, which is poorly organized, with neither a chronological nor logical ordering, at the chapter level, at the section level, or sometimes even at the paragraph level. It's an exciting adventure to try to guess what Uhl will say next, and if it will bear any logical relation to what he said last. Several times Uhl references something he'll talk about "in the next chapter" and it will have in fact been the previous chapter, or not the next but the one after that.

Most of the points made are either extremely personal to Uhl himself, or remarkably banal. The latter I may be able to forgive, since religious people seem to be especially skilled at ignoring obvious facts that people have been trying to point out for centuries. There really do seem to be people who are convinced by the arguments of Thomas Aquinas, so maybe it's worthwhile to have yet another author refute them yet another time.

Still, I'd rather have atheist represented by someone with better writing and editing skills... perhaps Uhl should leave this matter to the professionals.

Which ape is closest to us?

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 16:11:10 GMT

[JD 2455128.25]

There is an ongoing debate about whether humans are most closely related to chimpanzees (Pan) or orangutans (Pongo), and if indeed chimpanzees, which one---Pan troglodytes, or Pan paniscus?

Honestly, who cares? I mean, it's vaguely interesting to me as a scientist, and I certainly think it's worth knowing. But the importance of this issue has been greatly exaggerated by attempts to politicize the debate.

So goes the argument: If we are closest to troglodytes, then we must be basically violent, macho, aggressive; if we are closest to paniscus, we must be basically kind, loving, promiscuous; if we are closest to Pongo, we must be basically social, cultural, technological.

I for one see all of these things in human beings, and more. But what does it matter which is our closest ancestor? We could be closest to bonobos but have undergone convergent evolution to be more like orangutans. We could be closest to any and yet be completely different from all three.

Moreover, it isn't really clear that the two species of chimp are all that different: In captivity, they are peaceful, friendly, promiscuous. In the wild, they are aggressive, violent, territorial. A very convincing article by The Anthropik Network argues that the only reason we think chimps and bonobos are so different is that we don't often study bonobos in the wild. Humans too are quite violent in the wild; consider Somalia or the tribes of the Amazon. (This seems to be a point the Anthropik Network missed entirely... they seem to be advocating a return to more primitive ways of life, claiming they are inherently better---but they just presented compelling evidence that they are far, far worse.)

As such, the difference in aggression has little to do with a difference in genetics, and everything to do with a difference in environment---it is not chimps who are violent, but the state of nature which is violent! In captivity---i.e. under the protection of civilization and the provision of a steady food supply---chimps, bonobos, orangutans, and humans are all more peaceful, more kind, and more promiscuous. All of the smart great apes try to live this way, but cannot if they are in a state of constant danger.

If anything, the conclusion to be drawn here is not that we are basically violent or basically loving---it is that we are basically rational, and it's most rational to be loving when you can and violent when you have to. The political conclusion then is basically what Hobbes said: We need a Leviathan of civilization to protect us from the horrors of nature; in this state, we will all be happier and kinder.

On libertarianism

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 21:27:23 GMT

The most extreme libertarians, the anarcho-capitalists, hold that all government is inherently evil. What they seem to fail to understand is that government is only as evil as the people who run it---and anarchy is as evil as the worst person in the system. If there were 0 bad people in the world, anarchy would work---but so would any government. If there is even 1 bad person in the world, we need government to protect the rest of us.

Anarcho-syndicalism says that all governments should be voluntary associations---that would be nice, and perhaps we should work toward it. But it's still government---there is still going to be coercion involved in defending the voluntary assocation against aggressors. Without that violence, we are back to anarchy.

Then there are libertarians of the Objectivist mold, who follow Ayn Rand's contention that government should have the power to enforce contracts, to enforce laws and protect life, liberty, and property. This seems far more reasonable, but once we agree that we need government for something, why should we stop at basic law enforcement?

Indeed, it is provable that under the control of such semi-rational beings as we, the free market is self-destructive. Monopolies form, advertisers manipulate people into buying products that will harm them (tobacco, anyone?), short-sighted companies pollute air and water, financial speculation collapses economies. Perhaps these things wouldn't happen if everyone was perfectly rational, but no one is perfectly rational, and we need to build societies in the real world, not in some utopian fantasy world. So, then, why not use government to rein in capitalism against destroying itself? Why not enact anti-trust laws to prevent monopoly, restrictions on advertising, regulations on food and drugs, caps on pollution, limits on interest rates?

Indeed, why not? Adam Smith would have. It only makes sense. Of course, if you do all these things that it makes perfect sense to do, you're considered a Democrat. Basic restrictions to protect capitalism from itself are considered "liberal" in this society.

And then we must ask, why not go further? Why stop at securing capitalism and actually ask what is in the common interest? Why not tax to build roads and schools, provide food, shelter, and medicine to all? Yes, this is socialism. Socialism is coercive. But sometimes coercion is justified!

I offer a parable. There are three men on a desert island. Adam has 2000 apples. Bob has 12 apples. Carl has only 3 apples. There is reason to think that all three men could survive to be rescued, if each has at least 10 apples to feed himself until the rescue arrives. If things remain the same, Adam will obviously survive; Bob would also most likely survive. But Carl would definitely die. Bob could give up 2 of his apples to Carl, but then he'd be at more risk and Carl would still most likely die--or he could give up 7 of his apples and Carl would live but Bob would die. So, Bob and Carl make a contract: They will take 7 of Adam's apples so that Carl will have 10. Adam resists, saying, "This is coercion! This is socialism! You have no right!" They do it anyway; everyone lives---but Adam is angry.

Was Adam's complaint really legitimate? I don't think so! Adam has plenty of apples, he'll barely miss the ones he would have to give up. Carl on the other hand will die if he doesn't get more apples. It's only fair that Adam should lose some of his apples to save Carl.

Think the numbers are ridiculous? They are quite conservative actually. If an apple is equal to $5,000---so that Bob has $60,000, making him middle class in the United States; then the poorest people in the world actually have about $200, which is actually about 1/250 of an apple. Meanwhile the richest people in the world have $10 billion each---that's 2 million apples. Of course, there are a lot more poor people than rich people, but still---in a world where poverty can mean death, does anyone have the right to have 5 million times as much money as anyone else?

Yes, I am a socialist. I think government should provide basic needs---food, shelter, housing---for every person in the world, and should tax the rest of us as much as is necessary to make that happen.

I don't feel young.

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 15:12:30 GMT

[JD 2455122.21]

I know that I am, in fact, young, but I don't feel carefree, invincible, like my whole life is ahead of me. On the contrary I feel stressed, vulnerable, like I could die at any moment.

I think these feelings started around the time I was entering college, and all the physicists were telling me, "Hurry up; you're a genius, but you have until you're 30 to do good work in science, and after that it's all downhill." Back then, it wasn't a very strong feeling; in fact, I thought the physicists were being rather silly.

Then, last year, Anna List died. A month ago, Jared Zumbrun died. A week ago, I contracted H1N1 influenza. Somewhere in there, the feelings became a lot stronger.

It's true, the odds are quite small that I'll die any time soon. I'm recovering well from the flu, I have no genetic diseases or life-threatening chronic illnesses, I don't smoke or drink heavily, I live carefully and responsibility. (On the other hand, all of these things applied to Anna.) An actuary would give me 60 years to live, dying sometime around 2070, probably with a doctoral degree, three or four grandchildren, and several hundred thousand dollars in savings.

I hope that's true. On some level I think it probably is true. But still I can't shake the feeling that I haven't done enough, haven't achieved enough, haven't left enough of a legacy. I can't shake the feeling that I am fragile, mortal, vulnerable—that my life and death are beyond my control. John Lennon famously wrote, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." That was in November 1980; about a month after he wrote that, he was murdered.

I also feel bewildered by the multitude of paths available to me. First there are the hundreds of graduate schools I could attend—but then there are all the things I could do instead of graduate school. I could join the Peace Corps, I could find a job in research or in computer programming or in engineering, I could do what the Ross School expects and start my own business. I could move far away and become a hermit. I could enlist in the military and train to be an officer. I could live at home or rent an apartment somewhere and spend all my time writing books. I could continue my flight training and become an airline pilot. I'm sure there are a million other possibilities I haven't thought of. The incredible variety of possibilities is staggering, paralyzing.

And then I feel something that supposedly men are not supposed to feel, something that is alleged to be entirely the domain of premenopausal women: My biological clock is ticking. It's telling me that I am a failure in social, romantic, and Darwinian terms. One of my cousins---three years older than I---has been married for four years and already has three children. My sister is married. Most of my friends are in steady relationships. I haven't had a date in a year. I have no prospects on the horizon. I feel alone and empty, and sense that I will always be alone, that whatever discoveries I might make, whatever good I might achieve in the world, I will forever remain unloved. I may someday write the equation that redefines what it means to be human---but I will never have anyone to hold or kiss.

It's probably not a rational thing to believe, but it fits the pattern of my experience. I can't stand parties and sports matches, which seem to be where most ordinary people form new relationships. I'm not good at reading body language. I have sensory integration problems that make using a telephone an experience of continuous anxiety and discomfort. No one seems to actually find me attractive; most people like me on a platonic level, but the idea that I might be a sexual being seems absurd to most. Occasionally someone is desperate enough to give me some attention for a little while---even that hasn't happened in a long time. I sense that I am doing something terribly, completely wrong---and yet I haven't even the vaguest sense of what it might be. I do the best I can, and still fail; others succeed without even seeming to try.

No doubt this is what most people feel like when they watch me solve a math problem; but my successes and their failures are in a far less important domain than their successes and my failures.

Is business... immoral?

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 02:32:39 GMT

This is not merely a theoretical question for me; it has become quite personally relevant. You see, I am the inventor of a technology, a simple, yet new technology that has the potential to benefit millions of people. I have already attracted some attention at the Ross School of Business for this technology, and am presently a finalist in the Zell Lurie Institute Dare 2 Dream competition.

As a finalist, I was required to attend a special seminar at the Ross School's Kresge library, in which it was explained that to earn a $500 grant to support the development and production of my invention, I would need to first complete a business plan, delineating my assets, my target market, my supply chain, and other aspects of the resulting business. (A massive undertaking, especially for such a pittance. Am I really to suppose that the Ross School of Business needs to keep tight control of every $500 it spends? They literally have electronic displays on the door of every lecture hall, and genuine leather chairs in the lounges. I think the table I was sitting at cost more than the grant on offer.)

And through the whole process I couldn't help but think: Who said I wanted to start a business? (Maybe I implied this by applying for the grant?) Who said I wanted to profit and advance investments for shareholders? Who said I wanted to market anything?

The presenter described the process of developing a target market; it involved finding people with unmet needs and money to spare, then capitalizing on those needs in developing a "market persona" to which to target advertising. The "soccer mom", the "young urban professional"; these are the sorts of "personas" to which advertising is to be targeted. The whole time I could not shake the thought that basically this man was saying, proudly, to embrace stereotypes and lies as the currency of advertising. You are not an individual; you are a soccer mom! You do not have human needs and autonomy, you are a consumer, an engine for generating profit! Even though you've clearly survived without it for years, you need this product now! Quick, send us your money!

And then of course there comes the question of property itself: In what sense do I own my ideas? In what sense do I own the products I make or buy? In what sense do I own anything, even my labor, even myself? The structure of our society is built around the notion that we own things, things we make, things we buy, things we imagine--but it is difficult for me to articulate what it means to own anything, much less something that I ultimately have because of a long chain of people that begins ultimately in an act of violence, an arbitrary claim defended with force. "Property is theft" is not quite right as stated, but the sentiment is correct---there is something intrinsically violent about private property as it is currently constituted. I pay my bills, attend my classes and work my hours, but I cannot seem to wipe the blood from my hands. Is there not a sense in which I own this computer at the cost of some African's life?

On the other hand, my invention could, in the right hands, do genuine good in the world. Many human lives could be improved by the mass production of this technology. And doesn't it seem fair that I who invented it, and others who helped me produce and distribute it, should become wealthy for our efforts?

Perhaps it does... but then I must ask who is to judge the merits of my contribution, who is to judge how much I should earn, how wealthy I should become and at whose expense. The free market? In other words, natural selection? Are we so nihilistic as to suppose that what is must be the same as what ought to be, that what happens to survive is automatically superior? Wouldn't it be better to take a different direction, base our sense of merit---and hence our distribution of wealth---upon some deeper sense of justice, founded in democracy or in fundamental human rights? Wouldn't it be better to have some sort of international democratic institution that would decide whose actions produce the highest benefit for humanity? Then again, isn't that very nearly what we already have in the Nobel Prizes? But then, don't the Nobels themselves depend for their existence upon wealth that was ultimately earned through business and finally through ancestral violence?

Or does this idealism merely stand in my way? Does the fact that I am afraid to claim my place as an entrepreneur prevent me from ever becoming wealthy and successful---or worse, let someone less scrupulous become wealthy and successful in my place? I don't even have a patent for my invention, both for lack of money---patents are expensive; I would need to pay on credit---and for lack of trust in the entire concept of intellectual property as presently defined. What if someone else stumbles upon the same idea much as I stumbled upon it, and has the will to carry it further? What if they already have the money because they or their ancestors before them rapaciously manipulated the resources from thousands of others? Do I not as much harm the future of humanity by inaction as I would by action for profit---or is that merely an excuse, an attempt to rationalize selfishness as I abandon the moral high ground?

What is to be done with property, with wealth, with profit? Is there no other way to organize our reality and distribute our resources?