It is Towel Day, once again. Those truly wishing to pay their respects to the comic genius of Douglas Adams should consider reading his relatively little known but excellent book Last Chance to See.
Category: Writing
Anything on the process or results of writing as an activity and a passion
10^5 visits
Recently, this blog got its 100,000th visitor since August 2005. While such numbers don’t have much meaning in and of themselves, they do provide an opportunity to take stock and consider what has happened so far and where things are going.
Between August 2005 and July 2007, the major purpose of the site was to document the Oxford experience and stay in touch with friends and family while off in England. Since returning to Canada, it has had less of a defined purpose. There has also been a conscious decision to make it significantly less personal overall. As a result, it now mostly consists of either personal musings on impersonal topics or responses to books or news items. This is not wholly without value. It fosters interesting discussions and provides a mechanism for keeping in touch with some friends. It may also help to inform some people a bit about topics of interest or importance, such as climate change.
At the same time, there are some things that concern me. I don’t really see enormously much value in providing links to information available elsewhere, along with minimal commentary. Additionally, I worry a bit that writing drips and drabs every day could sap energy that might otherwise be put into longer-term and more ambitious projects.
With Emily here, I also have less time to spend on random musings. As such, writing a daily post is more often than not an exercise in frantically scanning the news for something that I can comment upon without overly much thought or research. One solution is to dial things back and only write when I actually have something I want to say. That removes the impetus to come up with something daily – which has advantages as well as disadvantages – but should help to keep me from boring people with items of only limited interest or creativity.
On constancy
Readers should be warned that my posting is likely to be less regular over the summer. The day-to-day expectation of one long post between 7:00am and 8:00am and a shorter post between 6:00pm and 7:00pm should be partially suspended.
I will certainly try to upload a post and a photo every day, but we shall see if that remains feasible given other ongoing projects.
Assembly line reading and writing
I remember once reading an interview with science fiction author William Gibson in which he argued that he could not keep a blog because it would sap his ability to write other things. I think he used a steam engine analogy: arguing that the minor releases of pressure associated with writing blog posts prevent him from developing the working force required for more substantial pieces of writing.
This lines up somewhat with something Nassim Nicholas Taleb said in his book. He argued that excessive focus on day-to-day and hour-to-hour news actually reduces one’s ability to understand the world. This is because it creates the spurious impression of trends when there is really only chatter; also, the time required for such constant perusal saps one’s ability to read more substantial things, like books.
While I don’t have any firm personal plans to respond to these observations, they do seem valid and indicative of a period in history where throughts are addressed in an increasingly frantic and disjointed manner.
The Black Swan
Nassim Nicholas Taleb‘s The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable is an unusual, excellent book with broad applicability. In particular, those concerned with finance or the use of mathematics in social disciplines (politics, economics, international relations, etc) should strongly consider reading it. They will probably find it uncomfortable – as it demonstrates how their ‘rigorous’ disciplines are built on sand – but they will be wiser people if they can accept that.
Taleb’s main point is that life is dominated by improbable events of huge consequence. This is obscured to us for a number of reasons: not least, because we are able to look back and construct plausible after-the-fact stories about why things turned out the way they did. Because we fail to appreciate how explosively improbable the world is, we leave ourselves far more vulnerable than our predictions suggest. Indeed, the biggest thing Taleb attacks is the very notion that we can make good predictions about the future. ‘Black Swans’ are those improbable events of massive consequence which we are able to rationalize after the fact, though we could not have predicted them before. They can be negative (the sudden collapse of a bank) or positive (the amazing success of an obscure book). They relate to the way in which the world is skewed towards extremes when it comes to things like income or the importance of a publication.
Taleb’s book consists of an odd combination of anecdote, mathematics, scholarly and literary references, personal history, and diatribes. Throughout, one has the impression of engaging in conversation with an unusually fascinating fellow – albeit one who takes special pleasure in cutting down those who disagree with him (the text ignores no opportunity for mocking and insulting economists and financial analysts, in particular).
The lessons Taleb says one should draw from an appreciation of Black Swans are noteworthy and sensible. First, we should maximize our chances of getting lucky and finding a positive Black Swan. In investment terms, that means making lots of small bets on long shots that might really pay off. In life more generally, it basically means trying new things – visiting the restaurant you never normally would, going on the blind date, seizing the opportunity to meet with the big shot publisher to explain your book idea. Second, we should minimize our exposure to negative Black Swans that can wipe us out. That means definitely avoiding standard financial instruments like mutual funds, distrusting any risk assessment based on the bell curve, and appreciating that blue-chip stocks might collapse despite decades of steady growth. His overall financial prescription is to put whatever you are unwilling to lose in US government bonds, while using the rest to make long-shot speculative bets.
It would be very interesting to see Taleb’s ideas applied directly to International Relations (the capital letters mean ‘IR the discipline’ rather than IR the phenomenon) or climate change. Within IR, there are a few dissenters who appreciate just how inappropriate all the statistics and quantitative methods being trotted out really are. They would find Taleb’s book to be confidence-boosting, whereas the number obsessed IR scholars concentrated in the United States would probably respond to it with as much anger as hedge fund managers.
When it comes to climate change, the Black Swan idea seems relevant in several ways. First, it creates a healthy scepticism about projections: whether they are for economic growth, greenhouse gas emission levels, or greenhouse gas reductions associated with certain policies. Secondly, it reveals how fallacious it is to say: “Humanity muddled through so far, therefore we can handle climate change just like any previous crisis.” Thirdly, it sheds light on scenario planning in the face of possible disastrous outcomes with unknown probabilities attached.
It is safe to say that anybody interested in how history is written or how people try to come to grips with an uncertain future will find something of value in this text. At the very least, the colourful asides provide plenty of mental fodder. At the very most, appreciation for Black Swans might significantly alter how you live your life.
Bastiat on subsidies
Anyone who spends time thinking about public policy might benefit from reading Frédéric Bastiat‘s final essay: “What Is Seen and What Is Not Seen,” published in 1850. Many of the sections – such as those concerning people employed by the armed forces, and those on state subsidies for the arts – are surely as valid now as 150 years ago.
Bastiat also provides a concise rebuttal of the kind of ‘job creation’ argument frequently employed by governments:
Let us get to the bottom of things. Money creates an illusion for us. To ask for co-operation, in the form of money, from all the citizens in a common enterprise is, in reality, to ask of them actual physical co-operation, for each one of them procures for himself by his labor the amount he is taxed. Now, if we were to gather together all the citizens and exact their services from them in order to have a piece of work performed that is useful to all, this would be understandable; their recompense would consist in the results of the work itself. But if, after being brought together, they were forced to build roads on which no one would travel, or palaces that no one would live in, all under the pretext of providing work for them, it would seem absurd, and they would certainly be justified in objecting: We will have none of that kind of work. We would rather work for ourselves.
That is, indeed, an excellent mental test of public worth. If we were all brought together to build a museum that will be widely admired and universally enjoyed, we will not feel cheated of our labour. If we were brought together to build some white elephant – an international airport for a tiny town, a bridge to nowhere, and anti-ballistic missile shield – we would feel duly resentful for not having employed our labour for better purposes.
The essay features a spirited defence of middlemen, which is well worth reading. The story told about rent seeking and protectionism is also admirably clear and engaging:
Mr. Protectionist was going to resign himself sadly just to being free like everyone else, when suddenly he had a brilliant idea.
He remembered that there is a great law factory in Paris. What is a law? he asked himself. It is a measure to which, when once promulgated, whether it is good or bad, everyone has to conform. For the execution of this law, a public police force is organized, and to make up the said public police force, men and money are taken from the nation.
If, then, I manage to get from that great Parisian factory a nice little law saying: “Belgian iron is prohibited,” I shall attain the following results: The government will replace the few servants that I wanted to send to the frontier with twenty thousand sons of my recalcitrant metalworkers, locksmiths, nailmakers, blacksmiths, artisans, mechanics, and plowmen. Then, to keep these twenty thousand customs officers in good spirits and health, there will be distributed to them twenty-five million francs taken from these same blacksmiths, nailmakers, artisans, and plowmen. Organized in this way, the protection will be better accomplished; it will cost me nothing; I shall not be exposed to the brutality of brokers; I shall sell the iron at my price; and I shall enjoy the sweet pleasure of seeing our great people shamefully hoaxed.
It is a point especially well made as the American electoral season continues to encourage less and less sensible statements from leading candidates, when it comes to trade.
Frogs don’t let themselves get boiled
Apparently, the oft-repeated ‘fact’ that a frog placed in a pot of slowly-warming water will eventually let itself be cooked is entirely false. A frog dropped straight into boiling water will probably be horribly injured before it can get out (if it ever manages to); one put into a slowly warming pot will leave when the water gets uncomfortable. So says Professor Doug Melton, of the Harvard University Biology Department, among others.
It is easy to understand why this ‘fact’ has become so commonly cited: it seems like a pat little bit of wisdom from the animal world. Its falsehood provides a more important lesson about verifying whether convenient seeming stories are actually correct, even when they seem useful for livening up your argument.
Slaughterhouse-Five
Kurt Vonnegut‘s Slaughterhouse-Five is a refreshing and enjoyable book, despite the often macabre subject matter. It reminds me strongly of both The Life of Pi, insofar as it refrains from interrogating its own fantasies, and Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, due to the style of language and presentation of characters.
The book is mostly about an American named Billy Pilgrim who participates in the Second World War (though he never fights), witnesses the firebombing of Dresden, and subsequently becomes an optometrist. He either goes mad or genuinely begins to travel through time, experiencing his own life in a random series of vignettes. The story’s narration is unobtrusive, though it sometimes has a self-referential feeling. The language is clear, simple, and poignant.
Free will is a major topic of concern in the book. The aliens who Billy Pilgrim thinks he encounters are able to see back and forth through time, and believe that all actions necessarily unfold in a certain way. This leads to a kind of fatalism where the inevitability of war and death is somewhat tempered by the ability to experience the better periods prior to those things at will. Arguably, Pilgrim created this idea in his madness after being broken by war (or brain damaged in a plane crash). Possibly, Vonnegut is trying to satirize the idea that wars and actions are inevitable; that is certainly suggested by the way in which the end of the universe is described, as the inevitable result of a rocket fuel testing experiment conducted by Pilgrim’s aliens. Pilgrim’s overall haplessness – as well as the thoroughly unheroic portrayal of other soldiers – certainly counter some of the more common war myths of valour and meaningful sacrifice. The refrain of the whole book, usually following a brief description of some incident of death or cruelty, is simply: “So it goes.”
Appropriately enough, given how the narrative jumps around in time, my first experiences of the book came in the form of reading random bits and pieces every once in a while. It’s not an approach that I generally adopt with books, but it worked uniquely well with this one. Reading it straight through definitely gave more of an overall picture, but the book couple be chopped up and re-ordered in any number of ways without a new reader finding it at all suspicious.
Overall, I really appreciated Vonnegut’s style and language. It shares many similarities with the early science fiction of Heinlein and Asimov: a crispness of language and compassionate voice. It makes me want to read more of his work.
A Madman Dreams of Turing Machines
Janna Levin’s book is an odd one: written about two mathematicians, focused on mathematical ideas, but with virtually no specific mathematical discussion. The book dances elegantly around the real meat of the lives of Alan Turing and Kurt Godel, but shows it all from the perspective of an outsider focused on emotions. This is freely admitted in the concluding notes:
The depth and magnitude of both Turing and Godel’s ideas are only barely touched upon here.
While this is a novel and not a reference work, one nonetheless feels that Godel and Turing would think it captures mostly what was not essential about their lives.
Putting words and thoughts into fictitious forms of historical figures is always a dangerous business, because it carries with it the false precision of reasoned invention. The danger that the speculation could be wrong is constant, so the book takes on the feeling of a friend-of-a-friend story, while maintaining the trappings of an omniscient direct account. The book also fixates far too much on apples, in an attempt to set up the story of Turing’s suicide.
The book’s strength lies in conveying the tragedy and isolation that seems to be the burden of most of the greatest mathematicians. The contrast between being able to perform mental feats beyond the capacity of almost everyone, while being largely unable to perform the basic actions of a normal life, has long been rich material for writers. In this sense, Turing comes off much stronger; by the end, the account of Godel’s life is both pathetic and pitiable. At least Turing is driven to suicide by the homophobic cruelty of others – Godel just stumbles into it through deepening paranoia.
While the book made for satisfying reading, I much prefer the math-related non-fiction works of Simon Singh. His Code Book includes an admirable description of the breaking of Enigma. In Fermat’s Last Theorem Singh also does a good job of telling about the lives of mathematicians, without ignoring the math. Something comparable on Godel’s incompleteness theorem would make more satisfying reading than this novel.
Translation
Random literary insight of the day:
Trying to evaluate the authenticity of several versions of a text in a language you do not speak is much like being called upon to judge a drag queen contest when you have never seen a woman, and only ever had them described to you by others who may have done so.
I have had this experience in relation to texts originally in Greek, Latin, and Russian, and Old-Babylonian.