pnrj

To that end I am slowly making a transition to pnrj.blogspot.com as my primary blog account, and I cannot promise that I will update this blog in the future.

I hope this is not too great an inconvenience for you all.

It's just too much work to do a Xanga and a LiveJournal and manage all the people who read each, and besides Blogger, instead of having no ads like LJ or weird ads like Xanga, will have AdSense ads payable to me, myself and I! Maybe it's silly to work so hard get 3-cent checks from Google each month, but just as an experiment I wanted to see if I could make any reasonable supplementary income by blog alone. If not at least I'll be consolidated.

So supportive, in fact, that I can't get to sleep because I'm so upset.

Of course, perhaps I should take her lukewarm reception as a sign that I have chosen the right path, given her track record:

She keeps trying to get me to come back to the Catholic church.
I'm sure she wishes I were straight.
She won't let me wear my bi-pride wristband.
She never wanted me to go away for college.
She once told me that physicists "are wasting their lives."
She can't understand why I don't like sports.
She keeps dragging me to baseball games and expecting me to like it.
She always reads my writing without permission and then asks me to change it one way or another.
She never reads the writing that I want her to, or when she does complains she doesn't understand it because it has too many allusions or equations or long sentences.
She's been trying to get me officially diagnosed with high-function autism for years.

And now she's against my becoming a vegetarian.

And then she has the nerve to claim she loves me and she's proud of me. At least have the guts to admit I disappoint you.
Proud of me for what? Disappointing all of her artificial standards upon me? Proud of me for being something she doesn't want me to be?

I don't know why I even want to make her happy anymore. I should just tell her to leave me alone.

Plan my Nobel acceptance speech: "And special thanks to my mom, who wishes I were Catholic and thinks physicists are wasting their lives."

I don't see how I can go back now with a clear conscience.
So I'm going to try going veg.

I'll appreciate your support, because I can tell already that this will not be an easy transition for me.
Barbecued pork ribs in the fridge... not that I'd even enjoy eating them, out of plain guilt.

But it came down to the following thought experiment, from which I have to say there is a moral difference:

Say I am eating dinner at a friend's house.
They have served a meal of grilled ham and sliced carrots.

They then proceed to talk about the food, as they munch on it excitedly.
The carrots were taken from the garden, they describe, picked, washed, sliced and glazed by hand. It was a lot of work, but it's worth it, of course.
Sounds good, I say, and chow down on the carrots.
The pig came from out back too, they go on. She was one of our favorites. Five years old. Healthy and fat always. We smothered and butchered her ourselves, of course. It's so messy, but worth it, you know?
Am I going to eat the ham now?

I'm pretty sure I couldn't eat it. That extra bit of knowledge would be enough to destroy my appetite.
That sounds like a moral difference to me.

Do you realize there are virtually no sites on all the Internet arguing in favor of eating meat?
There are pro-White Supremacist web sites, but no pro-omnivore sites?

That in itself is however ethically meaningless; it speaks only to a bias in the system.

But I consider now some arguments for vegetarianism, from http://www.britishmeat.com/49.htm:

Ethics

1. Love of animals. I love animals as I love myself. I have no desire to kill them or cause them harm.

2. Stance against Factory Farming.. I cannot make a statement against factory farming if I myself eat animals.

3. Respect for Sentient Life. I show gratitude to my Creator(s?) by eating as low on the food chain as possible.

4. "Economic Vote". I show support of the meat industry and the way they operate when I purchase and use their products.

5. Small sacrifice The sacrifice I make is nothing compared to the animals, its life.

6. Natural diet. Our hands, teeth, feet, intestinal tract...even our body chemistry is that of an herbivore.

7. Reciprocity. If I partake in the slaughter of animals, I will have to repay my contribution to that act.

8. "Protecting the Temple". "Whatever affects the body has a corresponding effect on the mind and soul" (E.G. White)

9. I believe in nonviolence. Slaughter isn't.

10. World Peace. There can never be peace among men while men are declaring war on other highly developed life forms.

11. Clear conscience. I know what I'm doing is right. I feel good inside about my decision to remain "meatless"

12. Example. To live this way is to protect the underlying values of those around me.

13. Easy substitutes. There are vegetable based substitutes for every meat product imaginable

1 is a little too personally specific, but is at least worthy of consideration. I do like animals, but I don't love them as myself.

As for 2, while I don't like unwarranted suffering, I'm not actually sure that (if a priori omnivoration is acceptable) there's anything wrong with making the process as manufacturing-efficient as possible all other things being equal.

3 is the crux of the matter, and I wish they hadn't gone and made it deistic. Nonetheless, this is the most important consideration; if animals have a right to life, as increasingly I think they do, then my own pleasure and convenience is hardly enough to justify their deaths.

4 is essentially the same as 2, and faces the same objection.

I think 5 underestimates it slightly; at this point in my life, it would be a fair amount of hardship for me to change all of my dietary habits permanently, but indeed probably not enough of a hardship to warrant the suffering and death of animals.

6 is blatantly false. Last time I checked, we humans have exactly 1 stomach (compare with the classical herbivores, cows, giraffes...), incisors, canines (like on a, well, canine), small molars, and weak jaws (compare the human skull to the gorilla skull; yes, that ridge is for jaw muscles). Like any good omnivore, we have a variety of teeth, a single stomach, nimble hands, large brains, and binocular eyes (Like racoons, ferrets, chimpanzees...). We are biologically omnivores. But that doesn't really mean anything; we're biologically a lot of things we shouldn't be morally.

I'm not even sure what 7 says that the others don't, to be honest. Divine retribution?

And with 8 we're quoting E.G. White. Hardly means anything at all. Nicely done...

As for 9, slaughter need not be excessively violent (though it often is); it can be done quickly and humanely. Still, killing is violence, this is true, but is it worthy violence? We're back to 3.

10 is just plain inflammatory. Killing humans and killing animals are different things, and you need not do one to do the other.

11 feels a little personal too, but I have to admit that my own conscience as a carnivore isn't very clear right now.

12 assumes a priori that vegetarianism is the Right way to be. Yes, we should live by example, but what example?

I don't agree with the "easy" in 13. Anyone who has ever been in the same room as Tofurkey knows that the substitutes leave something to be desired. Still, we have other options, and so any kind of necessity argument is generally untrue. In the end I have to say that I'd be taking on a moderate hardship in my own life as a Homo sapiens to lessen the demand for the creation of much greater hardships in the lives of Sus scrofa, Bovis taurus, and Gallus gallus. I cannot (readily) directly end this hardship--a fact worthy of consideration--but in lessening the demand, in the long term I expect I might slightly reduce it.

But basically the arguments that so many vegetarians (on so many websites!) put forth come down to the fact that we don't have to do it, and animals would be happier if we didn't (implicit is of course that they do have feelings), so let's try our hardest not to do it.

And that is something that it's hard for me to argue with.

On a deep level I wish I knew how to become a vegetarian. But I am just so accustomed, so culturally indoctrinated, to the consumption of animalian flesh that I can't seem to break away.

On an ethical level I do recognize that the life and mind of a pig are really not so different from my favorite cat, or even my two-year-old cousin... but I do adore pork ribs so.

I also worry about the nutrition of vegetarianism, though I know many vegetarians who seem quite healthy (and a few who don't).

I'll never be a Vegan, I'll tell you that. Secretions and unfertilized ova are fair game. Besides, nutritionally it's not really a good idea to cut out rich sources of protein and calcium.

Is eating meat really not all that bad? Or am I simply lacking in the willpower to end this reprehensible habit of mine?

(And just to be inflammatory, consider this: the traditional liberal viewpoint says you should be Pro-Choice and vegetarian. No killing of pigs, but fetuses are fair game!)

Whatever shall I do?

In this essay, I analyze existing theories of ethics, and find them all incomplete and many misguided. Herein I propose new principles of ethics, which I will show are more useful and consistent with intuition than existing theories of ethics. I begin with an analogy involving extrasolar planets.

 

Consider four extrasolar planets; call them Matrix, Masoch, Smith, and Sophia.

 

Matrix:

On planet Matrix, population 50 billion, carefully regulated artificially, everyone lives in virtual-reality pods. Feeding and excretion (and of course insemination) are performed by machine. Further every person is given complete control over a unique virtual fantasy world, and is intravenously delivered a dopamine-endorphin cocktail regulated for optimum long-term euphoria.

Each day, 1/365 of the population, on annual rotation of course, is tapered down to a lower dose of cocktail, exits their pods, and ensures that the other pods (i.e., their maintenance robots) in their respective regions are functioning properly. They then return to their own pods, and are tapered back to full dosage.

 

In character:

I am KLNAQW109 of Matrix. Who has any need for an individual name when there is so much pleasure to be had? In my pod I can be Caesar, Einstein or Napoleon any time I wish.

Today was my day of the year, however; I had been removed from my pod. My cocktail dosage is on 30%, and I must admit I felt only moderately pleased at the moment. Still, it was my duty to the people of Matrix that I give this one day of lesser pleasure for their continued euphoria, and on all other days of course others shall repay me. They all looked so peaceful in their pods, lined up and stacked with such elegant precision. And what warmth I felt inside to know that they were all feeling such intense pleasure this very moment. I love them all.

KLNAQW313 had a malfunctioning repair unit; her holographic projectors could have failed, and then her pleasure could have fallen significantly. Of course I fixed it easily, and felt glad that I could offer her this pleasure, if I did feel some envy that I could not today experience it myself. Looking into her chamber, I saw that she was truly rather beautiful; I resolved that I'd program her into my pod as soon as I returned.

 When the klaxon sounded that my day was done, I ran excitedly back into my pod, eager to try out my new fantasies of 313. How could life be any better than this?

 

Masoch:

On Masoch, population 10 billion, every person is in a similar VR-pod. But on Masoch, these pods deliver continuous pain sensations, and present an uncontrollable virtual world designed to evoke the occupant's deepest fears. Finally, the intravenous cocktail is made up of the stress hormones epinephrine and cortisol.

Naturally, the same maintenance scheduling is used as on Matrix, but now is enforced by robotic guards.

In character:

I am INSML218 of Masoch. Part of me wishes I had another name, but I must admit I cannot think of any. I certainly would not wish to name myself after the beasts and snakes which assault me while I am in my pod.

Luckily, today was my day of the year; my cocktail dose was reduced to only 30%, and some of the shaking left my hands. How glorious it felt to be without pain, even for such brief moments! Still, I knew not what else I'd do with this existence, and the guardbots seemed to grow suspicious, so I decided to fulfill my duty.

INSML014 had a damaged pain generator; it is likely she would not wish me to repair it (though how do I know? Perhaps I'm the only one on Masoch who doesn't enjoy the pain), but with the guardbot raising its phase gun my direction, I worked as quickly as I could.

When the klaxon sounded, my day was done. Another year of pain. I acquiesced to the guardbots as they roughly returned me to my pod. Is there any more to life than this?

 

Smith:

Smith's population is a fluctuating 300 million, regulated mostly by war and famine, though with a massive birth rate, especially to single mothers and rape victims. Absolute and unfettered competition reigns, individual, familial, factional, national. Smith is in a constant state of flux, with exploitation and war the norm. But of course citizens of Smith have absolute and anarchic freedom, and each acts in her own interest. In some areas relatively peaceful communes form, though these generally don't last. (Incidentally, Smith was known as Hedon until a revolution overthrew the previously dominant faction several years ago.)

 

In character:

I am Lord Frederick III of Smith; my faction is the Social Coalition. Of course this is only a temporary affiliation; last year I was a Federalist. This year it seems the Coalition bribes better; it's not as if any man could force me into any allegiance I did not wish.

I was of course upset when my daughter was raped, but I had my just revenge. It is much more enjoyable to assassinate a man if you can also rob his inheritance. That was a welcome extra source of income—must of course keep up the bribes.

Assault rifle production is naturally in tip-top shape, and what we don't make in stolen inheritance and stock dealings (and of course, what we lose in theft by opposing factions) is made in excellent sales. Of course, I keep the tank force for myself; can't be too careful.

Two weeks ago the Federalists began an attack upon my factory; we've repelled them so far, but I worry they may soon penetrate. If they do, all my earnings will be gone. I doubt they'd take me back now. Perhaps I could escape to a commune… yes, I think I shall. And of course bend it to my will once I arrive.

 

Before we go on to planet Sophia, let's consider the ethics of these three planets. Obviously most of us would prefer Matrix to Masoch, with Smith likely in-between. But would you, really, want to live on any of these planets?

My thought is that you would not. I certainly wouldn't. Intuition (mine, anyway) leads us to say that these are not good choices for permanent residence, and only Matrix even merits a visit.

Indeed, Earth suddenly seems a good bit more attractive, doesn't it?

 

The flaw in Masoch is obvious; continuous torture is not very enjoyable. Even the deeply sadomasochistic must admit that unending pain without control or hope of pleasure gives you little to live for.

And of course Smith would be a difficult and painful existence, always striving to survive, facing enemies at every turn, fearing constant betrayal, desperate for resources, unable to trust anyone or cooperate at anything. Smithians are free, but they are certainly never comfortable.

 

But now we turn to the ethical implications of planet Matrix.

Are you free? You have total control over your virtual world, and need only work one day a year.

Are you comfortable? Perfectly.

Do you feel pleasure? Continuously.

Do you feel pain? Never.

Do you assist your fellow Man? On that one day a year you work.

Do you live and let live? Always.

Is your situation voluntary? Completely.

 

So what is the problem with Matrix? Why is it not the perfect existence?

Let's compare it to some theories of ethics:

Does it fit with Utilitarianism? Perfectly; by definition really.

Does it fit with Hedonism? Certainly.

Does it fit with Epicureanism? Indeed.

Does it fit with Egoism? Beautifully.

Does it fit with Stoicism? It makes it a little redundant, since its Consolation aspects aren't at all necessary, but it does fit.

Does it fit with Cynicism? Not exactly, but it can at least in the virtual world. Besides, Stoicism doesn't really say what our standards should be, simply that we shouldn't accept the standards of our society. So a society could hardly be Cynical.

Does it fit with Social Darwinism? Doesn't everything? 50 billion sounds like a darn good run for a complex species.

Does it fit with Platonism? Aren't Pleasure and Freedom Ideals? (But then there's Truth, I suppose; at least Platonism offers some challenge.) Unfortunately it's really hard to rank the Ideals in order of importance.

Does it fit with Aristotelianism? Well, it's hardly moderation, but maybe Pleasure is something that shouldn't be moderated. After all, you can't moderate Moderation, so there must be some things that don't need moderated, and why not Pleasure?

Does it fit with Divine Command? Not as it stands, but why couldn't the Matricians have a different Bible that says pure pleasure is God's will? Who's to say they are wrong?

Does it fit with Kantianism? I don't see why not. We haven't violated any Categorical Imperatives, and we could certainly Universalize this situation.

            Every ethical theory we have seems to be consistent with the idea that Matrix is the perfect planet, Leibniz's best of all possible worlds.

And yet, I would not, and I suspect many of my readers would not, have any desire to live in a pod on Matrix; I'd prefer this anguished Earth.

Hence, every ethical theory we have—is wrong. Or at least incomplete.

 

First, let me reject Utilitarianism and its ilk (Egoism, Hedonism and so on) completely and utterly.

The Pleasure Principle, by any reasonable formulation, is based upon the physical and emotional sensation of pleasure. It does say, then, absolutely and undeniably, that a planet of pure pleasure and zero pain (Matrix) is the perfect existence.

Since Matrix clearly isn't the perfect planet, the Pleasure Principle is quite plainly wrong. Not incomplete, not flawed, just totally wrong. Like the Catholics have been telling us for centuries, pleasure is not the Ultimate End of Man.

 

As we saw, the Consolation theories didn't really even apply to such a world, since there is nothing to console about pure pleasure. Why Stoically avoid emotion when the only emotion is pleasure? And how can a society be Cynical? Consolation may be correct, but it's not very helpful in this case.

 

As for Divine Command, we find that it is inexact, uncertain, and variable. As I said before, Matrician religion could differ greatly from our own. Finally, the metaethical basis of Divine Command is weak; either Good exists without God or really Good doesn't really exist (it's all whim). And so we discard this as unhelpful as well.

 

Platonism tries to escape, but is too vague about resolving conflicts between Ideals to really be certain in its implications. And are we really violating the Ideal of Truth, or just using it differently? Besides, the existence of Ideals in the first place is quite questionable (just what is Horseness or Philosopherness?).

 

Aristotelianism likewise puts up a good fight, but once we accept that total moderation is contradictory, we need a method for deciding when to moderate and when not to. Do we moderate Moderation? Moderate Truth? Moderate Pleasure? Aristotle offers us no answers here either.

 

And so we're left with Kant. Will Immanuel, too, fall? At the very least, Kantianism seems incomplete. Matrix is in fact Kantian, but Kant need not imply Matrix. We can certainly obey all our Categorical Imperatives with or without virtual-reality pods. Like Platonism and Aristotelianism, Kantianism simply isn't specific enough to exclude Matrix.

 

In order to design a better, more complete theory of ethics, I offer you a fourth planet: Sophia.

 

Sophia:

Sophia has a population of 8 billion, more or less naturally stable. It's mostly urban and suburban, with no metropolis, all the necessary farmland, and swaths of protected wildlife area (e.g. rainforests).

There are five basic occupations on Sophia, and each citizen trains and works for two years at each, then selects their final position: Farmer, Artist, Physician, Scientist, or Philosopher.

Hard labor in the farms and cities is done by robot, designed, upgraded and supervised by the Scientists. Light and moderate labor is done by hand, and is a source of exercise and satisfaction.

There are no lawyers, no politicians, no capitalists, and no accountants. There are no soldiers, no shareholders, no factory workers. Most of all, there is no currency and no wealth, only the most simple individual property.

Sophia is founded upon a model of cooperation and mutual respect, which all work to create and the Philosophers work to ensure. The rare disputes of law or ethics are handled by the greatest of the Philosophers, who also act as a hands-off representative government.

All citizens make time for recreation, indulging in the arts or in athleticism, but there is never heated competition, only mutual play. Poor sportsmanship is not tolerated.

The Farmers are not a low caste, they are recognized as crucial to the survival of Sophia. It is they (with the help of the robots and their Scientist builders) who ensure that all are well-fed.

The Physicians are plentiful and skilled; illness is occasional and only in the rarest cases serious or fatal.

The Artists create and perform films, dances, murals, poetry, and literature, not to sell or entertain, but to enrich society. They seek truth through expression.

The Scientists maintain the crucial robot systems, and also work on research in physics, biology, medicine, psychology. They seek truth through empiricism.

Finally, the Philosophers ensure domestic tranquility, resolve conflict, and ponder and research the deepest questions of existence. They also act as the historians and leaders of Sophia. They seek truth through imagination.

Of course, Sophia has challenges, low crop yields, disputes of property, viral outbreaks. There is pain, mental and physical, and sometimes conflict. But there is no war, no hatred, no violence.

 

In character:

I am Ronald Matthias, a citizen of Sophia. Currently I am training as a Scientist, but I think I most enjoy being a Farmer. My parents are glad; we haven't had a Farmer in the family for a few generations now, and so many Philosophers gets rather boring. Really, I think the harvestbots are so calming to watch, and I like the feel of soil on my hands when I do the gardening. My best friend thinks he'll be an Artist, but I'm not so sure. In Physician training last year he was quite impressive; I think he'll see that's his calling soon enough.

Still, I do enjoy learning about meteorology and nature in Scientist training. The diversity of the rainforests is quite remarkable; I'm so glad that our precursors have worked so hard to protect them.

It's not always easy, of course. Three years ago my brother was taken ill; the Physicians said he had incurred a severe infection. For a few months we were worried he might even die. Those were difficult times, and I had trouble concentrating on my studies as an Artist. His recovery was a celebration all across our precinct, and the Physicians who helped him are now quite renowned. It's nice to see their worthy achievements recognized by so many.

The Philosophers tell stories of our past, and I wonder how they could ever be true. Why would people argue and fight over the truth of existence, and not work together to seek it? It seems so nonsensical that they'd work so hard against one another rather than half as hard together. The Philosophers say that he change was very difficult and slow at first, and came at the most crucial time, when Scientists (or something like them) had developed things so powerful and so hateful that they could destroy all Sophia. I still can't imagine anything like that, and in some ways hope I never can. Of course, that's silly, isn't it? Understanding something never hurts you. And of course nothing like that will ever happen again; who would allow it?

I've read on my own of the other planets in the system; poor, poor Masoch, backward Smith, foolish Matrix. How will they ever understand the purpose of things if they seek only pleasure, or always fight one another, or feel only pain? I hope that someday there is something we on Sophia can do to help them understand. I do not know what, though.

Oh, dear. Next week is quantum physics. I fear I may not understand. In any case I'd much rather be growing some rich golden wheat or baking some nice hot cornbread.

 

Put on a straight face and tell me that isn't the perfect world. I would want to live on Sophia; wouldn't you? Some features remind of the (failed) classical Utopias of The Republic or The Giver, but note a crucial difference: the Sophian gets exposed to all ways of life, and then chooses the one he most enjoys. Further, there is nothing greater about being a Philosopher; the job is as necessary and no more than that of a Farmer. All people of Sophia contribute equally and significantly to the search for the purpose of existence.

 

And so we ask, how does Sophia differ from Matrix? It is more pleasurable? No, it is less. Is it less painful? No, it is more. More compassionate? Not really. Is it more sustainable? Not necessarily. More practical? Hardly.

What is Sophia, that Matrix is not?

It is true.

 

On Matrix, we hide from reality, seeking the sensation, real or otherwise, of pleasure and euphoria.

On Sophia, we embrace reality, and seek fulfillment, knowledge, and truth.

 

Sophia values wisdom and beauty, not pleasure. Sophians seek to understand the universe, to unlock its secrets, not to hide from its pains. Sophia seeks to discover the purpose of existence.

Discover the purpose.

Sophians do not assume that the universe has any specific purpose, or even necessarily any purpose at all. Instead, they recognize that we simply do not know, and work to find out.

And perhaps that is happiness, to touch our own ignorance, and face it not with fear, not with hesitation, but with eager curiosity. To recognize that we do not understand, and be glad we have the power to discover.

 

And so, given a foundation of something Kantian (with perhaps a note of Aristotelian moderation), I add simply one more principle:

Persons must seek the ultimate purpose of existence until that purpose is found, and when it is, must seek to fulfill it.

 

And so, what better planet than Sophia?

Well, I was silent (except for that one time around 8:00; I'm sorry, I hath erred) today.

And I didn't see a single other person who was. Not one!

Someone tried to bribe me ($2.00, mind you; he thought I was that cheap) not to be silent.

This is what I'm talking about, people; apathy. We have grown complacent at Commie, not realizing that our own comfort is an anomaly in a sea of dischord.

I still have about 30 bracelets that nobody will buy.

Considering the thermodynamics of free will, I come upon a startling realization:
We as conscious beings have a power to alter entropy that no other entity has.

It's subtle, and let me first say that I do not assert that human beings have the power to lower the total entropy of a closed macroscopic system by a statisically significant amount. (i.e, we can't break the Second Law per se.)

Rather, we have the power to make the entropy lower than it would have been, had we acted differently.

As I type this blog entry, I am organizing patterns of electrical (and ultimately photonic and then neural) signals. I am organizing them. The set of possible states which would result in this blog entry is much smaller (by perhaps a factor of 10^200?) than the set of all possible states, or (by a smaller factor) even the set of all possible blog entries. Hence, by S = k ln W, lower W [# of states], lower S [entropy].

Now, this is of course balanced by the heat output of my metabolism, my brain function, the electrical losses of my laptop... and so the net entropy change for the system is positive. But say I had written meaningless jibberish and not this blog entry.
The entropy change of the outside system would be identical!

That is to say, by choosing (we've already established that in fact I do choose in some sense at least) to write this blog entry and not something else, I select a lower entropy than what might have been.

Only a conscious being with free will and pattern-making capacity can do this. No spontaneous physical reaction would ever choose a lower entropy in this way.

And so we are (I say "we" meaning all sentient life in the universe) special. We can do something no other matter can do.

Well, it's done. I've decided.

(Influenced by the outside determinism and with my own free will) I have decided:
Next year, I shall attend the University of Michigan.

Damn the Ivies and full speed ahead.

Reconsidering my thoughts on choice, I come to realize that identity is an essential (and perhaps even sufficient!) feature of free will.

If something happens, whether by cause or chance, it was not a choice, because it something passively happened.

But if someone performs an action, that may be a choice, since someone actively acted.

The essential difference is the personal identity of the agent.

And so we come to a kind of definition of choice: That which is done purely by the self.

We don't necessarily say that this something is causal or acausal in nature, rather that it is perpetrated by the self.

Of course then we come to the question of self once again, but I think that becomes surmountable.

If you are forced by circumstance to act, that is clearly not a free choice.

But if you act based upon your own internal will, that is a free choice--though it may ultimately be deterministic.

And so we say what I do is (at least in part) free will, because it is caused not by some forces outside me, but by forces inside me, and not so much my body or my brain as within my self. I think, I choose.

And best of all, by this definition of course free will exists, because the self is the one thing that we do know exists. Anyone who denies free will (on the basis of what? Empiricism?) is just being silly.
Cogito me cogitare, ergo cogito.
Cogito ergo sum.
Sum ergo ego sum.
Ego sum ergo ego volo.

Hence the determinism of the act (if it is in fact determined, and of that we're not certain).
Compound that with chaos theory, and realize that determinism does not equate to predictability, and there's no reason to believe in chance at all.
And so we can have our determinism and eat it too.

My secret weapon. Now I feel much better about the bracelets.

The final products are really nice (if I do say so myself). You'll be happy to know that they velcro-clasp and adjust from a 5" to a 9" circumference wrist. Spared no expense.

We should have about 40 of them on sale, most likely on the third floor, most likely starting Monday. As for price... the President has not yet decided.

As for discussion questions... not so hot. But there is still time.


ADDENDUM

Now, even the discussion questions are all but done. Huzzah!

No, not a sea chanty.

Rather my attempt at last to describe my experiences in the city that never sleeps.

First of all: It never sleeps. I wasn't actually there in the middle of the night (my flight arrangements were a strictly day-trip affair), but from the time we arrived (around 9:00) to the time we departed (around 16:30), the level of activity in the city was both massive and constant, and showed absolutely no signs that it was ever not so. There was no "rush hour," or rather there was no "not rush hour." People filling sidewalks and cars filling roads, edge to edge without end, at all hours.

Yes, taxi drivers really do drive like that; yes, old ladies really do yell insults at people. Yes, subways really are covered with graffiti; yes, people really do stand on street corners hawking unusual wares. (My favorite was the pineapple stand on 42 street.)

First things first. Only my dad and I went because my mom hates New York and we had no money anyway. We flew in on a Spirit 737 (cheapest by far, mind you), a cute little number with hydraulics visible in places and what can only be described as moorgel. (i.e., the multiplicative inverse of legroom.) On the way I read--and rather enjoyed--essays of Stephen Jay Gould--Creationists ain't got a vestigial leg to stand on--and sipped Pepsi to stay awake after having gotten up at 4:00.

An hour and a half later, we entered New York airspace. We flew in from the south, the Brooklyn side. Huge, huge numbers of houses and apartment buildings, all... exactly the same. I mean indistinguishable. Occasionally they'd vary the shade of pastel.

We saw the Her Highness the Little Green Speck standing proudly on the Its Eminence the Little Dark Blob (The Statue of Liberty, on Ellis Island) briefly, noted the glaring lack of World Trade Center towers in the skyline (there's a gap in Manhattan; it's really eerie. Skyscraper, skycraper, skyscraper. Gap. Skyscraper.), then descended.

We arrived at LaGuardia Airport. Pretty much your standard airport, complete with confusing signage, outrageous fares, vagely attractive and ageless support staff, and the at once pitiful and intimidating Department of Homeland Security rentacops they call the Transportation Security Administration. I sincerely hope those people are not issued firearms. (Mine, when I went through the metal detector, turned to another guy and said, "any way we can get some more mints down here?" Another ran into the security center screaming and laughing and playing with her hair. You can't make this stuff up.)

We got on the bus (i.e finally figured out where to buy Metrocards, walked to the American Airlines terminal to buy Metrocards, walked back to the bus dropoff, waited for the M60 bus to get its ass over there, climbed onto the bus, and had to figure out how to use our Metrocards), and rode to Columbia from there. Along the way we were greeted by an outgoing fellow (male, fair height, short black hair, dark skin, early thirties, brown leather jacket) in the seat in front of us, who apparently owns his own company and works 22 hours a day--that's what he said, 3:00 to 1:00; I wasn't in a position to argue the finer points of REM--mixing and peddling compilation CDs.  He claimed he had a license for this sort of thing. I couldn't pronounce his name, but he seemed nice enough.

For future reference: Half the windows on the bus say, "Please be kind; give up your seat to the disabled," and the other half say, "PRIORITY SEATING. Must be given to the disabled on request." And you never have to request a stop (nor even will you get the chance); someone else will always do it first.

So then we drove. And drove. New York driving is kind of like Los Angeles in slow motion. You're only going 30 miles an hour, but everyone's honking and screaming and flipping the finger, cutting each other off, swerving in and out of lanes. There's no subway from LaGuardia to Columbia, so we had to take the bus, and it was quite a ways from that part of East Brooklyn to the north side of Manhattan.

Yes, the north side. Yes, we had to drive right through East Harlem. Yes, Columbia's campus (in Morningside Heights) is about three blocks from the edge of East Harlem. Yes, there really is an off-track betting shop next to a McDonald's. Yes, there really are ads for Cadillacs above pawnbrokers. And yes, we did get to pass the Apollo Theater.

We got off the bus at the Columbia stop, walked through the gates (yes, gates) into Morningside Heights proper (doesn't that name just drip with gooey suburbia? Too bad it's not). The campus is walled by the outer buildings, none of which is smaller than five stories (as though anything in Manhattan is), and everything is so alabaster-collegiate you almost forget that Harlem borders the campus on two sides.

Yes, there is a store just on the inside of Morningside Heights called "Ivy League Stationery." Yes, the campus bookstore is subsidized by Barnes and Noble. Just thought you might want to know.

There's a statue in front of the main library (there was a job fair going on inside, so we didn't get to see much of it) that says "Alma mater." I conjecture this is the source of the term.

The center of visitor affairs seems to be Lerner Hall, despite the fact that the web information says it's the Low Memorial Library (the one with the statue). This was naturally a source of much confusion for our unaccustomed selves.

Finally we figured out that we were supposed to be in Lerner Hall (Dr. Alfred Lerner Hall to you), which is mostly a mass of catwalks and ramps stretching off in all directions, with a bored security guard in the front whose entire vocabulary consists of the words "down the ramp, upstairs to your left." This is the answer to any question one might ask, including (I conjecture), "What's the weather forecast for tomorrow?" and "Do you like cottage cheese?"

We were having a whimsical day in New York indeed. And then we made the mistake of speaking with the Financial Aid office. Down the ramp, upstairs to your left.

It was a very nice office, by the way, with very shiny and attractive decor, very fine hardwood floors and furniture, and state-of-the-art computers in ever corner and cubicle (of course it adds just a milligram of NaCl in my hemmorhaging to see that they can spend $2000 on a table but nary a dime on me).

Our financial aid officer (his name was Jose, and it's a distinct possibility that he was a new experimental android) was very polite when he told us that should I decide to attend this fine Manhattan institution we would find ourselves owing the nominal sum of $142,048. He was equally polite when he informed us that my merit scholarships, scholastic achievements, publications were no more or less utterly irrelevant than our mortgage costs, insurance bills and utility payments.

But alas. It is so. And of course life goes on.

We went to an info session (mostly intended for snooty New York soccer moms with high school students who are being pressured into applying for the Ivy League), and learned absolutely nothing. I spent most of the time tabulating reasons to go versus reasons to not go with very elegant up- and down-arrows. I should have doodled. Darn.

We decided to forgo the official tour and go forth on our own (we were fairly pressed for time anyway), and so we hobbled about. We didn't see much in the way of dorms--in retrospect perhaps the tour would have given us more of this--but we did learn some of the more intriguing quirks of the campus.

My favorite was the Mathematics Building. Walk in the front door, and you hit--a wall. Turn left, and you hit--a wall. Turn right, and you're facing into a lecture hall (it was full, so we dare not go in). Eventually you realize that you can turn around and go down some stairs. Then you hit--another wall. Turn again, and you're at a library, ostensibly one of mathematical tomes. Turn again--wall. Turn again, and you have some more stairs. Follow the stairs to the bottom of the labyrinth, and there is an old man restocking vending machines and quietly whistling.
After this, we fled as quickly as possible. Too much Alice Little in this math department.

We subwayed (damn right it's a verb now) to Times Square, which would be really impressive if it didn't look exactly like the rest of Manhattan. We had to check the signs again to make sure we really were in Times Square. But yeah, there's an animated Coke sign--what else is new.  We strolled (or I should say battled) our way down 42 street (everything is off 42 street; indeed, that may be why 42 is the answer to life, the universe and everything; by the way, there's no "nd"; it's written, "42 street."), facing threat to life and limb--and of course pineapple vendors--and naturally a Pfizer office larger than the one here--on the way to the United Nations headquarters. Halfway there we stopped at a McDonald's (a three-floor, 30 sq. ft. McDonald's) for a bite to eat, and called my mom to deliver the bad news.

The UN HQ is a very pretty building, but it's hard to take in all at once because it's so expansive and there are so many obstacles (nearby buildings, a huge monolithic abstract scuplture, electric fences...) in the way. Speaking of which, yes, they really have an electric fence. Yes, there really is a huge gate in the front of this fence. Yes, people really drive glossy black Lincolns through this gate. Yes, a blue-suited chubby man with an automatic pistol really does check their identification. Yes, there really are men standing around with black suits and dark shades and sometimes bulges in their pants (pistols, dammit! pistols! guttermind...). Yes, all the windows really are tinted the same secretive shiny green.

We played "guess-the-flag" on the massive number of General Assembly flags outside--and failed miserably. 90% of them we had absolutely no idea. I still think that red one was China, but my dad didn't believe me.

We then walked up to what we thought was an observation post, but which if anything was a poorer view of the facility. From there we found ourselves on an elevated street level, avoiding passing cars as we looked down on the foolish mortals driving on ordinary ground level.

We subwayed next to the World Trade Center (or rather Ground Zero, but technically that's a general term), which really is about as macabre as one might expect of a massive pile of dessicated rubble turned into a de facto museum exhibit. It's all closed off, and you get to watch the construction workers lazily try to change the conglomeration of burned and cracked debris into something that can be rebuilt. What were "NO SOLICITING" signs (with graffitied on "fuck" or sometimes "murder"--for some reason I saw a lot of "murder") in the rest of the city were instead "In order to help keep the World Trade Center Memorial a special place, please refrain from purchasing, selling, donating or soliciting on these premises." And you know what? There were no solicitors, and no graffiti. Interesting piece of work we've got here, this Homo sapiens.

We were running out of time already, so we subwayed back to Columbia (by now we had figured out how the express-lines worked and it went pretty fast, except for that middle-school basketball team) and caught the bus to LaGuardia.

After more waiting and more Stephen Jay Gould--takin' down the Social Darwinists too!--finally we were in the air again.

Though the plane barked (and of course there was the Spirit moorgel), the ride was mostly uneventful. Yes, it barked. As in made periodic barking sounds all through takeoff, ascent, descent, and landing. They said it was a hydraulic problem (comforting, no? But I'm no aerophobe; if it's got wings and an engine I'm okay), but it really sounded like one of those bichon frises (bichons frise?) that your neighbor has which despite the best efforts of an entire village will not shut up. Though right at touchdown it sounded a little less canine and more like a hacksaw...

And we got home, and ate dinner at Evergreen, and I blogged my frustration at the Financial Aid office (it really did color my whole day, knowing that what had been my favorite school going in was now a mediocre place far beyond my financial reach). Then the day was done, and I went to bed.

Wednesday is the Day of Silence, and you should all be silent with us!

And have good discussions in forum... once I write out the discussion questions.
And buy a bracelet... if I manage to make all the bracelets in time.
Shhh. You know nothing.

Somehow, I became President of the CHS QSA. Might have something to do with the fact that we have exactly two members this semester.
And now, Acceptance Week is upon us, and I am just a teensy bit stressed out.

Here goes.

And quite disappointed.

Why kill for Ilium's Helen
When my Penelope wishes me home?

Columbia wasn't quite what I was hoping for (though still better than Michigan, I think); the campus is pretty but in a weird location, and of course the Big Apple is huge and dense and noisy like no other city I've ever seen. I expected great, and I got pretty good.
But from that I still think I'd be willing to go.

But there's something worse, much worse.
We got the financial info, and Columbia expects us to pay:
$31,861 /year.

Not counting Stafford loans and work-study, mind you. They actually think we can pay that.

What can we pay, actually? $8,000, maybe $12,000 at most. Beyond that lies the land of the eternal six-figure school loan debt.

We're going to try to appeal it, giving the financial aid people a report of all our actual expenses, try to convince them to at least grant us a few more grand, but it's a shot in the dark. They took 5% of their pool this year; they're more than ready to forget me and fill the spot from the waitlist.

If they don't, looks like I'll be staying in town. Ivy or not, I'm not giving up $120,000 of my future earnings (advance on paychecks?) when another school (Michigan) will take me for $35,000.

When I calm down I'll tell you about New York, which I did enjoy in spite of all this college bullshit. But I'm not really in the mood right now.

Tomorrow morning (at 5:00!) I leave for the Big Apple.
Hopefully Columbia will be everything I wish for, and I can make my decision final.

In any case, off I go. Back tomorrow night.

(In other news, the editor of the Journal of Cryptology still says that my claims are "not precise,"--never saying what I'm not precise about--specifically because I am "contradicting a Theorem in the literature" and/or "have solved one of the most important problems not only in C[ryptographic] S[cience], but also in mathematics." I need to figure out how to respond, but essentially he complains that he can't publish it because either he doesn't understand it or it's too damn revolutionary. Down, narcissism, down! Bad dog. I don't know, maybe there is a resolution here; maybe there's some way to show that his theorem doesn't apply.)

Anyway. You ever stop and think about choice?

As I see it, there are three ways this universe could be run:
Choice, chance, and cause.

Science leans toward cause, except in quantum mechanics, at which point we invoke chance to hide our ignorance.

But what if choice exists? We certainly feel like it does. Any reasonable conception of ethics assumes that it does.

What, then, would the universe look like? Would it look like this? How would we know?

What, exactly, is choice? Stop and think for a second what exactly it would mean to have a choice.

Does it mean you use your own knowledge and internal state? Is it affected by outside forces? More to the point, is it decided completely by outside forces?

Is free will the freedom to make the wrong choice, the choice that doesn't make sense by rational thought, coercion, emotion, or anything else?

Do we ever make choices that are not defined by who we are?

What would it mean to have control over something?

Say you could choose between A and B, and had no reason to choose one over the other. How would you choose? Would it be random? Could it be random?

It doesn't really make sense to say that choice doesn't exist, because in saying anything at all, thinking anything at all, in some sense we are transcending the pure determinism, aren't we? The belief that choice exists is a deterministic force. We can't remove that belief, we can't do anything at all, because identity is then an artifact, an epiphenomenon. The forces run themselves, and we happen to experience a small part of that, but we play no part in it beyond that.

But then to say that choice does exist, what exactly are we saying? Are we postulating some kind of acausal soul that embodies our consciousness and creates the decision-making power? Can choice be embedded in a fabric of causality?

It's one thing not to understand; it's quite another to have no idea how one could ever understand, to see contradictions at every turn.

I just got dissed by a condescending science-journal editor, but then I was able to use what he said to turn my encryption method into something more than I thought it would ever be.

He wanted mathematical rigor, I gave him mathematical rigor.
He wanted provable security, I gave him provable security.
He said that it could be broken computationally, I proved it couldn't.

And so his rejection turned what I thought was kind of a neat idea into what could well be the next big step in cryptology. So weird to think that I now don't see how this couldn't be the perfect code. In fact, I'm kinda scared to think that such a thing exists. But it definitely seems to. I know absolutely no way an infinitely-fast Turing machine (that is, the best computer in the universe) could ever break this code. Pretty awesome, eh?

I just wrote a paper on encryption and queried several major cryptography journals!

Nothing may come of this, mind you, but it marks a willingness to take risks I don't think I've had since... ever. I just sent out a bunch of emails asking if people like my idea of Software-Simulated Quantum Encryption, and if any say yes, I may find myself with a scientific publication!

Even if they all say no, I don't have much to lose. It's not even my field really, just a neat little idea I had that turned into something kinda cool.

And now I've submitted queries... to places in Germany, places in Virginia, places in China. Pretty crazy, huh? Quite a day this was.

I'm not sure if I'm actually supposed to submit to them all at once, but if they don't like it, that's their problem. I'll only publish in one, of course, but they can't tell me what to do with my work until I sign it over to them. As in literature, so in science. I'm not about to wait a month between queries for seven journals for something I came up with in three hours today.

Wish me luck, and may all your days be quantum-encrypted!

I realized something today that I think the vast majority of physicists don't:

Nature knows better than Nature.

The Universe knows better than the physicists do. A lot better.

 

Indeed, assuming that we are not in absolute and total chaos (um, we aren't, or I wouldn't be here, and neither would you) the following must be true of the Universe:

A) It has no paradoxes.

B) It has no inconsistencies.

C) The fundamental laws are the same everywhere.

D) Bound states (you know, atoms, solar systems?) are stable.

E) Causality reigns.

F) Something is actually here. (see also Ontology)

G) Somehow some of those somethings think.

H) One set of laws explains all of this.

 

Now, consider the current state of theoretical physics:

A) Quantum mechanics and general relativity can both create paradoxes of time.

B) Quantum mechanics and general relativity are completely irreconcilable.

C) The laws of the microscopic seem to be completely different from the laws of the cosmic.

D) We barely understand why bound states even exist.

E) Acausal and backward-causal artifacts abound.

F) The Copenhagen Interpretation is strictly epistemic.

G) We have no idea how conscious exists, and usually duck the question.

H) Even the supposedly-unifying M-theory has dozens of variations which no experiment can differentiate.

 

Hurts, don't it? We really have very little idea what's going on.

 

And why might this be? Because we conveniently forget the above assumptions, and replace them with the following:

A) Elegance is important.

B) Only useful epistemic models are meaningful.

C) Seek symmetry and mathematical simplicity.

D) Avoid nonlinearity at any cost.

E) Never unseat a model which is empirically accurate.

F) Consciousness is an illusionary epiphenomenon.

G) Time and space are optional.

H) Paradoxes are irrelevant.

I) Renormalize pesky infinities as necessary.

J) A single set of unified laws is a fool's enterprise.

K) Seek general models over specific principles.

L) All hail Hilbert phase space.

 

We should be disgusted with ourselves. Fuck symmetry. I want causality. Fuck Hilbert space. I want ontology. Fuck elegance. I want unification.

Can you believe I actually enjoy proving the group nature of centralizers?