I like this book, and agree with its main points. You can find those by searching for "Black Swan" on Wikipedia. Having said I like the book, my comments below start with a few complaints.
Complaint 1. I don't really like the analogy of the black swan from which the book takes its title. Taleb's idea is that biologists used to say that swans had to be white, and if it wasn't white, it wasn't a swan. Then a species of black swan was discovered in Australia. He claims this is an example of a new, totally unexpected event. Everyone knew that Australia existed before, so I doubt anyone was very surprised that when they studied a new place they would find a differently-colored bird. If there are swans on Alpha Centauri, I don't think we have strong predictions about what color they should be. The more surprising black swan events are ones where people believed they understood why a situation not only was a certain way but that it had to be that way. I don't think anyone claimed that there was something about whiteness that was essential to the workings of the bird -- everyone knew it was basically an accident or the result of some mundane force of natural selection. I suppose "black swan" is a pleasing image, amenable to succinct explanation, and has a few properties of what he's getting at.
Complaint 2. Taleb comes across as not very nice, and not very mature in the area of human relationships. The book is full of cheap shots and fantasies about doing bad things to the people he doesn't like. He believes experts and economists and so forth dispense worthless advice, and I bet he's pretty much right. It sounds like he has (figuratively) jumped up and down and shouted this at them for some time, and they not only don't switch careers, they become defensive or go on the attack against him. But there's nose-thumbling -- with very little compassion and very little tolerance. It's very hard to give up your career and watch your earnings plummet, and all people will go through great psychological contortions to justify keeping on as they are. The advice all the rest of us give and get is to not childishly belittle our opponents. On the other hand, he has gotten as far in spreading his message as writing a bestseller. Possibly being mean gets attention, and readers might accept his ideas once he has their attention. Ironically, he suggests in a few places that he views religion as a positive thing, but he hardly shows many religious virtues, Christian or other.
Complaint 3. At one point he describes what happens when people are asked to make estimates of some number, and give a range describing their certainty. On average people are far more confident than they should be. Perhaps 50% of the people are wrong about the number being within a range they were 90% confident it would be within. He then addresses the exceptions. Some people, he notes, will give a ridiculously wide range. If asked for a 90% confidence interval of how many lovers Catherine the Great had, they might say between zero and 10,000. He says they are just not playing the game, and they might as well say so. But there is also the possibility that they are attuned to black swans, that they are taking seriously the possibility that there is some important factor they aren't aware of or haven't considered. (Even 10,000 could be a different lover every day for 30 years). It's unfortunate to dismiss people who actually agree with his point. (None of the numbers above are from the book, but they are good enough to make the point.)
Complaint 4. He makes a key distinction in the book between "mediocristan", where things follow predictable distributions and stunning surprises don't occur (height, weight, longevity), and "extremistan", the realm of black swans (individual wealth, book sales, etc.). I think it is a valid and useful distinction. He admits at one point that for him personally, mediocristan is not very interesting, and what he values in life is in the excitement of extremistan. Self-consciously or not, this is reflected in the very terms he chose. I for one prefer to live in the more predictable realm. If I were picking terms to reflect my values I might call it "harmonistan" or "calmistan" instead of "mediocristan", and might call the other place "wackistan" or "chaoticstan" instead of "extremistan".
Observation 1. A substantial part of the evidence in the book is the failings of human reasoning and intuition, most of which I had run across recently in reading an introductory psychology textbook ("Psychology", 2004, David G. Myers). But changing the world often does involve repackaging old ideas in different ways, hoping to find one to get people's attention. The book is something of a bestseller, so it's on the right track of making these truths more widely known.
Approval 1. I did especially like his section on silent evidence, quite in line with thoughts I have had for some time (see my earlier post "When the news is bad for you"). A cute instance is his consideration of the belief among gamblers that people have beginner's luck, something a clear-thinking person would be inclined to attribute to superstition. He observes that people who started out gambling and had bad luck quite probably stopped gambling, and it was initial success that got people hooked so that they are among the peers that a gambler considers. The ones who had bad luck initially are off doing something else.
Approval 2. He denigrates the economic advice of others and repeatedly implies he has a better idea. I think he quite possibly does. His investment philosophy is buried in the book, but when he finally gets to it he easily describes it in very few words. The gist is to place most of your assets in a very safe vehicle such as T-bills. Put the rest in a variety of highly speculative ventures, because while there's only a small chance that any one of them will pay off, the one that does could give a huge benefit. He doesn't like the more conventional strategy of looking for a fairly good rate of return balanced against some risk because our estimates of the risk are way too low. Brief answers are often the best, especially when a primary contention is that other people think they know too much.
Approval 3. He notes that he grew up in Lebanon in what was a peaceful, stable place, until suddenly the entire world he knew fell apart with the civil war of 1975. He implies that some people try to dismiss his work by saying his thinking is the result of his own personal trauma. I am inclined to accept the factual gist of that observation but frame it differently. His early experience has opened him up to see unpleasant truths that most of the rest of us are not primed to see.
Approval 4. I am fully with him in one key respect. A great deal of the time, the right answer to interesting questions is: "I don't know."
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Good enough
I read an interesting book within the past couple years called "The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less", by Barry Schwartz. I realize that it has actually had some influence on how I live my life, which is rare for a book.
When we face a problem, there are two ways to approach it: As an "optimizer", who seeks the best solution, and as a "satisficer", who seeks a solution that is good enough. Many of us, much of the time, feel obligated to optimize, by educating ourselves on the alternatives, reviewing them thoroughly, and choosing the best one according to our criteria. To the extent we fail, we feel guilty. Other people may let us know that we missed some great bargain, or the even better restaurant, and we cooperate with them in feeling that we failed.
It's worth optimizing about the big things in life: what city to live in, what house to buy, what job to take. It is worth optimizing money when it concerns large amounts -- bargaining carefully for the best price on your home or the best salary at your job. We can sometimes regret not having devoted as much attention to these questions as we should.
But for the less important aspects of life you can often find a solution that is good enough.
Consider driving to an event in a city where parking is an issue and you may have to park at some distance from the event. The density of cars parked beside the road increases as you near the event, but there are other reasons than your event for local concentrations of cars. You can't see by peering ahead where the last space is you could park in (think fire hydrants, driveways). You are likely to go just a little farther. Often you get it pretty much right. Less often you find you have passed the last available space and need to turn around and go back to those spaces you passed. Often when you get there the previously closest space is taken and you have to go back a little bit farther. This is frustrating. The satisficing solution is to park at the first space that is good enough, and not let yourself feel incompetent if as you walk towards the event you see an empty space that was significantly closer. You may have saved yourself the possible frustration of having to turn around. More importantly, you have saved time of your life spent looking for a parking space. You could be walking instead, something we generally find inherently more relaxing and in line with our values. This is especially relevant if you are the sort of person who regularly runs several miles for exercise.
Consider driving with a friend to a place you have never been before and will probably never go again. You know one way to go, but there might be a better way. You can study a map for some time, determine the route you want, and spend your trip verifying you are following the path you have charted. Or you could spend the entirety of a slightly longer trip talking with your friend.
At the supermarket you can look at the different brands and different package sizes and spend considerable time finding the best buy. Or you can just pick one and spend less of your life in the activity known as shopping.
When you vacuum your house you can dig into every corner, every time, and chase every last bit of dust. Or you might reflect that within a day or so the natural accumulation of dirt will have rendered the benefit of your more thorough cleaning imperceptible. The goal could shift from having a house that is (periodically) "extremely clean", to having one that is "not very dirty", or in other words "good enough".
Now, for all the caveats:
For some people, optimization habits are just a part of the fabric of their life and define "how one ought to live".
Successful optimization shows competence and mastery, and for many people such opportunities are not abundant.
Some people just really enjoy shopping, including getting the best deal on small items. Some inherently enjoy feeling that their house is extraordinarily clean, even if briefly. Enjoyment is good.
Finding the best route to a particular destination could increase one's knowledge of the lay of the land, allowing faster trips when time really is important.
Sometimes it really is important to optimize on even small amounts of money, since they do add up. But it might be prudent to look at one's budget as a whole to see where larger amounts of money are at stake. You could feel that you are living a frugal life by checking out the brands, whereas ten times that amount of money is at stake in what you might have to admit are luxuries if you were forced to think about it.
For some people, it may be hard to make a mix of optimizing and satisficing decisions. Perhaps they are not only on a tight budget, but if they relaxed their buying habits in one area of life it might spread to areas that are more important. My mother, a child of the depression, sometimes washed lettuce by using a small stream of water and shutting it off after finishing each leaf before picking up the next one, though I don't think water was ever expensive or in short supply in her life. But it was part of an attitude of frugality.
There can also be an instance of the "free rider" problem. If few people were engaged in careful comparison shopping, the stores could gradually raise their prices. Being confident that all prices are "good enough" depends on optimizers who do pay attention to which store has milk that is five cents cheaper. People who carefully compare prices are doing a service for the rest of us, even if as individuals it may not be in their immediate self-interest to do so. I wonder sometimes to what extent Whole Foods is an entire chain built on customers who are satisficers with regard to price. I'm not actually feeling guilty about the "free rider" problem, since there is no looming shortage of comparison shoppers.
The next step is to be willing to go public: tell your friends that you aren't troubled that you spent a few extra dollars on something because it's not a priority for you. What you paid was good enough.
When we face a problem, there are two ways to approach it: As an "optimizer", who seeks the best solution, and as a "satisficer", who seeks a solution that is good enough. Many of us, much of the time, feel obligated to optimize, by educating ourselves on the alternatives, reviewing them thoroughly, and choosing the best one according to our criteria. To the extent we fail, we feel guilty. Other people may let us know that we missed some great bargain, or the even better restaurant, and we cooperate with them in feeling that we failed.
It's worth optimizing about the big things in life: what city to live in, what house to buy, what job to take. It is worth optimizing money when it concerns large amounts -- bargaining carefully for the best price on your home or the best salary at your job. We can sometimes regret not having devoted as much attention to these questions as we should.
But for the less important aspects of life you can often find a solution that is good enough.
Consider driving to an event in a city where parking is an issue and you may have to park at some distance from the event. The density of cars parked beside the road increases as you near the event, but there are other reasons than your event for local concentrations of cars. You can't see by peering ahead where the last space is you could park in (think fire hydrants, driveways). You are likely to go just a little farther. Often you get it pretty much right. Less often you find you have passed the last available space and need to turn around and go back to those spaces you passed. Often when you get there the previously closest space is taken and you have to go back a little bit farther. This is frustrating. The satisficing solution is to park at the first space that is good enough, and not let yourself feel incompetent if as you walk towards the event you see an empty space that was significantly closer. You may have saved yourself the possible frustration of having to turn around. More importantly, you have saved time of your life spent looking for a parking space. You could be walking instead, something we generally find inherently more relaxing and in line with our values. This is especially relevant if you are the sort of person who regularly runs several miles for exercise.
Consider driving with a friend to a place you have never been before and will probably never go again. You know one way to go, but there might be a better way. You can study a map for some time, determine the route you want, and spend your trip verifying you are following the path you have charted. Or you could spend the entirety of a slightly longer trip talking with your friend.
At the supermarket you can look at the different brands and different package sizes and spend considerable time finding the best buy. Or you can just pick one and spend less of your life in the activity known as shopping.
When you vacuum your house you can dig into every corner, every time, and chase every last bit of dust. Or you might reflect that within a day or so the natural accumulation of dirt will have rendered the benefit of your more thorough cleaning imperceptible. The goal could shift from having a house that is (periodically) "extremely clean", to having one that is "not very dirty", or in other words "good enough".
Now, for all the caveats:
For some people, optimization habits are just a part of the fabric of their life and define "how one ought to live".
Successful optimization shows competence and mastery, and for many people such opportunities are not abundant.
Some people just really enjoy shopping, including getting the best deal on small items. Some inherently enjoy feeling that their house is extraordinarily clean, even if briefly. Enjoyment is good.
Finding the best route to a particular destination could increase one's knowledge of the lay of the land, allowing faster trips when time really is important.
Sometimes it really is important to optimize on even small amounts of money, since they do add up. But it might be prudent to look at one's budget as a whole to see where larger amounts of money are at stake. You could feel that you are living a frugal life by checking out the brands, whereas ten times that amount of money is at stake in what you might have to admit are luxuries if you were forced to think about it.
For some people, it may be hard to make a mix of optimizing and satisficing decisions. Perhaps they are not only on a tight budget, but if they relaxed their buying habits in one area of life it might spread to areas that are more important. My mother, a child of the depression, sometimes washed lettuce by using a small stream of water and shutting it off after finishing each leaf before picking up the next one, though I don't think water was ever expensive or in short supply in her life. But it was part of an attitude of frugality.
There can also be an instance of the "free rider" problem. If few people were engaged in careful comparison shopping, the stores could gradually raise their prices. Being confident that all prices are "good enough" depends on optimizers who do pay attention to which store has milk that is five cents cheaper. People who carefully compare prices are doing a service for the rest of us, even if as individuals it may not be in their immediate self-interest to do so. I wonder sometimes to what extent Whole Foods is an entire chain built on customers who are satisficers with regard to price. I'm not actually feeling guilty about the "free rider" problem, since there is no looming shortage of comparison shoppers.
The next step is to be willing to go public: tell your friends that you aren't troubled that you spent a few extra dollars on something because it's not a priority for you. What you paid was good enough.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
How to treat the terminally unconscious
How should we treat a person who is terminally ill and terminally unconscious? For people who believe in an afterlife, considerable attention makes sense, since some sort of essence of the person remains until the time of death before moving on in some fashion. Even for some who don't believe in an afterlife, special attention makes sense as part of customs or traditions.
What about those who don't believe in an afterlife and have no reason within their family customs to give special attention to an unconscious dying person? What do they owe ethically or morally to the unconscious dying person as a person? Beyond basic physical comfort, I suggest the answer is: nothing.
I think large parts of our society do not accept this as a valid position. This was driven home to me when my mother died in November. She was in the hospital on what everyone knew would be her last day. She was profoundly unconscious, not responding to music, voices, or touch. When she was conscious in the few days before that, she had given no sign of recognizing individual family members. She had had a progressive and serious dementia for the past two years.
My father had decided that he did not want to be there on her last day, based on his understanding of the situation. If he thought she would recognize him and he could be of some comfort to her, no one could have kept him away. But he was certain this was not true, so he did not want to go.
In the nursing facility where he lives, a nurse essentially bullied him until he agreed to go to the hospital. Perhaps "bullying" is a strong word, but it had that effect on a man who was frail, grieving, and under the best of circumstances shies away from conflict. She told him that my mother could hear him even if she couldn't respond and that he would regret it later if he didn't go. She would not accept repeated "No thanks" or "I'll think about it". Hopefully most people will agree that she went too far, but I think far too many people believe that she was right. He went to my mother's bedside for an hour or two, but found it an upsetting experience without any benefit.
My father has since expressed dismay that family members were summoned to her bedside at a time when she was terminally unconscious. He feels it was gruesome and disrespectful. I don't share his feeling that it was gruesome or disrespectful to her, though if I had known I would have tried to respect his wishes. I do share his feeling that there was no benefit to her from anyone being there -- for all intents and purposes there was no "her" to benefit from anything any more. He had not been present when his own mother died, and when asked if he regretted that, his answer was an unhesitating "No".
My mother never wavered from atheism in her long life. Her will stated her body was to be cremated in the least expensive manner possible. My father has been an atheist since he was in college and has been quite sure there is no afterlife. There is no doubt in my mind that my father loved my mother as much as one person can love another. It is just his view that when her mind was fully gone, she was gone.
Why is this not acceptable? I can think of various reasons why those who believe in an afterlife would have difficulty with this view. As an aside, the staff took some time alone with my mother to tend to her physical needs just a couple hours before she died, and when they were done the small TV on its swinging arm was against the wall, at a discrete distance and a discrete volume, tuned to a Catholic mass. I personally didn't mind.
There are many people at FUSN who like me might say they believe in something unknown to science, or in a connected web of all existence, or some similar sense of spirit. But I think relatively few would say they believe in an afterlife where a person's personality and memories are preserved. I think that at a moment of contemplating a loved one's death it is understandable to waver from that conviction, and to be open to the possibility of something profound and spiritual going on in a literal sense. Some might consciously or not find themselves acting on a variant of Pascal's wager: if I behave as if this person has a soul and is present to the end, there is nothing lost in any event but much to be gained on the off chance there is.
What I ask is for respect for those of us who feel confident that nothing spiritually momentous is happening at the end of life for a person who is unconscious. That respect should include not assuming we are unloving or cowardly or in denial.
What about those who don't believe in an afterlife and have no reason within their family customs to give special attention to an unconscious dying person? What do they owe ethically or morally to the unconscious dying person as a person? Beyond basic physical comfort, I suggest the answer is: nothing.
I think large parts of our society do not accept this as a valid position. This was driven home to me when my mother died in November. She was in the hospital on what everyone knew would be her last day. She was profoundly unconscious, not responding to music, voices, or touch. When she was conscious in the few days before that, she had given no sign of recognizing individual family members. She had had a progressive and serious dementia for the past two years.
My father had decided that he did not want to be there on her last day, based on his understanding of the situation. If he thought she would recognize him and he could be of some comfort to her, no one could have kept him away. But he was certain this was not true, so he did not want to go.
In the nursing facility where he lives, a nurse essentially bullied him until he agreed to go to the hospital. Perhaps "bullying" is a strong word, but it had that effect on a man who was frail, grieving, and under the best of circumstances shies away from conflict. She told him that my mother could hear him even if she couldn't respond and that he would regret it later if he didn't go. She would not accept repeated "No thanks" or "I'll think about it". Hopefully most people will agree that she went too far, but I think far too many people believe that she was right. He went to my mother's bedside for an hour or two, but found it an upsetting experience without any benefit.
My father has since expressed dismay that family members were summoned to her bedside at a time when she was terminally unconscious. He feels it was gruesome and disrespectful. I don't share his feeling that it was gruesome or disrespectful to her, though if I had known I would have tried to respect his wishes. I do share his feeling that there was no benefit to her from anyone being there -- for all intents and purposes there was no "her" to benefit from anything any more. He had not been present when his own mother died, and when asked if he regretted that, his answer was an unhesitating "No".
My mother never wavered from atheism in her long life. Her will stated her body was to be cremated in the least expensive manner possible. My father has been an atheist since he was in college and has been quite sure there is no afterlife. There is no doubt in my mind that my father loved my mother as much as one person can love another. It is just his view that when her mind was fully gone, she was gone.
Why is this not acceptable? I can think of various reasons why those who believe in an afterlife would have difficulty with this view. As an aside, the staff took some time alone with my mother to tend to her physical needs just a couple hours before she died, and when they were done the small TV on its swinging arm was against the wall, at a discrete distance and a discrete volume, tuned to a Catholic mass. I personally didn't mind.
There are many people at FUSN who like me might say they believe in something unknown to science, or in a connected web of all existence, or some similar sense of spirit. But I think relatively few would say they believe in an afterlife where a person's personality and memories are preserved. I think that at a moment of contemplating a loved one's death it is understandable to waver from that conviction, and to be open to the possibility of something profound and spiritual going on in a literal sense. Some might consciously or not find themselves acting on a variant of Pascal's wager: if I behave as if this person has a soul and is present to the end, there is nothing lost in any event but much to be gained on the off chance there is.
What I ask is for respect for those of us who feel confident that nothing spiritually momentous is happening at the end of life for a person who is unconscious. That respect should include not assuming we are unloving or cowardly or in denial.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Mundane thoughts on New Year's Eve
1. Many of us out of habit will write "2007" when January rolls around instead of "2008". One trick I developed several years ago was to focus less on remembering the year itself than devising a rule that was good for all time: "'January' and 'February' mean 'danger!', 'caution!', 'careful!'".
2. When walking and you are not sure whether the ground is slick or not, you can rotate the ball of your foot slightly with each step, which shows the slipperiness without needing to move your foot back and forth and thus change weight distribution and risk falling.
3. Sometimes when eating a cracker or other item whose consumption is likely to create small crumbs, you can reduce or eliminate the number of crumbs by inhaling slightly as you bite. You have to inhale very slightly, of course, so you don't get crumbs in your lungs. If you do this and succeed, you might feel a tiny increment of esteem at your skill in managing to avoid both crumbs and danger. No one with any sense would write this, because someone will try it, inhale crumbs and sue me.
4. You will receive solicitations to contribute to worthy causes in rough proportion to the number of organizations you have given money to in the past. Instead of considering each request as it comes, you can place all the requests in a pile, and go through it only once a year. You can decide at that point how much you would like to give in total, how much to various categories, and how much to different organizations. Exceptions suggested for friends, children, and national emergencies.
5. There are unintended consequences. When I was reviewing the draft announcement to the FUSN list of my mother's death, I suggested email as an alternative to a physical condolence card, hoping to make people's lives easier. But I hadn't considered at the time that the very fact that the email condolence was easy would make people reply by that means who would not have sent a card. In greater detail: People range from those who feel a close connection with me to those who feel no connection. Up to some point along that line, people would feel the effort of sending a physical card was justified by the closeness they felt. Since sending an email is so much easier, there is a class of people who would not send a card but would feel that their closeness justified an email. The email is easier, to be sure, but still requires composing a message of the right length and content. For those people I made their lives harder, not easier. Thank you, one and all, for your expressions of condolence. For those of you who were further down the scale of closeness, who thought a condolence-like thought but didn't feel enough closeness to cross the email threshold, thank you too! Any condolences I might receive by either method as a result of this message will be other unintended consequences. I'm not going to lose sleep over it.
2. When walking and you are not sure whether the ground is slick or not, you can rotate the ball of your foot slightly with each step, which shows the slipperiness without needing to move your foot back and forth and thus change weight distribution and risk falling.
3. Sometimes when eating a cracker or other item whose consumption is likely to create small crumbs, you can reduce or eliminate the number of crumbs by inhaling slightly as you bite. You have to inhale very slightly, of course, so you don't get crumbs in your lungs. If you do this and succeed, you might feel a tiny increment of esteem at your skill in managing to avoid both crumbs and danger. No one with any sense would write this, because someone will try it, inhale crumbs and sue me.
4. You will receive solicitations to contribute to worthy causes in rough proportion to the number of organizations you have given money to in the past. Instead of considering each request as it comes, you can place all the requests in a pile, and go through it only once a year. You can decide at that point how much you would like to give in total, how much to various categories, and how much to different organizations. Exceptions suggested for friends, children, and national emergencies.
5. There are unintended consequences. When I was reviewing the draft announcement to the FUSN list of my mother's death, I suggested email as an alternative to a physical condolence card, hoping to make people's lives easier. But I hadn't considered at the time that the very fact that the email condolence was easy would make people reply by that means who would not have sent a card. In greater detail: People range from those who feel a close connection with me to those who feel no connection. Up to some point along that line, people would feel the effort of sending a physical card was justified by the closeness they felt. Since sending an email is so much easier, there is a class of people who would not send a card but would feel that their closeness justified an email. The email is easier, to be sure, but still requires composing a message of the right length and content. For those people I made their lives harder, not easier. Thank you, one and all, for your expressions of condolence. For those of you who were further down the scale of closeness, who thought a condolence-like thought but didn't feel enough closeness to cross the email threshold, thank you too! Any condolences I might receive by either method as a result of this message will be other unintended consequences. I'm not going to lose sleep over it.
Friday, November 30, 2007
The cosmic subtraction problem
Consider two situations: you die tomorrow, or you live for a certain number of years and then die. Using algebra, you can represent the first case as “D” (for death), and the second as “L + D” (for life plus death). If you want to know the difference between those situations, you perform the cosmic subtraction: (L+D) - D = L. "D" drops out of the equation. You are left with "L": your life. But whatever the value of "L", all such expressions have a "D" in them. Being as young and healthy as a person can be might call for an "L" of 100, but the "D" is still there in "100 + D". It is hard to keep the view of life as "L + D" firmly in mind. A more common actual view of life is "L + d", where the lowercase "d" is something like, "well, sure, I'm not going to live forever", or "L + ..." as in "I'm going to live for the indefinite future".
Whimsical algebraic formulations aside, death is inevitable. Contemplating one's own death elicits complicated emotional, intellectual, and spiritual reactions. They are usually unpleasant reactions, so we avoid the contemplation until death is within view. However, avoiding the issue can lead us away from seeing the world clearly. I suggest that there is no reason other than procrastination why we can't do our contemplation homework 20 or 50 years in advance. We are not going to gather any new data about "D" merely by letting the years go by. Working on it soon is prudent, since we never know when there might be a pop quiz -- or final exam. On the other hand, carrying on with this investigation isn't very healthy either -- obsession can get in the way of enjoying life. There's a lot to be said for writing the (metaphorical or literal) paper and storing it on the shelf. We might take a fresh look at it every few years, but mostly we can ignore the contents as long as we keep in mind that it is there.
If we keep the inevitability of “D” in mind, then what matters most is the years of living and what we do with them. People who lose track of it are apt to be more comfortable in wasting time. We see this in the common reaction of people when death's reality rudely confronts them, through a friend's death, a death narrowly averted, or a terminal illness. They regret wasting time and encourage others to keep the important things in mind.
There are other consequences to losing track of "D". Consider our reactions to fatal and nonfatal injustices. If the result is death, I sense that the outrage we feel is tinged with a qualitatively different touch of mystical dread. If someone survives after a lengthy unjust imprisonment, or has been maimed, or has been tortured, we are angry, but it is missing that extra dimension. We tally up the American losses in Iraq by counting the dead, not those who have suffered terrible injuries. The "death" part of an injustice gets a bit stronger reaction than it deserves, and the nonfatal parts get less. Murder shortens "L", it doesn't create a new "D" that was not already in the victim's future.
Denial of death is a fundamental roadblock to getting health care costs under control. When someone says to the doctor, “I demand the most advanced treatment available to try to save my father's life”, it's hard to feel comfortable saying no. If phrased as “I demand the most advanced treatment available if it can on average prolong my father's life by an extra month of a mediocre quality of life” it's easier to weigh the costs and benefits. The very concept of "saving a life" invites us to deny death. You can never truly save a life, you can only prolong it.
One perhaps odd way of putting it is that whenever you do get around to dying, you are saving yourself the trouble of dying later.
My attempts to not procrastinate in figuring out the significance of "D" leave me pretty much scratching my head; my paper on the shelf certainly doesn't deserve a high mark. But I don't think that further study will improve it much -- at least not this decade.
I don't claim to live my own life fully in accord with these ideals -- what I write of here is an ideal I think I see, not one I live up to. Meanwhile, I am continually amazed by "L": the complexity, the wonder, the love, the humor. Existence is amazing and wonderful.
Notes:
1. What I mean by "D" is some constellation of issues pertaining to not existing any more, not whatever tail ends of life (the "dying") precede it.
2. Surely the calculus is different for anyone who believes not only in an afterlife but that the fundamental character of that afterlife varies depending on how we live.
Whimsical algebraic formulations aside, death is inevitable. Contemplating one's own death elicits complicated emotional, intellectual, and spiritual reactions. They are usually unpleasant reactions, so we avoid the contemplation until death is within view. However, avoiding the issue can lead us away from seeing the world clearly. I suggest that there is no reason other than procrastination why we can't do our contemplation homework 20 or 50 years in advance. We are not going to gather any new data about "D" merely by letting the years go by. Working on it soon is prudent, since we never know when there might be a pop quiz -- or final exam. On the other hand, carrying on with this investigation isn't very healthy either -- obsession can get in the way of enjoying life. There's a lot to be said for writing the (metaphorical or literal) paper and storing it on the shelf. We might take a fresh look at it every few years, but mostly we can ignore the contents as long as we keep in mind that it is there.
If we keep the inevitability of “D” in mind, then what matters most is the years of living and what we do with them. People who lose track of it are apt to be more comfortable in wasting time. We see this in the common reaction of people when death's reality rudely confronts them, through a friend's death, a death narrowly averted, or a terminal illness. They regret wasting time and encourage others to keep the important things in mind.
There are other consequences to losing track of "D". Consider our reactions to fatal and nonfatal injustices. If the result is death, I sense that the outrage we feel is tinged with a qualitatively different touch of mystical dread. If someone survives after a lengthy unjust imprisonment, or has been maimed, or has been tortured, we are angry, but it is missing that extra dimension. We tally up the American losses in Iraq by counting the dead, not those who have suffered terrible injuries. The "death" part of an injustice gets a bit stronger reaction than it deserves, and the nonfatal parts get less. Murder shortens "L", it doesn't create a new "D" that was not already in the victim's future.
Denial of death is a fundamental roadblock to getting health care costs under control. When someone says to the doctor, “I demand the most advanced treatment available to try to save my father's life”, it's hard to feel comfortable saying no. If phrased as “I demand the most advanced treatment available if it can on average prolong my father's life by an extra month of a mediocre quality of life” it's easier to weigh the costs and benefits. The very concept of "saving a life" invites us to deny death. You can never truly save a life, you can only prolong it.
One perhaps odd way of putting it is that whenever you do get around to dying, you are saving yourself the trouble of dying later.
My attempts to not procrastinate in figuring out the significance of "D" leave me pretty much scratching my head; my paper on the shelf certainly doesn't deserve a high mark. But I don't think that further study will improve it much -- at least not this decade.
I don't claim to live my own life fully in accord with these ideals -- what I write of here is an ideal I think I see, not one I live up to. Meanwhile, I am continually amazed by "L": the complexity, the wonder, the love, the humor. Existence is amazing and wonderful.
Notes:
1. What I mean by "D" is some constellation of issues pertaining to not existing any more, not whatever tail ends of life (the "dying") precede it.
2. Surely the calculus is different for anyone who believes not only in an afterlife but that the fundamental character of that afterlife varies depending on how we live.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Wikipedia is great
I have urged caution in attending too much to the news. My first-line antidote is Wikipedia. Whenever you give Wikipedia a word or phrase, you get the big picture. Origins, history, connections with popular culture, and developments right up to the present -- sometimes within the last hour if the subject is of great interest.
For those who might not know, Wikipedia is an online encyclopedia that is open for anyone to edit. I was skeptical when I first heard about it, since people could through malice or mere ignorance enter misleading or incorrect material. But this is a case where the better part of human nature triumphs. There are many more people who want to write the truth than to cause trouble.
The absence of a central decision-making editorial board that is part of other encyclopedic ventures has advantages. Changes can be made instantly without taking time for review. The choice of what topics to cover is simple: whatever people feel inspired to enter. Coverage might be a little weak on the third-century rulers in some out-of-the-way province in China, but if no one bothered to write about it, the chances are good that few people will be disappointed to find it missing. But trivia from TV shows, internet rumors, and characters from obscure computer games are covered. An editorial board would be inclined to consider them too frivolous.
It is true that you can't believe everything you read. If it is vital that you know the real truth or if you are inquiring about a controversial issue, you must go further, but Wikipedia is still the best place to start. If the issue isn't controversial, 99% of the time you will be reading the truth. Keep in mind that you can't believe everything you read on a controversial issue anywhere else, either. With Wikipedia, the cause for caution is apparent, while with other sources it is hidden.
Google is also a favorite tool, but it has limitations. Around every corner and behind every bush is someone trying to sell you something. Often when I click on a link I land on a page in the middle of some context I don't understand -- who has written it and why. Overt commercialism is banned in Wikipedia. You can also find a high school student's C paper with Google. Unlike Wikipedia, there's no one to correct the faults in the paper.
I confess that I am not very knowledgeable about all that is available on the web, and I will be happy to hear of even better tools that are available.
There is one less positive aspect, though. In recent decades our society has offered instant gratification in a variety of areas, eroding our willingness to work for what we want. Wikipedia grants a measure of instant gratification with regard to learning. You can get an overview of a subject -- instantly.
For those who might not know, Wikipedia is an online encyclopedia that is open for anyone to edit. I was skeptical when I first heard about it, since people could through malice or mere ignorance enter misleading or incorrect material. But this is a case where the better part of human nature triumphs. There are many more people who want to write the truth than to cause trouble.
The absence of a central decision-making editorial board that is part of other encyclopedic ventures has advantages. Changes can be made instantly without taking time for review. The choice of what topics to cover is simple: whatever people feel inspired to enter. Coverage might be a little weak on the third-century rulers in some out-of-the-way province in China, but if no one bothered to write about it, the chances are good that few people will be disappointed to find it missing. But trivia from TV shows, internet rumors, and characters from obscure computer games are covered. An editorial board would be inclined to consider them too frivolous.
It is true that you can't believe everything you read. If it is vital that you know the real truth or if you are inquiring about a controversial issue, you must go further, but Wikipedia is still the best place to start. If the issue isn't controversial, 99% of the time you will be reading the truth. Keep in mind that you can't believe everything you read on a controversial issue anywhere else, either. With Wikipedia, the cause for caution is apparent, while with other sources it is hidden.
Google is also a favorite tool, but it has limitations. Around every corner and behind every bush is someone trying to sell you something. Often when I click on a link I land on a page in the middle of some context I don't understand -- who has written it and why. Overt commercialism is banned in Wikipedia. You can also find a high school student's C paper with Google. Unlike Wikipedia, there's no one to correct the faults in the paper.
I confess that I am not very knowledgeable about all that is available on the web, and I will be happy to hear of even better tools that are available.
There is one less positive aspect, though. In recent decades our society has offered instant gratification in a variety of areas, eroding our willingness to work for what we want. Wikipedia grants a measure of instant gratification with regard to learning. You can get an overview of a subject -- instantly.
Friday, November 9, 2007
To kill a mouse: thoughts on treatment of animals
THIS WAS WRITTEN A LONG TIME AGO, IN JUNE OF 2002.
I killed a mouse last night. I heard the distinctive click of the mousetrap, impressing itself through layers of sleep. And this morning, there was the hind half of a mouse, trailing an impressive tail, protruding from the mousetrap, still and quite dead. And on the way to dispose of the corpse behind the shed (surely nature knows how to recycle a dead mouse?), Imarveled at the exquisite detail in this creature of nature, the fine fur and complex pads on the bottoms of the hind feet. This new-fangled mousetrap that I bought yesterday has a cover so the squeamish customer has no need to see the squashed head or neck, and no need to worry that their hand might brush against mouse fur during the disposal process. I felt a certain affinity for this mouse, having discovered her first causing a racket while trying to drag a Hershey's Dark Chocolate With Almond candy down through a burner into the stove. I didn't see her for several days, and thought she might have left. But later, having ignored potatoes and onions, and convicted by her droppings, I found she had stolen four individually-wrapped Andes Candies (mint). Chocoholic -- a mouse after my own heart.
In the dawn I dreamed of dead mice in traps. I dreamed of finding a rat in the trap, only wounded, who spoke and said, "Well, Bart, it's come to this, has it?" I dreamed of recovering a dozen baby mice, now doomed. Killing creatures bothers me. I've heard this is a natural reaction, extending back into our prehistory. We humans can surely inure ourselves to this reaction, as farmers and herders have done reliably through the generations. Our soldiers adjust to killing fellow humans -- in the relevant, efficient short term, even if scars remain.
Why this primal reaction? I suppose it has to do with empathy -- our ability to put ourselves in another's shoes. A very useful skill for living in social groups. A useful skill for hunting previously unknown prey, to understand them the better to feast on them. Maybe just an offshoot of our general intelligence. The connection is easier the more easily we can map from our parts to their parts. Fellow mammals are a shoo-in. Ants, with their recognizable heads, bodies and legs, are easier to identify with than worms. Fish have eyes and mouths going for them, though their fins are foreign. Trees are a stretch, but with their size and limbs, they have it over moss and mushrooms. Dolls can get our empathy because they are crafted to look like us, despite lacking life force.
More recently, we have brought our reason to bear on how we feel about our fellow creatures. When our science tells us that a loved one is brain dead, and has no chance of recovery, we consent to hastening the death of the remaining physical body so others can benefit from organs, though our primal empathy with this body remains so strong.
We also try to figure out systematically how similar animals are to us. For which purpose we need to know: Who are we? We experience this world -- it has a "seemingness" to it, the wonder of consciousness. For all the magnificent structure our science has sketched for us about why things areas they are, it has been astonishingly silent on why consciousness should exist. But exist it does -- and when we stop to reflect, we realize that this consciousness is the one thing we are sure of -- something is seeming! With no clear evidence about why we are conscious, most of us figure that animals who are similar to us must be conscious too, and have an experience of life. This experience includes pleasure and pain. This consciousnes shas a value, this pleasure and pain has weight, and if we are thinking about a just and harmonious world, animal pain is bad.
Another recent realization has been the existence of ecosystems and biodiversity, and our all-too-real power to destroy them. As fascinating and complex results of evolution, they have value in their own right. We realize that extinction is bad because a type of being is lost forever. All individual organisms are mortal, but populations can go on indefinitely. I certainly value efforts to preserve ecosystems and biodiversity, but think it is largely a separable issue from animal rights. The last passenger pigeon and last wooly mammoth did not suffer extra stress and agony because neither knew they were the last, nor could their heads hold such a concept.
So aside from feeling pleasure and pain, what do we think animals do? Some seem to have plans and goals. They remember things. Do they reflect on their consciousness, as we do? It's hard to know. We have some evidenc efrom our own experience as children -- the idea that we know we are conscious comes as a revelation, long after we know a great deal and exhibit as much foresight as the most advanced animals. Monkeys typically react to their reflection in a mirror as if it were another monkey. Great apes (chimps, gorillas, orangutans) don't, and a clever experiment was done to show that they realize they are looking at themselves. The subject apes were anesthetized, and a patch of red dye was put on their forehead. Whenpresented with a mirror, these apes suddenly became distressed, feeling their forehead repeatedly even after the mirror was gone. It doesn't prove much, I suppose, but recognizing ourselves in a mirror is something we pick up very early as children, and if only our fellow great apes can do so, it doesn't speak well of the philosophical capabilities of all the other animals.
What are reasonable goals for our domestic animals? Here are a couple possible answers. One is that since they are under our control and we have taken responsibility for them, they should get the best of everything. This is how some well-off animal lovers treat their pets. They may not always understand what their animals want, and may project human desires onto them, but their goal is that the animal should have the best. A classic dilemma is whether this lame, arthritic dog is enjoying life, or (having no fear of death itself) would be better served by euthanasia-induced nonexistence. Another possible view is that the animal should get as fair a shake at life as a similar wild animal. This is a far lower standard. For all her intricacy and wonder, nature is not kind to individual animals. They suffer from starvation, disease, and predation. By this standard, a steer who lives his short healthy life grazing on the range before being rounded up and slaughtered is getting a pretty good deal. This steer would have been castrated (as we neuter many of our domestic animals), a physical trauma, but in the absence of gonads to create the appropriate urges we have no reason to think that the animal misses its sex life.
So what about exploitation or slavery, aside from physical suffering? These are wrong for people, because people know about exploitation and slavery, and want to be free. Beyond the most egregious abuses, we in the human world have much to debate concerning equality, equality of opportunity, responsibility and reward for past choices. A different subject entirely.
I don't think animals understand exploitation. They live and react. Our need to respect animals is either in their role as part of a treasured ecosystem, or as rather dim beings with limited awareness, not as individual victims of exploitation. I've also heard concern among animal rights groups over the fear or anxiety an animal may experience on its way to the slaughter. Is this out of line with what nature metes out? One thing the animal is not doing is reflecting on the end of its life and an eternity of nonexistence. This moment has no special status to the animal compared to other fears or anxieties.
What is wrong, I think, is raising animals in a way so that the bulk of their lives is spent in misery. Confinement of veal calves seems wrong. Raising any animal in excessively cramped and crowded conditions seems wrong. These wrongs are most glaring when their only purpose is the maximization of profit. These wrongs are much easier to address than the more far-reaching agenda of having all animals within our reach have wonderful lives. If I'm right, vegetarianism for the sake of animals is not in itself an answer. Animals might suffer more to produce dairy products than to produce meat. What matters is how the animals live.
It's much harder to evaluate what animals suffer for the sake of scientific research. It's possible to wonder whether chickens or fish feel pain. It's possible to wonder whether modern computer programs have any conscious experience. We can say they surely don't, since we can understand how they work mechanically. Yet it ignores the possibility that some day we may understand how human brains work, but still have no idea why we are conscious. Could consciousness arise somehow from certain kinds of complexity?
In the end, I think my mouse had a good life. She did not have time to suffer. I chose to end her life because of my own convenience, wanting to reserve my space and my food for humans. The trap is still there, awaiting any pals my mouse may have.
I killed a mouse last night. I heard the distinctive click of the mousetrap, impressing itself through layers of sleep. And this morning, there was the hind half of a mouse, trailing an impressive tail, protruding from the mousetrap, still and quite dead. And on the way to dispose of the corpse behind the shed (surely nature knows how to recycle a dead mouse?), Imarveled at the exquisite detail in this creature of nature, the fine fur and complex pads on the bottoms of the hind feet. This new-fangled mousetrap that I bought yesterday has a cover so the squeamish customer has no need to see the squashed head or neck, and no need to worry that their hand might brush against mouse fur during the disposal process. I felt a certain affinity for this mouse, having discovered her first causing a racket while trying to drag a Hershey's Dark Chocolate With Almond candy down through a burner into the stove. I didn't see her for several days, and thought she might have left. But later, having ignored potatoes and onions, and convicted by her droppings, I found she had stolen four individually-wrapped Andes Candies (mint). Chocoholic -- a mouse after my own heart.
In the dawn I dreamed of dead mice in traps. I dreamed of finding a rat in the trap, only wounded, who spoke and said, "Well, Bart, it's come to this, has it?" I dreamed of recovering a dozen baby mice, now doomed. Killing creatures bothers me. I've heard this is a natural reaction, extending back into our prehistory. We humans can surely inure ourselves to this reaction, as farmers and herders have done reliably through the generations. Our soldiers adjust to killing fellow humans -- in the relevant, efficient short term, even if scars remain.
Why this primal reaction? I suppose it has to do with empathy -- our ability to put ourselves in another's shoes. A very useful skill for living in social groups. A useful skill for hunting previously unknown prey, to understand them the better to feast on them. Maybe just an offshoot of our general intelligence. The connection is easier the more easily we can map from our parts to their parts. Fellow mammals are a shoo-in. Ants, with their recognizable heads, bodies and legs, are easier to identify with than worms. Fish have eyes and mouths going for them, though their fins are foreign. Trees are a stretch, but with their size and limbs, they have it over moss and mushrooms. Dolls can get our empathy because they are crafted to look like us, despite lacking life force.
More recently, we have brought our reason to bear on how we feel about our fellow creatures. When our science tells us that a loved one is brain dead, and has no chance of recovery, we consent to hastening the death of the remaining physical body so others can benefit from organs, though our primal empathy with this body remains so strong.
We also try to figure out systematically how similar animals are to us. For which purpose we need to know: Who are we? We experience this world -- it has a "seemingness" to it, the wonder of consciousness. For all the magnificent structure our science has sketched for us about why things areas they are, it has been astonishingly silent on why consciousness should exist. But exist it does -- and when we stop to reflect, we realize that this consciousness is the one thing we are sure of -- something is seeming! With no clear evidence about why we are conscious, most of us figure that animals who are similar to us must be conscious too, and have an experience of life. This experience includes pleasure and pain. This consciousnes shas a value, this pleasure and pain has weight, and if we are thinking about a just and harmonious world, animal pain is bad.
Another recent realization has been the existence of ecosystems and biodiversity, and our all-too-real power to destroy them. As fascinating and complex results of evolution, they have value in their own right. We realize that extinction is bad because a type of being is lost forever. All individual organisms are mortal, but populations can go on indefinitely. I certainly value efforts to preserve ecosystems and biodiversity, but think it is largely a separable issue from animal rights. The last passenger pigeon and last wooly mammoth did not suffer extra stress and agony because neither knew they were the last, nor could their heads hold such a concept.
So aside from feeling pleasure and pain, what do we think animals do? Some seem to have plans and goals. They remember things. Do they reflect on their consciousness, as we do? It's hard to know. We have some evidenc efrom our own experience as children -- the idea that we know we are conscious comes as a revelation, long after we know a great deal and exhibit as much foresight as the most advanced animals. Monkeys typically react to their reflection in a mirror as if it were another monkey. Great apes (chimps, gorillas, orangutans) don't, and a clever experiment was done to show that they realize they are looking at themselves. The subject apes were anesthetized, and a patch of red dye was put on their forehead. Whenpresented with a mirror, these apes suddenly became distressed, feeling their forehead repeatedly even after the mirror was gone. It doesn't prove much, I suppose, but recognizing ourselves in a mirror is something we pick up very early as children, and if only our fellow great apes can do so, it doesn't speak well of the philosophical capabilities of all the other animals.
What are reasonable goals for our domestic animals? Here are a couple possible answers. One is that since they are under our control and we have taken responsibility for them, they should get the best of everything. This is how some well-off animal lovers treat their pets. They may not always understand what their animals want, and may project human desires onto them, but their goal is that the animal should have the best. A classic dilemma is whether this lame, arthritic dog is enjoying life, or (having no fear of death itself) would be better served by euthanasia-induced nonexistence. Another possible view is that the animal should get as fair a shake at life as a similar wild animal. This is a far lower standard. For all her intricacy and wonder, nature is not kind to individual animals. They suffer from starvation, disease, and predation. By this standard, a steer who lives his short healthy life grazing on the range before being rounded up and slaughtered is getting a pretty good deal. This steer would have been castrated (as we neuter many of our domestic animals), a physical trauma, but in the absence of gonads to create the appropriate urges we have no reason to think that the animal misses its sex life.
So what about exploitation or slavery, aside from physical suffering? These are wrong for people, because people know about exploitation and slavery, and want to be free. Beyond the most egregious abuses, we in the human world have much to debate concerning equality, equality of opportunity, responsibility and reward for past choices. A different subject entirely.
I don't think animals understand exploitation. They live and react. Our need to respect animals is either in their role as part of a treasured ecosystem, or as rather dim beings with limited awareness, not as individual victims of exploitation. I've also heard concern among animal rights groups over the fear or anxiety an animal may experience on its way to the slaughter. Is this out of line with what nature metes out? One thing the animal is not doing is reflecting on the end of its life and an eternity of nonexistence. This moment has no special status to the animal compared to other fears or anxieties.
What is wrong, I think, is raising animals in a way so that the bulk of their lives is spent in misery. Confinement of veal calves seems wrong. Raising any animal in excessively cramped and crowded conditions seems wrong. These wrongs are most glaring when their only purpose is the maximization of profit. These wrongs are much easier to address than the more far-reaching agenda of having all animals within our reach have wonderful lives. If I'm right, vegetarianism for the sake of animals is not in itself an answer. Animals might suffer more to produce dairy products than to produce meat. What matters is how the animals live.
It's much harder to evaluate what animals suffer for the sake of scientific research. It's possible to wonder whether chickens or fish feel pain. It's possible to wonder whether modern computer programs have any conscious experience. We can say they surely don't, since we can understand how they work mechanically. Yet it ignores the possibility that some day we may understand how human brains work, but still have no idea why we are conscious. Could consciousness arise somehow from certain kinds of complexity?
In the end, I think my mouse had a good life. She did not have time to suffer. I chose to end her life because of my own convenience, wanting to reserve my space and my food for humans. The trap is still there, awaiting any pals my mouse may have.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)