I'm a scientist, and as such, I'm a big believer in using evidence and reason to understand the world. But I admit it's not the only way. Our legal system doesn't rely solely on rigid rules, and neither should we in our daily lives.
A recent Ars Technica opinion piece talked about why physicists so often try to speak authoritatively about subjects far from their actual expertise, and come across as jerks in the process. The basic problem is that physicists (and many other technical types) believe that they are experts in the most fundamental, most important kind of knowledge, and in addition they're experts at using logic to defend almost any position. This dovetails nicely with my last post and the comments on it.
One of the points made over and over again by Parker Palmer in A Hidden Wholeness was that it's a mistake to ignore other kinds of knowledge, for example what you might call intuition. Or spiritual knowledge. Or social insight. You get the idea. What makes physicists look like jerks is the implicit value judgement that these sources of information are inherently inferior to the firsthand observational knowledge of the natural world that physics is based on. For many years I was that guy: I couldn't tell you how many times I was called arrogant because I refused to take anything but what I called "facts" seriously. I know now that "facts" excludes a whole lot of truth.
Science and justice:
Our legal system was born out of the historical period when empirical rationalism was the leading theory on how to guide people's actions. That is in contrast to, say, taking theological recommendations as was done in earlier ages. So the justice system and our Constitution were designed to influence our society like an engineer would design road widths to influence the flow of traffic through different areas. For example, we decided that drugs are bad for society, so we outlawed them and put punishments in place for those who use them. It's all theoretically based on cause and effect, though of course some laws are better supported by evidence than others.
But the legal system isn't a machine, impartially reshaping everyone who comes through it. There is a non-rationalistic, non-empirical element built in: the jury. The jury is there to enforce what you might call poetic justice.
Science and living:
What does this have to do with our lives, the choices we make every day? I've always tried to live my life according to principles, making an informed choice about the best way to live and then sticking to those choices. When I learn something new, I revise my choices. It's all very scientific. But I've been thinking lately that it needs an element of poetic justice. A truth other than the factual kind, a truth from my inner life in addition to those from the way I've come to see the rest of the world. My wife has described me as the "king of self-denial", and it's true, I have immense restraint when it comes to doing what I *think* is best as opposed to what I want in the moment. I've never trusted my impulses.
The thing is, I'm now coming to distrust my very scientific informed choices. When I look back, I can see that a lot of them were just retroactive rationalizations for following a subconscious impulse. That impulse might have been to avoid something feared, to approach something desired, or to strike at something hated. But all those impulses were hidden. To make a close analogy, as the Ars piece noted, during training in rhetoric one argues towards defending a predetermined position; this position may not be the one you would choose, or even one you think is right, but its assignment to you was hidden from the audience. The point of the exercise in rhetoric is simply to lay down logical arguments to support it. It's a deeply unscientific, even antiscientific, practice, and I think we do it all the time to defend our actions retroactively. We do what we want, and then afterwards we come up with a story about why we did it.
If we're acting on our desires anyway, why not bring them out of the subconscious and into the light? Why not see our motivations for what they are, and give ourselves a chance to decide which of them to give in to? Our rules for having a good life may say one thing, but our sense of poetic justice--or maybe just poetry--may have something else to say.
The benefit of the doubt
"Never attribute to malice that which can adequately be explained by stupidity."
You've probably heard that one. Here's a corollary:
"Never attribute to stupidity that which can adequately be explained by ignorance."
When you find yourself in a serious disagreement with someone, first give them the facts as you see them. Stick to what you've observed firsthand, not your interpretations or hearsay. You'd be amazed at the people you can find common ground with just by sharing your experiences. Second, if they agree that you saw what you said you saw but they still don't agree with you, silently decide for yourself whether or not they're just dumb. If you think they are a smart person, you may reluctantly conclude that they are malicious.
Now here's the tricky part: do them the favor of turning this procedure around on yourself. Listen to the facts as they see them - carefully restrict them to their own firsthand observations. Give their observations the same weight as your own in your interpretation of events. If after careful consideration of ALL the facts you still disagree with them, then silently decide for yourself whether or not you are just not as smart as they are. If you think you're not dumb, but you can't come to some kind of agreement with them, you might be malicious.
I like to trot this one out during election season, but it never works.
You've probably heard that one. Here's a corollary:
"Never attribute to stupidity that which can adequately be explained by ignorance."
When you find yourself in a serious disagreement with someone, first give them the facts as you see them. Stick to what you've observed firsthand, not your interpretations or hearsay. You'd be amazed at the people you can find common ground with just by sharing your experiences. Second, if they agree that you saw what you said you saw but they still don't agree with you, silently decide for yourself whether or not they're just dumb. If you think they are a smart person, you may reluctantly conclude that they are malicious.
Now here's the tricky part: do them the favor of turning this procedure around on yourself. Listen to the facts as they see them - carefully restrict them to their own firsthand observations. Give their observations the same weight as your own in your interpretation of events. If after careful consideration of ALL the facts you still disagree with them, then silently decide for yourself whether or not you are just not as smart as they are. If you think you're not dumb, but you can't come to some kind of agreement with them, you might be malicious.
I like to trot this one out during election season, but it never works.
To name something is to begin to kill it
I have a group of good friends who've gelled over the last several months. Having noticed this, I'm tempted to say to them, hey, we're the somethings - something we have in common - but I'm resisting. To name something is to create expectations for it, set patterns for its evolution, and to limit it.
There's a saying that the vitality of a form of expression is in inverse proportion to the number of books that have been written about it. Think of the difference between hip-hop and rock in the early 1980s. Hip-hop had barely entered the public consciousness--it had only recently been named so people who weren't familiar with it could talk about it--whereas rock had been the subject of hundreds of books. Hip-hop was thriving with its practitioners trying new things practically every week; rock was moribund, more a commercial enterprise than an art form.
What does my group of friends have to do with a couple of musical genres? These things are all communities of people trying new things, all of them creating something in some way, and watching what the others do, to form a larger composition - a genre, a group of friends, a scene, an academic discipline, anything.
To name such a thing is to put the first knife into it. Other blows will follow. There will be an "elevator speech" that those in the know use to describe it to the uninitiated. And there's a little prestige that comes with recognizing a thing that can be named - seeing patterns and showing them to people makes you look smart. After conversations about the new thing, there will be articles, documentaries, books. Those introduced to the thing at each stage will then seek out what they were told this thing is, but what they look for is only what the thing was yesterday. They want the thing to freeze so they can experience it the way they were told it was. With each of these blows, the thing becomes less vital, dies a little. They start at virtually the moment the thing comes into existence.
I want my group of friends to be flexible and adaptible. I want us to be able to let people in and let people go, to try doing things together that we've never done, to find new ways of expressing ourselves and new channels of communication. I'm frankly scared that if I even so much as stand up and announce that we are a group, then even that will limit us. I can live without the pride of claiming that tiny burst of prestige. Maybe I'll just let us be. Just being seems to be working out for us so far.
There's a saying that the vitality of a form of expression is in inverse proportion to the number of books that have been written about it. Think of the difference between hip-hop and rock in the early 1980s. Hip-hop had barely entered the public consciousness--it had only recently been named so people who weren't familiar with it could talk about it--whereas rock had been the subject of hundreds of books. Hip-hop was thriving with its practitioners trying new things practically every week; rock was moribund, more a commercial enterprise than an art form.
What does my group of friends have to do with a couple of musical genres? These things are all communities of people trying new things, all of them creating something in some way, and watching what the others do, to form a larger composition - a genre, a group of friends, a scene, an academic discipline, anything.
To name such a thing is to put the first knife into it. Other blows will follow. There will be an "elevator speech" that those in the know use to describe it to the uninitiated. And there's a little prestige that comes with recognizing a thing that can be named - seeing patterns and showing them to people makes you look smart. After conversations about the new thing, there will be articles, documentaries, books. Those introduced to the thing at each stage will then seek out what they were told this thing is, but what they look for is only what the thing was yesterday. They want the thing to freeze so they can experience it the way they were told it was. With each of these blows, the thing becomes less vital, dies a little. They start at virtually the moment the thing comes into existence.
I want my group of friends to be flexible and adaptible. I want us to be able to let people in and let people go, to try doing things together that we've never done, to find new ways of expressing ourselves and new channels of communication. I'm frankly scared that if I even so much as stand up and announce that we are a group, then even that will limit us. I can live without the pride of claiming that tiny burst of prestige. Maybe I'll just let us be. Just being seems to be working out for us so far.
Blogger's new UI: coming to your dashboard soon
Blogger is beginning to roll out its new user interface to users, one batch at a time. Previously, the new UI was only available by logging in to Blogger In Draft. I don't see too many differences between the final version and what I originally saw. And of course this doesn't affect the way your blog looks to its visitors, only the way Blogger looks to you when you're writing posts.
Over the last few months I've seen new versions of other Google products, such as Calendar, Docs, and of course Google+. Some I like, some I don't. Overall, Blogger's changes are an improvement, though I do think they went a little crazy with the whitespace.
Over the last few months I've seen new versions of other Google products, such as Calendar, Docs, and of course Google+. Some I like, some I don't. Overall, Blogger's changes are an improvement, though I do think they went a little crazy with the whitespace.
Two Mazdas. Three, actually.
Yesterday Alice and I test drove two cars. They were both stick-shift Mazda3 models, but they couldn't have been more different. Or more different from the Mazda3 I already own.
We're looking to trade in Alice's Nissan 350Z (Esmerelda, aka the Bluebird of Happiness, aka the Barbiemobile). On Friday she went to a dealer to test drive a Miata, but the car was sold - to someone in Minnesota - while she was driving there. Miatas are hard to find these days. But there was a loaded stick-shift Mazda3 on the lot, and knowing how much I like mine, she test drove it. Why? It isn't the car she wants long-term, but it would bring our costs down and eventually become my car when she does find what she wants.
That's how we found the first 3. We went back together Saturday to drive it together. This car was a 2010 sedan like the photo above, with every option they offer: dual zone climate control, nav, heated leather, everything. They redesigned the car in 2010, giving it a really goofy grille, but this car is dark gray so it's not obnoxious. I loved it, and I'd be thrilled to have it as my daily driver. But Alice felt conflicted. Its suspension and power just didn't measure up to the 350Z. So we walked away.
We walked next door, to an actual Mazda dealership. Our hope was that they would at least have a new Miata that we could test drive. And--I shouldn't have been surprised--they didn't. But they did have a Mazdaspeed3. This was a 2009 hatchback, pre-redesign, a much better looking car in candy-apple red. Alice drove it and loved the suspension and extra power, but it didn't have any of the luxury features the other car did. If what we bought was eventually going to be my car, the speed3 didn't suit me as much as the 2010, because honestly I don't care about power. And the salesman's starting point of price negotiation was several thousand more than the other car. Almost the sticker price of a new one. We felt insulted.
That's our dilemma. The 2010 has luxury and up-to-date technology throughout, and it's cheaper. The 2009 has all the sporty character Alice wants. The thing is, the speed3 is a boy-toy. Driving a red hatchback wouldn't project the image she wants, so eventually it would be my car, and I'd rather have the other one. So on Monday we're going to go back for the 2010 car. She won't mind driving it for a while, and we'll have more time to find that elusive affordable sporty car.
We're looking to trade in Alice's Nissan 350Z (Esmerelda, aka the Bluebird of Happiness, aka the Barbiemobile). On Friday she went to a dealer to test drive a Miata, but the car was sold - to someone in Minnesota - while she was driving there. Miatas are hard to find these days. But there was a loaded stick-shift Mazda3 on the lot, and knowing how much I like mine, she test drove it. Why? It isn't the car she wants long-term, but it would bring our costs down and eventually become my car when she does find what she wants.
We walked next door, to an actual Mazda dealership. Our hope was that they would at least have a new Miata that we could test drive. And--I shouldn't have been surprised--they didn't. But they did have a Mazdaspeed3. This was a 2009 hatchback, pre-redesign, a much better looking car in candy-apple red. Alice drove it and loved the suspension and extra power, but it didn't have any of the luxury features the other car did. If what we bought was eventually going to be my car, the speed3 didn't suit me as much as the 2010, because honestly I don't care about power. And the salesman's starting point of price negotiation was several thousand more than the other car. Almost the sticker price of a new one. We felt insulted.
That's our dilemma. The 2010 has luxury and up-to-date technology throughout, and it's cheaper. The 2009 has all the sporty character Alice wants. The thing is, the speed3 is a boy-toy. Driving a red hatchback wouldn't project the image she wants, so eventually it would be my car, and I'd rather have the other one. So on Monday we're going to go back for the 2010 car. She won't mind driving it for a while, and we'll have more time to find that elusive affordable sporty car.
Happy hour at Momocho
These Brief Reviews of Brief Meals posts focus on the after-work food available on the near West side of Cleveland.
Momocho is a "mod mex" restaurant and bar; for the year or two I've been coming there, their happy hour has reliably offered one food special: half price taquitos. They're excellent, filling, a bargain, and there are fifteen or twenty kinds to choose from. You can also get margaritas at a reduced price - most recently, the one on special was the traditional recipe. It was predictably excellent, with plenty of lime and not too much sugar. Some margaritas make me feel like I've chugged a rum and Mountain Dew; not this one.
Momocho is chef Eric Williams' main haunt; he's also a partner at the Happy Dog, and you'll see many of his sauces in both places. (This does cause me a little cognitive dissonance.) The bar is bright, lively bordering on the noisy side, and really popular. I once arrived at 5:10PM on a Thursday and couldn't get a seat. The staff is professional and friendly without being intrusive - they've usually got their hands full. The vibe is of groups of people there for some occasion, maybe a rare after-work gathering or starting the night with food before moving on to clubbier venues. Friendly with a dash of nervous laughter.
I've had several of the taquitos offerings (it's a dish of filling, with sauces and tortillas on the side) and never been disappointed. Last week I had the one with ground lamb shoulder; it's supposed to have mint, but that was probably drowned out by the mole sauce. About halfway through, I realized what it reminded me of: the Irish bar classic shepherd's pie. Without the mashed potatoes, of course. Besides that one, I can recommend the machaca and carnitas; I know I've had others, but I can't remember which.
I'm always surprised at how good Momocho is. The cucumber margaritas are a revelation. It's even cheap. And you can't ask for more than that after work.
Momocho is a "mod mex" restaurant and bar; for the year or two I've been coming there, their happy hour has reliably offered one food special: half price taquitos. They're excellent, filling, a bargain, and there are fifteen or twenty kinds to choose from. You can also get margaritas at a reduced price - most recently, the one on special was the traditional recipe. It was predictably excellent, with plenty of lime and not too much sugar. Some margaritas make me feel like I've chugged a rum and Mountain Dew; not this one.
Momocho is chef Eric Williams' main haunt; he's also a partner at the Happy Dog, and you'll see many of his sauces in both places. (This does cause me a little cognitive dissonance.) The bar is bright, lively bordering on the noisy side, and really popular. I once arrived at 5:10PM on a Thursday and couldn't get a seat. The staff is professional and friendly without being intrusive - they've usually got their hands full. The vibe is of groups of people there for some occasion, maybe a rare after-work gathering or starting the night with food before moving on to clubbier venues. Friendly with a dash of nervous laughter.
I've had several of the taquitos offerings (it's a dish of filling, with sauces and tortillas on the side) and never been disappointed. Last week I had the one with ground lamb shoulder; it's supposed to have mint, but that was probably drowned out by the mole sauce. About halfway through, I realized what it reminded me of: the Irish bar classic shepherd's pie. Without the mashed potatoes, of course. Besides that one, I can recommend the machaca and carnitas; I know I've had others, but I can't remember which.
I'm always surprised at how good Momocho is. The cucumber margaritas are a revelation. It's even cheap. And you can't ask for more than that after work.
Infinite Monkeys Post
Everything in this post, starting after this sentence, was generated by accepting suggestions from Google Scribe; I also used it in my last post.
This is like automatic paintball painting and surreal imagery. Trying to make sense. Maybe just go with the flow. What will it suggests next? Passenger in a automatic car pretty scary. Cannot type what I want when machining doesn't suggest it, dammit. Feel like a pinball in a machine. Constraints like haiku. Does it add anything to the results? Humor maybe. Enough of this.
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This is like automatic paintball painting and surreal imagery. Trying to make sense. Maybe just go with the flow. What will it suggests next? Passenger in a automatic car pretty scary. Cannot type what I want when machining doesn't suggest it, dammit. Feel like a pinball in a machine. Constraints like haiku. Does it add anything to the results? Humor maybe. Enough of this.
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