Communication and ideas

Human communication is a kind of miracle.

Think about it. I have an idea in my mind. In spoken communication, I make a bunch of noises that represent agreed-on noises we call words. You hear the noises translate them to words and end up with an idea of your mind similar to—yet different from— the one that’s in my mind.

It’s all mysterious and miraculous. That we are alive at all is a kind of miracle. That we each have minds. That we have ideas in our minds. And most miraculous of all that I can make noises and cause an idea, like one in my mind appear in yours.

The ideas will be different, of course, and we know that. And we know that we can make our ideas more similar by repeating the process. You make some noises expressing something about the idea in your mind. I now have two ideas in my mind: my original idea and an idea that represents the copy that’s in your mind. I make some noises about the differences. You adjust the idea in your mind and I in mine.

And so the dance goes on.

Same for written communication. I have an idea in my mind. I translate it into words that represent that idea. The words appear to you as pixels on a screen. You translate the pixels back into words and the words into an

That we can communicate with words is also a kind of miracle. Each word is a symbol that means something to the sender and something different to the receiver! My meaning for the word “table” comes from my experience. Your meaning comes from your experience. Most of the things that I have experienced that I would call “tables” are different from most things you would call “tables.” We might have some tables in common, but most are different. And even the ones we share have been seen from different perspectives and different times.

So without agreeing precisely on what a “table” is, we can talk about tables.

Even more miraculous, we can talk about “freedom” and “thought” and “truth” and “beauty.”

Most of our “source code” is the same, which might explain the miracle in part. My DNA and your DNA produce similar foundations (our bodies) that encode common basic ideas—like those that underly the experience that we call “pain” and “pleasure.”

My DNA may make it possible for me to have the experiences I call “red” and “green.” Yours does not because your DNA makes you color blind.

Out of these shared priors, we can communicate, develop new ideas, and share rough copies of the ones we have.

Our ideas must all be grounded in our bodily experiences, which are in turn grounded in our shared source code. But ideas can rise through abstraction levels to include ideas like love, truth, miracle, and God.

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Knowledge

David Deutsch gives definitions of knowledge and information that I like.

Knowledge is a kind of information. Here’s my gloss on his definition of information.

Knowledge is a kind of information that the environment tends to cause to persist.

It can be used to achieve physical transformations. It is necessary to achieve most physical transformations that are possible. The overwhelming number of things that are possible require knowledge.

Knowledge does not require a knower.

The knowledge that a particular organism requires to make a specific protein is encoded in DNA. It is knowledge, not merely information, because the environment has caused that information to persist.

That sort of knowledge has not had a knower—until very recently. And there may still be aspects of that knowledge that are not known by any knower.

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Information

David Deutsch gives definitions of knowledge and information that I like.

He’s developed a mathematically representable theory, called Constructor theory that includes a Constructor Theory of Information.

Here is my rendering of Deutsch’s ideas.

Information is something that is not material but which requires a material substrate for its existence.

Information cannot be created nor destroyed.

The same information can be instantiated in different substrates.

In computer communication, information might be encoded in the memory system of one device, translated into electromagnetic phenomena, transmitted through space or through wires, and ultimately to another device’s memory systems.

In human communication, information embedded in one brain’s substrate is translated into neural firings, then sound vibrations, and then ultimately in the substrate of another brain.

At its most basic level, information requires a material substrate that had attributes that can take on different values.

A piece of information exists when an attribute could be other than it is.

Simple.

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Illusions

Everything in consciousness must be an illusion.

If that’s true (and I think it must be), then what is real?

In “Waking Up,” Sam Harris says: When you examine something carefully, and it changes, that’s a sign that it might be an illusion.

He encourages readers to examine “the self” to see if it’s an illusion or not.

I examined my idea of self, and I found it to be an illusion. YMMV.

But if the self is also an illusion, then what is real?

The way to find out—if there is a way—is the same. Examine an illusion carefully, and you may see the reality that lies behind it.

Magic tricks are well-crafted illusions. Magicians are properly called “illusionists.”

Excellent tricks remain illusions even when examined carefully by people who don’t know the trick. But once you know what to look for, the reality behind the illusion is often quickly revealed.

Seeing through an illusion may not make any difference.

Knowing how an illusion is created might take away the fun.

But it might also reveal new ways of interacting with the world.

Carefully examining the illusions present in conscious experience may reveal a useful underlying reality.

Or it may be a waste of time.

My money (and time) is on “useful.”

YMMV

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Consciousness

Here’s a paradox.

Consciousness is the only thing of which we can be certain.

Yet, everything that appears in consciousness is an illusion.

We categorize what arises in consciousness as “ideas” and “reality.”

But what we call “reality” cannot be real.

It must be the product of our nervous systems creating order from sense data.

What we call “reality” must be an illusion.

What we call “ideas” are abstractions based on the illusions that we call “reality.”

Ideas are not real, either.

So consciousness—the only thing we can be sure of—contains only illusions and abstractions of illusions.

That seems paradoxical.

Is there something more to consciousness than that?

I think that there might be.

I think, therefore I am.

I seek, and I might find.

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Self-discipline: a mistake

Today realized that I have been making a mistake by trying to solve problems by developing self-discipline.

What was I thinking?

I wrote this post a while back, Jocko Wilnick’s three principles for success

I quoted Wilnick saying this:

You can’t count on motivation to be there when you need to get through truly challenging times. But you can count on discipline.

I thought it made sense.

Now I realize it’s a mistake.

YMMV, but for me, it’s a mistake.

What is discipline?

Here’s the definition:

discipline: the practice of training people to obey rules or a code of behavior, using punishment to correct disobedience.

Really, Mike?

You want to make yourself follow fucking rules? Since when?

You want obedience? Since when?

You want to use punishment to get obedience? Since when?

This is so utterly wrong for me I can’t believe I thought it.

I can’t believe I bought it.

What is inspiration?

Here’s the canonical definition of inspiration:

inspiration: the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.

Here’s my definition:

inspiration: to be filled with the spirit

What spirit?

The spirit of creativity. The spirit of love. Maybe some Holy Spirit.

I don’t know. Whatever spirit comes, I’ll let it fill me up. I’ll let the spirit call me. Then I will do what I am called to do.

Like writing this.

What if there’s no inspiration?

There have been times when I’ve felt no inspiration.

I thought that discipline was the answer.

Really?

Rule following with punishment for disobedience?

Really?

Now I have a better idea.

No inspiration? Ask for it. Not there? Ask again. Wait and ask. Keep asking.

Does this sounds familiar:
“Ask and it shall be given you.”

I think that’s the answer for me.

Not fucking discipline.

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Prospective retrospective

Tomorrow is my birthday, assuming that I publish this today–and I predict that I will.

I spent the morning catching up with my friend Elsa. This post is dedicated to her because I needed a better reason to post than it’s the day before my birthday. So I said I would, and now I won’t disappoint. Anyone else want a post dedicated to them? Ask, and you shall be given.

Here’s part of the chat:

Do you remember when you were coaching me and we made a plan and you checked in with me and I said that the plan had failed and that I was not surprised?

And I realized that I made lots of plans that (if I had been asked) I would have predicted would have failed. But I never had asked

So we came up with a new process. Make a plan. Predict the outcome. If the prediction was failure, then predict reasons for failure, take them into account in the plan.

The goal was a plan that would either succeed or if it failed would fail in an unexpected way

Quoting from a blog post:

“I remembered an earlier time, working with Elsa, my personal coach. I’d made a plan and didn’t do what I had planned to do. When we talked about it, I said that I wasn’t surprised that my plan had failed. I’d made plans that had failed hundreds of times before. My failure was unsurprising. We then worked to make a plan that might fail—but whose failure would at least be surprising.”

Haha I could have saved all that typing just by quoting Past Me

Fucking brilliant guy, Past Me.

Indeed!

Moving backward: I started chatting with her because last night, as I was drafting a post, I asked myself whether or not I’d end up finishing and posting it.

What did I predict I would do?

I predicted that I would not.

And I was right.

But before I was right, I thought: if I’m intending to publish a blog post and predict that I will not do it, then there’s something wrong.

And that reminded me of Elsa.

Something was wrong.

I set out to discover what was wrong and correct it.

This post provides some evidence that I’m on the right track.

Meanwhile, I’m going to post this one and make my prediction accurate.

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Vote arete!

Arete, in its primary sense, says Wikipedia, means “excellence” of any kind.

I want to compare arete with commonly chosen alternatives: adequacy and mediocrity.

Fitness

Let’s start with fitness.

Fitness means “being suitable for a specific task or purpose.”

The task or purpose defines the level of fitness needed for its doing.

Some tasks demand excellence, but most do not. They only what is adequate to do the job.

I will call that minimal level of fitness “bare adequacy.”

Sufficiency, in contrast to adequacy, would provide a comfortable margin of fitness.

Bare adequacy is the minimum.

Mediocrity

Mediocrity means being “in a middle state.”

The word carries negative connotations, but I’ll use it neutrally.

To carry out a task requires bare adequacy.

To carry it out with a comfortable margin for failure requires sufficiency.

To carry it out in the best possible way would require excellence—arete.

To carry it out in ways that are better than barely adequate, yet less than excellent would be to carry it out in a mediocre way.

Mediocrity is sufficient, by definition.

Mediocrity is inevitably popular and acceptable because, on average, people are average.

The average person is average

How could it be otherwise?

Only the most capable people doing their best can achieve excellence. Some do, and this sets that standard for excellence.

Some competent people routinely do less than their best. They strive for some level of fitness, often to be above average, but not for arete.

Why is this?

The common wisdom is that efficiency has replaced arete as a virtue.

It’s possible to both seek efficiency and excellence, but an acceptable level of efficiency is deemed sufficient in general.

People reward others for doing what it takes to get by with a modest cushion for error.

If there’s no benefit to doing a better job, we’re told, don’t waste the resources.

But every decision to do that is a secret vote for mediocrity.

It’s a vote for mediocrity for yourself, your children, and the world around you.

Vote arete, I say!

Being better than average

Most people want to be above average—but not too much above average. There are social reasons for this.

If everyone did their best, then people with average talents would have to do their best just to achieve an average performance.

There was a time when getting a “gentleman’s C” was the norm.

When I was at MIT we were graded on the curve. Everyone could do the math (of course). People who raised class average made it harder for everyone less talented to get a passing grade. The best were both admired and resented.

And in truth, how could one strive for excellence in a system where that caused needless suffering? Was causing others to suffer a virtuous act?

Luckily for average people, not everyone does their best. People who can do better than average can do less than their best and still be above average. And they do.

The more capable a person, the further from arete they can move and still pat themselves on the back for being above average.

This pulls the average down.

So average people can do their best and be better than average. In some cases, considerably better.

Or average people can be efficient and settle for just above average. They’re never going to be excellent, and who cares what level of mediocrity they reach?

But anyone doing their best can still achieve personal excellence.

Unfortunately, few applaud them for that, and no one teaches them to commend themselves.

In this kind of system, there are powerful reasons for people to vote for mediocrity.

Senator Roman Hruska got his fifteen minutes of fame defending mediocrity.

In 1970, Hruska addressed the Senate, urging them to confirm Richard Nixon’s nomination of G. Harrold Carswell to the Supreme Court. Responding to criticism that Carswell had been a mediocre judge, Hruska argued:

Even if he were mediocre, there are a lot of mediocre judges and people and lawyers. They are entitled to a little representation, aren’t they, and a little chance? We can’t have all Brandeises, Frankfurters and Cardozos.[11]

Why arete?

For the Greeks, (at least the ones we mythologize) arete was a moral virtue. One might as well ask why be moral? Why be virtuous?

In some sense, I’ve always done my best. Indeed, I’ve tried. I wrote about it here: We always do our best..

I’ve also always aspired to do better—but often did not act in accord with my aspirations.

There was a time when I saw that as a failure of character. Now I see it as a lack of knowledge.

I wanted my kids to be the best—or at least the best they could be. Still do.

My question to them was always: “Did you do your best?” With a little thought (which is a motivation for writing this, might discover a better quetion.

Like lots of other people, I want the sports teams that I cheer to be their best.

People want their country to be the best.

So why not ourselves?

What I do I teach

I wanted my kids to do their best (and still do).. I could say that it would have been hypocritical not to teach them by example. But I think that the truth is somewhat different and needs exploration.

How I see things now

I’m not dead yet, and that means I’ve got responsibilities.

If I am not working toward personal excellence, I’m casting a vote for mediocrity and teaching everyone around me to vote with me.

That is an idea, a bit of knowledge, that I need to keep handy.

When people like me, those who can do above-average things, settle for mere fitness instead of arete, we let the average drop.

Then the average person can do less and still be above average, and the average drops further.

Do it enough times, and civilization unwinds.

I like to think that what I do makes a difference. The difference may be small, but it is a difference.

I’m not dead yet, and as long as I’m not, I’ll do my part to Vote Arete! and #keeptheaverageup.

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Solve for X! Xplained.

Dear Future Mike, (my next post after this one began):

Your last post was profoundly satisfying to the person who you were during the time you were writing it. It’s also satisfying to who you are at this moment.

I hope you continue to find it as helpful as your Past Selves did.

In case you don’t remember, a series of drafts began with words like “Solving for X” or “Solve for X.”

That post was the first draft that you completed. That was when you began to see what “Solve for X” (and eventually “Solve for X!” could mean to you.

If you get stuck again, take my advice: Solve for X!

Again.

Best Regards,
APS (A Past Self)

Solve for X! is a trick

Solve for X! is a trick. Today it’s a good trick. Tomorrow it may not work as well. Or at all.

Likey, one day, Solve for X! will become useless. Every other trick I’ve come up with has eventually stopped working, so why not that one?

But right now, it works. So, until it fails, I’ll keep Solving for X!

Then I’ll do something else. And later, perhaps, I’ll discover this post or this one and give it another try.

A theory: why Solve for X! works for me

In many past moments, it was a fact that I had a goal. It was a fact that I was doing nothing to progress toward the goal.

In those past moments, based on those facts, I repeatedly drew several conclusions. I concluded that I didn’t know why I was doing nothing; my behavior made no sense.

Each conclusion was an ending. And each carried with it the same hidden assumption: “I don’t know the answer.” And more: “I should know the answer.” And more: “There’s something wrong with me.”

But along comes a different assumption. I could define X and solve for it. As I worked with it, the idea of solving for X became Solve for X! It was a kind of rallying cry.

Ideas are alive. They come to me when I invite them—and sometimes they come on their own.

Solve for X! is an idea, and so is each X.

Some ideas are familiar, like old friends.

Some ideas are unusual.

Some are wild.

Some ideas contain new information, and new information can open new possibilities.

“Like me!” Says the idea, Solve for X!

“Like you!” I say, reflecting its enthusiasm.

Solve for X! creates new opportunities. So also can be the ideas, the X’s that are solved for.

“I’m what you needed to get this post written,” says an idea. It had appeared when I started to write this post and solved for X.

“Actually,” it corrected me, “that’s when you noticed me. I was here before that.”

“It was,” another idea agreed. “The universe conserves information. Like all information, knowledge, and ideas (which are, after all, just forms of information), that idea had always been and always will be. It’s been waiting for the time to make its presence known.

“Me, too,” it added.

“Now is my time!” Said the idea that I had first noticed. “Or was!”

I sat for a moment, thinking idly. I wasn’t completing the post. Then I realized what I needed to do. I solved for X!

“Excuse me,” I said to an idea that had distracted me, “I’d like to finish writing this and posting it, and you’re kind of in my way.”

“Oh, sorry,” said the distracting idea. “I had no idea that I was doing that.” It laughed. “No idea! You get it. I’m an idea and I had no idea!”

“I do,” I said. “And thank you. But…”

“I know,” said the idea, “I’m still in your way. No problem. I’ll just step aside.”

It did. And a few minutes later, I posted this.

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Solve for X!

Because I’m not dead yet, I can describe how I would like to live the life that remains for me.

(I might describe it in another post. But not now. This one is about Solving for X! )

Most of my life is consistent with the description I might write, but there are mismatches—things that I would like to be doing, am physically able to do, and yet not doing.

Why would that be?

I’ve puzzled over that for weeks. Maybe months. Perhaps years.

Now I have a theory.

My theory is this: something that I believe or have decided must be wrong or unknown.

Let’s call what’s wrong or missing X.

I want to solve for X.

“Done,” says a voice in my head. Or some typing at my fingers.

“Done what?” I ask.

“You’ve solved for X!” Says the voice, or the typing or whatever. “I am X! You’ve solved for me! Now you can get to living the life that you might describe in a later post.”

“But I don’t know what X is,” I complain.

“Of course you do!” Comes the reply. “It’s me! Didn’t you just define me? Am I not here!”

“Not exactly,” I say. “I defined the properties of something that I called X. I said that X is what I believe and is incorrect, plus what I don’t know.”

“Exactly!” came the answer. “That’s what I am! You’ve found me! Get on with your life!”

“You mean that’s all I had to do?” I ask. “It seems like cheating.”

“It’s not cheating!” comes the answer. “I’m the answer! You’re writing this, aren’t you? You’re going to post it, aren’t you? And then you’ve going to work on some other things, aren’t you?”

“Which other things?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you when it’s time!” is the answer. “You’ll know. All you have to do is Solve for X!”

“Meanwhile, post this.”

I did.

And then I wrote a post explaining it to my future self

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Conditional happiness and conditioned misery

Anthony De Mello says that the first step toward awakening is to realize that you don’t want to awaken. And the first toward happiness is to realize that you don’t want to be happy.

That last made no sense. Me, not want to be happy?

Then he explained.

Then I got it.

Conditional happiness

People are willing to be happy, he explains, but only conditionally. “I’ll be happy, but only if I get this. I’ll be happy, but only if they do that.”

People don’t want to be happy. They want what they want, and they’ll be miserable if they think it will get them what they want.”

People believe that conditional unhappiness is beneficial.

We think that because we’ve been taught to use unhappiness to control ourselves.

We’ve learned to punish ourselves to help ourselves. We’ve learned to torture ourselves to control ourselves.

De Mello says:

All I can do for you is help you to unlearn. That’s what learning is all about where spirituality is concerned: unlearning,

I’ve learned how to be conditionally happy. Now I need to unlearn it and learn just to be happy.

Examples abound

If I write this blog post, then then I will be happy.

No, if I write a post every day, for many days, then I will be happy.

No, I’ll only be happy if I write very high-quality posts in great abundance and people love them.

I’m willing to be conditionally happy. Why not be unconditionally happy?

If I can set the conditions for happiness, why not remove those conditions?

I’m not alone in wanting only conditional happiness.

If my wife/husband/son/daughter/friend stops doing that annoying thing, then I will be happy. Well, maybe not happy. Perhaps just a bit happier. Because they have this other annoying thing that they do. If they stopped doing all those things, then I’d be happy.

If my co-workers stop doing stupid things, then I’ll be happy.

If Donald Trump loses(or wins) the election, I’ll be happy.

In every case, De Mello points out, we are holding happiness hostage. Being happy does not depend on any of these things, so why make a condition? We can just be happy.

I can be happy whether or not I write a blog post.

You can be happy whether or not the people around you are acting like idiots.

We can even be happy while Donald Trump is…well, it’s a stretch, but it’s possible.

De Mello says:

Some people make awakening a goal. They are determined to get there; they say, “I refuse to be happy until I’m awakened.”

That was me. Unhappy until I’m awakened.

How did we learn

I came to believe that conditional happiness (and unhappiness) was useful.

I learned to believe that the way to get what I want is to hold my happiness hostage—to refuse to be happy unless I get it.

I’ve used what you might call purposeful unhappiness to get what I want.

Everybody says it. No pain, no gain.

Want gain? Have some pain.

Pushing ourselves

We who want to improve believe that pushing ourselves is the route to success. We could push ourselves joyfully, but that’s not what we’ve been taught. We’ve been taught to torture ourselves to get better.

We don’t think about it as torture.

Torture: the action or practice of inflicting severe pain or suffering on someone to force them to do something

Want to get better? Make yourself suffer for not doing it.

Our parents taught us initially. We continue to refresh the lessons.

How we learned

It started this way.

When we did something that our parents didn’t want us to do, they physically stopped us. They controlled us. And at the same time, they showed unhappiness or even anger.

Like Pavlov’s dogs, we associated their emotions with control. Soon they didn’t have to touch us. They could give us a stern look or talk to us in a certain tone of voice. They conditioned us to obey.

My parents did it to me. I did it to my kids. Sorry, kids.

Kids become conditioned to respond to the unhappiness of adults around them.

That’s a starting point.

Teaching the happy to be unhappy

Children are naturally happy. They will happily track mud into the house, happily throw food on the floor, happily bop another kid on the head. When parents reprimand kids for such behavior—and they should—they demand that the kids demonstrate understanding.

Words are not enough.

If a parent remonstrated a happy kid for tracking mud into the house, and the kid apologized but remained happy, most parents would assume (maybe correctly) that the kid didn’t get it, and the apology was not genuine.

The real test of understanding would be: did they track mud in the next time? But no one can wait around for that. So parents train kids to show them that they understand. Unhappiness after a reprimand is acceptable evidence of understanding.

So kids are trained.

“Wipe that smile off your face!”

“This is no joke.”

Punishment

When parents deem that some level of expressed unhappiness is insufficient evidence of learning, then—with the best of intentions—and I mean that without irony—parents punish us. If they were to punish us—say by sending us to our room or depriving us of a favorite toy or activity—and we did not demonstrate enough distress, they’d find something that made us more unhappy.

The greater the offense, the greater the required degree of misery. All for our own good.

What our parents learned, they taught. They’d learned to punish by being punished. And by punishing us, they taught us to punish ourselves.

Anticipating reprimands and punishment

They taught us to anticipate their reprimands and punishment and restrain ourselves from doing things they wanted us not to do.

We learned to reprimand ourselves before the fact and punish ourselves—with guilty feelings—after the fact.

That’s what was done to me. And that’s what I did to my kids. Sorry, kids. If I ever have more kids, I’ll do better.

Do unto ourselves

We learn to get ourselves to do things that we find hard to do by doing to ourselves as was done unto us. We might start by asking ourselves. We might argue with ourselves. And if that doesn’t work, we threaten ourselves, criticize ourselves, punish ourselves, torture ourselves until we do what we want. We might also promise ourselves a reward. But for most people, threats, criticisms, and punishment are important motivators.

If we reach a satisfactory level of success—whatever that might be—we’re happy to relax into a routine. And why not? Things are good.

The road to greater success

We know that the way to greater success is more self-threats, self-criticisms, self-doubt, and punishment. We’ve had enough, thank you very much. And please don’t criticize us for not wanting to go further!

If our level of success is not satisfactory, we know why. We didn’t threaten ourselves enough. We didn’t force ourselves enough. Not enough torture. Not enough gain? Must have been not enough pain.

Another way

I believe that there is another way.

That way is through awareness and understanding.

De Mello says:

That still leaves us with a big question: Do I do anything to change myself? I’ve got a big surprise for you, lots of good news! You don’t have to do anything. The more you do, the worse it gets. All you have to do is understand.

What can I say here?

I like what De Mello says:

One cannot say anything about happiness. Happiness cannot be defined. What can be defined is misery. Drop unhappiness and you will know. Love cannot be defined; unlove can. Drop unlove, drop fear, and you will know.

 

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