Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Support Josh Harder for Congress

I've been quiet lately in part because I'm sinking back into the pit of despair when I think about politics.  The spinelessness and hypocrisy of the Republican party, the insidious and corrosive effects of corporate "free speech" embodied in soulless monsters like Sinclair and Fox News, and the fact that ultimately all this insanity has its foundation in the will of the people (or at least a significant fraction of them) has me struggling at times to see much light at the end of this tunnel.  The outpouring of grass-roots energy in the Democratic party is encouraging, of course, but we really shouldn't have to work this hard do defend the principle that, if the President is a crook, he should be called out for it.

The Washington Post yesterday ran a story headlined "Could Trump bury Mueller’s findings? Yes — if Republicans help him do it."  You should read it.  It's sobering.  I am as staunch a defender of civil liberties and the presumption of innocence as you are likely to find.  But if Donald Trump is, say, beholden to the Russian government, don't you think the American people ought to know?

It is becoming clear that we cannot count on the Republicans to answer this question affirmatively.  They have repeatedly shown that they will put party over principle.  They will gerrymander, lie, cheat, and even abandon their own principles to stay in power (to what end one has to wonder).  Not that the Democrats are necessarily a whole lot better, but there is one thing that is becoming clear: if we want to know the truth about Donald Trump, the only way we can insure that we will find out is to vote the Democrats into power in the House of Representatives this November.  If we fail to do that, it will be game-over.  Robert Mueller will be fired, his report will be buried, and We the People will never know the truth.

Happily, taking the House seems to be a real possibility, and I want to take this opportunity to do something that I very rarely do here on the Ramblings and endorse a Congressional candidate and ask you, my readers, to support him.  His name is Josh Harder, and he is running in California's 10th Congressional district, which includes the central valley town of Modesto.  That district is currently represented by Republican Jeff Denham, who won the 2016 election by only 3 points.  If there was ever a flippable district in the U.S., this is it.

I met Josh the other day and I was very impressed.  He's working incredibly hard, he knows what he's doing, he has great stage presence, and he has terrific command of facts and issues.  But most importantly, he will bring us one step closer to a Democratic majority in the House, which we will need in order to stop the Republicans from burying Donald Trumps sins in a bureaucratic sarcophagus.  Whatever your stand on policy may be, I ask again: if the President of the United States is beholden to a foreign power (or has otherwise broken the law) don't you think we ought to know?

Saturday, April 07, 2018

The taxi ride from hell: A data point for the rideshare debate

One of the arguments made by established taxi companies against ride-sharing companies like Lyft and Uber is that the latter's passengers are taking a greater risk because of the questionable vetting of the drivers.  Real taxi drivers are professionals, the argument goes, with proper training and screening to insure that they safely and efficiently whisk you from A to B.

To which I say: Bollocks.  I just had the worst ride of my entire life, and it was in an officially licensed New York City yellow cab.  It was so extraordinarily bad that I didn't tip the driver.  I have never before in my life not tipped a driver.  I was this close to not paying him at all.

It was not an obscure route: Times Square to Newark airport.  Any NYC taxi driver worth the title should know that route like the back of their hand.  Google Traffic indicated that except for the usual backup at the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel, traffic was light and we should get there in about 30 minutes.

I sat down in the back of the cab and it was immediately evident that this was not going to be the most comfortable ride of my life.  The seat had a loose spring (or something) that was poking me in my butt, and did the entire trip.

To fully appreciate how utterly incompetent this cabbie was it will be helpful to know that the usual route from Times Square to Newark airport goes something like this: you go west through mid-town Manhattan and take the Lincoln Tunnel under the Hudson river.  From there, you continue on route 495 to Interstate 95, hang a left, cruise for 20 minutes or so, and exit to the airport.  Easy peasy.  If there is heavy traffic on the interstate one might choose to take a different route to bypass the interstate, but as I mentioned, it was early and traffic was light.

The transition through the Lincoln Tunnel went smoothly enough, but when we got to the other side the driver suddenly took an unexpected turn and we ended up on New Jersey surface streets.  With traffic lights.

Now, New York cabs have plexiglass safety dividers between the driver and the back seat.  Some of them have holes or little windows in them so you can talk to the driver, but not this one.  So I had to shout to be heard: "Why didn't you take the interstate?"

It quickly became clear that the driver's command of English, in both transmit and receive modes, left a little room for improvement and communication was going to be a challenge.  At one point, the driver passed his cell phone to me through a little cell-phone-sized man trap in the safety divider.  I saw that he was running some sort of navigation app, but I am not sufficiently wise in the ways of Waze to ascertain exactly what was going on or how to do anything about it.  So I just resigned myself to the fact that this trip was going to take a little longer than I expected, and passed the phone back to the driver.

I pulled up Google Maps on my own phone so I could follow our progress, and it appeared that our plan was to take state route 9.  This was slightly alarming as there were construction warnings along a substantial stretch of that road, but happily it appeared that this was because the road was closed in the opposite direction.  Going North we would be able to get through with minimal fuss.

Or at least we would have done if the driver had actually turned onto route 9.  He didn't.  He sailed right past the on ramp and into the next little enclave of surface streets, from which there was no evident route to the airport at all.

I piped up again and asked if the driver realized that he had just missed a turn.  He allowed that he had, apologized sheepishly, and said he would make a U turn, which, in New Jersey, is no mean feat.  In fact we did not make a U-turn, but rather went around several blocks until we finally found ourselves back at the on-ramp for state route 9.  (During this time I could hear the driver on the phone with someone who was apparently trying to talk him through the situation to get us back on track.)

Now, to be fair, the road design and signage in this particular area were atrocious, almost as if someone had deliberately designed the place to be misleading so that they could hide in a nearby bird blind and snicker at the hapless drivers trying to find their way.  But this is not at all unusual in New Jersey, and if you're going to drive there for a living you really have to be able to take this sort of thing in stride.  Fortunately, by proceeding very, very slowly and deliberately, our driver was finally able to get us onto the correct road.

Alas, our troubles were not over.  By now I was watching carefully what the driver was doing to make sure he wasn't about to miss the exit for the airport, which is exactly what he proceeded to do.  As he started sailing by the off ramp I shouted at him, "You're about to miss the exit!"  But instead of veering to make the off ramp, he slammed on the brakes and stopped!  Right in the middle of the freeway.  A brief negotiation ensued, upon the completion of which we finally turned right and into the airport.

I micromanaged the drive to the terminal, and as I noted earlier, I did not give him a tip.

Because this driver was so off-the-charts atrocious I decided to report him to the NYC taxi authority, the organization that is supposed to be in charge of insuring that yellow cab drivers are more competent than the disreputable scoundrels that drive Lyfts and Ubers.  They have a convenient web page for filing complaints, but upon availing myself of this I discovered to my dismay that in order for any complaint to be acted upon you have to be willing to make yourself available for an in-person hearing.  In Queens.  Well, I live in California, so going to a hearing in Queens is not exactly convenient.  I went ahead and filed my complaint anyway (and condensed this story down to about three sentences so it would fit in the tiny text box provided for you to give the details of your complaint.  A few minutes later I received this helpful response:

Service Request #: C1-1-1546782941
Date Submitted: 04/06/18 3:46:51 PM
Request Type: Taxi Report
Details: Driver Report 
Your Service Request was closed.
Your report has been sent to the Taxi and Limousine Commission (TLC). You are not available to participate in a hearing so TLC cannot take any action against the driver or car service company. No further information will be available for your report.

So... no more taxis to the aiport for me.  I'd rather roll the dice with Uber.  At least with them if the ride sucks I don't have to show up for a hearing in order to give the driver a bad review if he deserves one.

Which, now that I come to think of it, not a single Uber driver ever has.

I would like to note for the record that I have taken dozens and dozens of NYC taxis over the years, and they were by and large competent and efficient.  This experience was definitely an outlier.  But it does undermine the taxi company's argument that Uber and Lyft should not be used because their drivers haven't been as well vetted.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Well, that didn't take long

I was contemplating whether or not to write about how incredibly stupid it is to try to solve the school shooting problem by arming teachers.  I was waffling because I don't really like to belabor the obvious.  And then this happened:
A teacher accidentally fired a pistol inside a California classroom while lecturing about public safety and injured three students, according to police. 
Dennis Alexander was pointing the gun at the ceiling when he inadvertently fired it Tuesday at Seaside High School, said Abdul Pridgen, the city's police chief. 
Bullet fragments ricocheted off the ceiling and hit a 17-year-old student in the neck, Pridgen said. Shortly after the incident, class resumed as usual
The teen’s father, Fermin Gonzales, said he rushed his son to the hospital after the 17-year-old returned from school with blood on his shirt and a neck injury.
Let that soak in for a moment: a teacher fired a gun in a classroom, injured three students, one of whom was bleeding from the neck to the point where he ultimately had to go to the hospital, and then resumed teaching as if nothing had happened!  No, "Hey, is everyone OK?"  Just, "Oopsie, my bad.  Now open your textbooks to page 23."

The idea that the only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun is an adolescent fantasy born of watching too many Westerns.  The best way to stop a bad guy with a gun is to make sure that the bad guy never has a gun in the first place.  (It also helps to realize that "bad" and "mentally disturbed" are not synonyms.)

I hope that a minor injury is all it's going to take to get people to come to their senses, and not an all-out bloodbath.  But I'll give long odds against.

Monday, March 05, 2018

Is it time to take the Hyperloop seriously? No.

Over four years since it was first introduced, Ars Technica asks if it is time to take the Hyperloop seriously.  And four years since I first gave it, the answer is still a resounding no.  Not only has the thermal expansion problem not been solved, there has been (AFAICT) absolutely no attention paid to simple operational concerns that could be show-stoppers.  Like terrorism.  If you think airplanes are a soft target for terrorism, there should be no doubt in your mind that the bad guys are absolutely salivating at the prospect of the hyperloop.  The extent to which it would be vulnerable to terrorism, or even simple mechanical failure, is just mind boggling.

Let's set terrorism aside for a moment and just consider how the system would recover (or not) from a simple mechanical failure.  A pod breaks down.  That could happen, right?  What would you do?

With every other mode of transportation heretofore invented by mankind, the answer is: you get the people out of the failed vehicle so they can get to their destination some other way, and move the failed vehicle to a repair facility.  But this won't work for the hyperloop.  The pods are inside a sealed metal tube hundreds of miles long.  If you do the math based on some very conservative assumptions about how often pods would have to run in order to be a viable transportation system you will find that there will be (at a minimum) dozens of pods carrying hundreds of people inside the tube at any given time.  If one pod breaks down, all the pods behind it have to stop too.  So now you have a convoy of pods full of people stuck in a sealed steel tube.  How do you get them out?  I've never seen any hyperloop advocate even raise this issue, let alone actually take constructive steps towards solving it.

The fundamental problem is that the hyperloop track is a cascading single point of failure.  If a pod breaks down and blocks the track, the whole system goes down, and it (almost certainly) stays down for a very long time.  It's as if every time an airplane had a mechanical problem the net effect on the system was equivalent to a plane crashing at the intersection of all the runways at SFO and shutting them all down at once.

There are other transportation systems that have this problem, notably rail.  But when a train breaks down, you can always just get out and walk to safety as a strategy of last resort.  The hyperloop design makes that inherently impossible.  You can get a little taste for what things might be like by looking at what happens when people are trapped in subways.  It is not pretty.
During that 45-minute wait, riders tried to claw open the doors for air, said Chris Ebelhar, a passenger. A person chanted, “‘Find your happy place, find your happy place,’” he said. Panic increased when passengers realized that the doors at each end were locked, he said. “If there was a fire, we would have all died or just burned up,” he said. “We couldn’t open windows. It was insane.”
And that was a 45-minute wait.  That's how long you're in the pod when things are working normally!   In a failure scenario you will (unless someone comes up with something really clever) be stuck for hours, possibly even days.  It will be more like being trapped in a mine than in a subway car.  You think claustrophobia is a problem on airplanes?  You ain't seen nuthin' yet.  Hyperloop pods are designed to be occupied for less than an hour.  They are not tall enough to stand up in.  There are no bathrooms.  There are no windows.  And there are no emergency exits.

It seems to me that having at least some sort of minimally plausible story to tell about what one would do in a situation like this should be a pre-requisite to doing any further work on the hyperloop, otherwise you could easily end up in a situation where you have invested an enormous amount of money in it only to find that this problem simply does not have an economically viable solution.  Not all problems do (c.f. the flying car).

Saturday, February 24, 2018

Devin Nunes doesn't realize that he's part of the government

I was reading about the long anticipated release of the Democratic rebuttal to the famous Republican dossier memo.  I've been avoiding writing about this, or any aspect of the Russia investigation, because there is just so much insanity going on there and I didn't want to get sucked into that tar pit.  But I could not let this slide:
[O]n Saturday, committee chairman Devin Nunes (R-Calif.) accused Democrats of colluding with the government in a “cover up” of information as he announced the memo had been posted online. 
“We actually wanted this out,” Nunes told an audience at the Conservative Political Action Conference. “It’s clear evidence that the Democrats are not only covering this up, but they’re also colluding with parts of the government to cover this up.”
Congressional Democrats are "colluding with the government"?  Say what?!?  Who (or what) exactly does Devin Nunes think "the government" is?

I have news for you, Mr. Nunes: you and your fellow Congressmen are "the government", or a pretty significant part of it anyway.  You're supposed to be "colluding" (I would choose the word "working", but whatever) with yourselves to run the country.  That's your job.

But I guess Devin Nunes didn't get the memo.  So sad.

Friday, February 16, 2018

Yes, code is data, but that's not what makes Lisp cool

There has been some debate on Hacker News lately about what makes Lisp cool, in particular about whether the secret sauce is homo-iconicity, or the idea that "code is data", or something else.  I've read through a fair amount of the discussion, and there is a lot of misinformation and bad pedagogy floating around.  Because this is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, I thought I'd take a whack at it myself.

First, the idea that "code is data" is a popular aphorism, but even the most casual reflection on what this slogan actually means will reveal that it can't possibly be the right answer.  Yes, it is true that, in Lisp, code is data.  But this is true of all programming languages!  If programs weren't data, how could a compiler possibly work?

What makes Lisp cool is not that programs are data (because all programs are data), but that they are a particular kind of data.  In most programming languages, programs are strings.  Strings are in fact data.  In Lisp, programs are not strings, they are linked lists (that happen to have a string representation).  And this turns out to make all the difference.

I want to be very clear about what I mean when I say that Lisp programs are linked lists, because this is really a very subtle point.  It's hard to explain, which is one of the reasons that it is very rarely explained well.  Ironically, part of the problem is that once you understand it, it seems trivial and obvious.  (Everything is easy once you know how.)  But if you don't already understand it, it can be hard to get over the hump.  So depending on which side of this divide you fall on, what I am about to say might sound like I'm belaboring the obvious, in which case I would ask you try to remember back to the time before you understood all this (I know there was such a time because no one is born understanding linked lists).

The fundamental problem with trying to explain this is that the only tool I have at my disposal to communicate with you is text.  Your eyes scan this page, parse the black markings on the white background, and interpret those markings as letters and punctuation marks.  Your mind then further groups those letters into words, words into sentences, and sentences into concepts.  You do all this effortlessly now, but back in the day, before you knew how to read, it was hard work.  It takes a similar kind of "hard work" to read Lisp.  But like learning to read natural language, it pays dividends.

So here's a little snippet of Lisp code:

(defun rsq (x y) (sqrt (plus (times x x) (times y y))))

This code defines a function called RSQ which computes the square root of the sum of the squares of two numbers, but that is beside the point. What matters is that there are two very different ways to interpret the combination of letters and punctuation marks on the line above:

1.  As a string of characters.  44 of them to be precise (if you count spaces).

2.  As a thing with structure that is defined by the parentheses.

This is a little easier to see if we write something that has the same structure but without the evocative words:

(a b (c d) (e (f (g c c) (g d d))))

This makes the structure a little easier to see.  What you are looking at can be interpreted as either a string of characters (35 of them in this case), or as a list of more abstract elements.  This particular list has four elements.  The first element is the letter "a".  The second element is the letter "b".  But the third element is not a letter, it is another list.  This list has two elements, each of which is a letter ("c" and "d").  The fourth element is also a list.  This one has three elements, two of which are themselves lists.

There is an extra wrinkle in the original example, which is that sequences of adjacent letters like "defun" and "sqrt" are also considered "one thing", or a single element of the list.  So the original example, like the second, is also a list of four elements, but the first element is not a single letter, but a "group" of letters.  In Lisp these groups are called "symbols", and like lists, they are first-class data types.

The reason this is hard to explain is that strings and lists are fundamentally different things even though they look the same when you write them out this way.  What I've written above are really strings, but your brain interprets those strings as lists once you've been trained to interpret the parentheses and the letter groupings and spaces in the right way.  But what a linked list really is is something completely different.  It's a pattern of bits in memory.  You can talk about that by dumping the contents of memory and talking about how some bit patterns can be interpreted as pointers that refer to other parts of memory, or by drawing boxes and arrows.

But all of those details are a distraction too.  What really matters is that by thinking of code as a linked list instead of as a string of characters you can manipulate that code easily in terms of components that are semantically meaningful.

Here's an example of what I mean by this.  Consider the following snippet of C code:

int main(int argc, char* argv[]) { ...

Now suppose you want to analyze this code.  We want to extract, say, the name of the function being defined ("main") and its arguments ("argc" and "argv").  In C this is an advanced exercise; you have to actually parse the code.  But in Lisp it is utterly trivial.  If I consider this code:

(defun rsq (x y) (sqrt (plus (times x x) (times y y))))
as a list then to get its name all I have to do is extract the second element of the list.  And all I have to do to get the arguments is take the third element.  And the functions to do that are built-in to Lisp, so I literally don't have to write any code!

Not only that, but the parsing process that converts the string representation of the list (called an S-expression) to the internal representation of the actual linked list data structure is also trivial.  Parsing S-expressions is super easy.  You don't need a grammar or a parser generator, all you need is -- and this is no exaggeration -- a few dozen lines of code in just about any programming language [1].  And going the other way -- printing them back out -- is even easier.

This, then, is the magic of Lisp.  It's a local minimum in the amount of effort that it takes to parse and manipulate code in semantically meaningful chunks at the "cost" of having to write code that looks a little bit weird when you first encounter it.  But this feeling quickly goes away when you realize that this weirdness is not arbitrary.  Those parens are where they are for a reason, namely, to make the syntax easy, even trivial, to parse.  Lisp was originally proposed with a more traditional syntax in addition to S-expressions, and nearly every Lisp programmer has proposed and implemented their own (it's almost a rite of passage).  None of them have ever caught on because S-expressions are a huge win once you get even just a little bit used to them.  They let you do things easily that are really really hard in other languages.  In particular, they make writing compilers so easy that doing so becomes a regular part of doing business in Lisp rather than an abstruse specialty that only a select few engage in.

And now I have to go fix some code so that it automatically generates a backtrace whenever it encounters an error, logs it, and then continues its computation as if the error had not occurred (because it's running inside an event loop where actually throwing an error would be catastrophic).  I expect this will take me about fifteen minutes because I have this in my toolbox.

[1] Yes, that's more than a dozen lines of code, but that's because what you see there is a complete Lisp interpreter, not just an S-expression parser.  The parser is at the bottom.  It's 30 LOC.

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

A Multilogue on Free Will

[Inspired by this comment thread.]

The Tortoise is standing next to a railroad track when Achilles, an ancient Greek warrior, happens by.  In the distance, a train whistle sounds.

Tortoise: Greetings, friend Achilles.  You have impeccable timing.  I could use your assistance.

Achilles: Hello, Mr. T.  Always happy to help.  What seems to be the trouble?

Tortoise: Look there.

Achilles: Why, it appears that someone has been tied to the railroad track!  It looks like Henrietta, the Helpless Victim, no doubt tied there by Evan the Evil Villain.

Henrietta: Help!  Save me!

Tortoise: I would like to rescue Henrietta, but alas, I am far too slow to reach her in time.  Do you think you can help?

Achilles: I would love to.  Unfortunately, even though I am fleetest of foot of all the mortals, even I can't outrun a train.  But did you happen to notice, Mr. T., that there is a siding on the track here?  All we have to do is throw the switch, divert the train onto the siding, and Henrietta will be saved!

Tortoise: That is most fortuitous.  I wonder why I didn't notice it before.  But it occurs to me that there is something very odd about this state of affairs.

Achilles: Odd?  How so?

Tortoise: The situation we find ourselves in bears a striking resemblance to what philosophers call a "trolley problem."  A trolley problem is normally presented as a moral or ethical dilemma, usually by way of having victims tied to both branches of the track.  But here one of the branches is empty, which would seem to make it a no-brainer.

Achilles: But this is not an intellectual exercise.  This is real life.

Tortoise: True, but somehow I can't escape this niggling doubt that I've overlooked something.  Still, I guess we should go ahead and throw the switch.

(Suddenly, Evan the Evil Villain appears out of nowhere!)

Evan: Bwahahaha!!!  You fools think you can thwart my evil schemes?  Never!  You will not throw that switch!

Achilles: Just try and stop us!

Evan: You don't seem to understand.  I'm not ordering you, I'm telling you, as a matter of objective fact, that you will not throw the switch.

Tortoise: And how do you know that?

Evan: I consulted the Oracle, and she told me so.

Achilles: Oh dear, Mr. T.  I'm afraid Henrietta is done for.

Tortoise: Why?  I don't believe in no Oracle.

Achilles: Oh, but you should.  The Oracle is never wrong.

Tortoise: But how do we know that Evan isn't lying about what the Oracle said?

Achilles: Hm, good point.  Perhaps we should consult the Oracle ourselves?

Tortoise: Do we have time?  If we can't reach Henrietta before the train then surely we don't have time to travel to Delphi.

Achilles: Oh, silly Tortoise, you don't have to go to Delphi any more to consult the Oracle.  Nowadays there's an app for that.

(Achilles pulls out a mobile phone.  It sports a logo shaped like a pear.)

Tortoise: Most impressive.  Not at all what I would have expected.

Achilles: Just because I'm an ancient Greek warrior doesn't mean I have to be a Luddite.  Oh great and powerful Oracle, we wish to consult you!

(The Voice of the Oracle emanates from the phone.)

Oracle: What is your request?

Achilles: Is it true that we will not throw the switch and save Henrietta?

Oracle: Indeed, it is so.

Achilles: See there, Mr. T.  I'm afraid Henrietta's fate is sealed.

Tortoise: I'm still not convinced.  I mean, we're standing right here next to the switch.  We have free will (don't we?).  You're faster and stronger than Evan.  What exactly is going to stop us?

Achilles: Hm, good question.  Oh great and powerful Oracle, what exactly will prevent us from throwing the switch?

Oracle: Nothing will prevent you.  You will choose of your own free will not to throw the switch.

Tortoise: That seems improbable.  The moral situation is clear, and we are both moral creatures.  Why would we choose to do such an immoral deed?

Achilles: Is failing to save Henrietta really immoral?  We didn't tie her to the tracks, Evan did.  Is it really on us if she dies?

Tortoise: According to the Tortoise Moral Code, failing to save a life when there is no cost or risk to yourself is tantamount to taking the life yourself.  So I certainly feel as if I have a moral duty to throw the switch.

Achilles: And yet you won't do it.

Tortoise: I'm still not convinced.

Achilles: I'm telling you, Mr. T., the Oracle is never wrong.

Tortoise: Can you prove it?

Achilles: Sure, let's just do a little experiment.  Here, take this coin, and put it in your left or right hand, but don't show me which one.

(The Tortoise retreats into his shell, then shortly re-emerges with both his hands balled into fists.)

Achilles: Oracle, in which hand is the coin?

Oracle: The left one.

(The Tortoise opens his left hand to reveal the coin.)

Tortoise: Well, that was a 50-50 shot.  Also, the Oracle didn't really predict which hand I would put the coin in, she just somehow figured it out after I had already done so.  Maybe the phone has a coin detector built in to it.

Achilles: I can ask the Oracle before you put the coin in your hand.

(Achilles consults the phone.)

Tortoise: So what did she say?

Achilles: I can't tell you.  That would influence your decision.  But I've written her prediction down on this piece of paper.

Tortoise: So I don't even have to put the coin in my hand.  I can just tell you my choice.  I choose left again.

(Achilles opens the paper.  It says "LEFT".  They repeat the experiment 50 times.  The Oracle's prediction is correct every time.)

Tortoise: I must confess, that is deeply disturbing.  What would happen if I knew the Oracle's prediction ahead of time?

Achilles: Let's try it: Oracle, what will be the Tortoise's next choice?

Oracle: Left.

Tortoise: Ha!  Wrong!

(The tortoise puts the coin in his right hand.)

Achilles: As I suspected, the Oracle's predictions are unreliable if the subject learns the prediction before acting.  So there is still hope for Henrietta.

Evan: Fools!  I foresaw the possibility that you might learn of the Oracle's prophecy (indeed, if you recall, I told you about the prophecy!)  So I took precautions and consulted the meta-Oracle.

Achilles: The what?

Evan: The meta-Oracle.  You see, the Oracle works by building a model of your brain and running that model into the future faster than your actual brain.  But the Oracle does not include itself in its model.  So if the output of the Oracle gets to your brain then that sends events off on a trajectory that the Oracle cannot foresee.

Tortoise: So we do have free will after all!

Evan: Not so fast.  The meta-Oracle is more powerful than the Oracle.  The meta-Oracle includes itself in its model, so even if you learn of one of the meta-Oracle's prophecies before it comes to pass, it will still come to pass.  Here, see for yourself.

(Evan pulls out a meta-phone, launches the meta-Oracle app, and hands the meta-phone to Achilles.)

Meta-Oracle: You will go on a great journey!

Achilles: I haven't asked you anything yet!

Meta-Oracle: Oh, sorry, wrong prophecy.  What exactly is it you would like to know?

Achilles: Will we throw the switch and save Henrietta?

Meta-Oracle: No.

Evan: See?  Told ya!

Meta-Oracle: I also predict that the Tortoise will question my prophetic powers.

Tortoise: Well, that wasn't exactly a tough call.

Meta-Oracle: See?  Told ya!

Tortoise: Oh, come on!

Meta-Oracle: OK, we'll do a real one.  What would you like to know?

Tortoise: Which hand will I put the coin in?

Meta-Oracle: Your left hand.

(The Tortoise puts the coin in his right hand.)

Tortoise: Ha!

Meta-Oracle: I didn't say that you would put the coin in your left hand now.  All I said was that you would put the coin in your left hand at some unspecified time in the future.

Tortoise: I find myself oddly unimpressed.

Meta-Oracle: Yes, I foresaw that too.

Tortoise: Well, geez, if you foresaw it, why did you even bother making such a lame prediction?

Meta-Oracle: Because if I truly reveal to you the full extent of my prophetic powers you would suffer severe psychological damage.  Belief in free will is an integral part of the Tortoise Condition, and if I present you with irrefutable evidence that you do not have free will, you might snap.

Tortoise: Try me.

Meta-Oracle: Very well, if you insist.  The next time you put a coin in your hand, it will be your left hand.

(The Tortoise puts the coin in his left hand.)

Tortoise: OK, that was weird.  Despite the fact that I wanted very much to disprove the meta-Oracle, because my belief in free will is indeed very important to me, and despite the fact that I knew I could accomplish this goal by putting the coin in my right hand, I somehow found myself putting the coin in my left.

Achilles: Did it feel like you were being coerced?

Tortoise: Hard to say.  The subjective sensation I had while making the decision was nothing out of the ordinary.  It felt kind of like when I eat a cookie even though I know I shouldn't.  It's weird though, because cookies taste good, so I can justify (or at least rationalize) eating a cookie in the name of satisfying a short-term goal (hedonism) at the expense of a long-term one (maintaining my svelte figure).  But here I had no particular reason to prefer one hand over the other, kind of like we have no reason not to throw the switch.  I find it all deeply disturbing.

Meta-Oracle: Told ya.

Tortoise: Faced with this new evidence I must adjust my beliefs.  It does indeed seem to be the case that the meta-Oracle can predict my actions (and, by extrapolation, yours as well) and so we are in fact doomed to stand idly by while Henrietta meets her fate.

Achilles: That sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy to me.  If your belief in the inevitability of failure leads you not to act, then the prophecy is in fact true.  But it's not really the prophecy at work, it's your belief in the prophecy.  Perhaps if you could recapture your initial skepticism we might be able to thwart the meta-Oracle after all.

Tortoise: Alas, I am incapable of achieving such suspension of disbelief.  I have experienced the power of the meta-Oracle first-hand.  I performed a conclusive experiment.  It didn't turn out the way I hoped or expected, but I have no choice but to accept the outcome and its implications.  Tortoises must follow the evidence wherever it leads.

Achilles: Maybe Tortoises do, but I don't.  I am quite credulous.  If you (or someone) could somehow convince me that the meta-Oracle could be wrong, then maybe I could throw the switch.

Tortoise: Alas, friend Achilles, I can't even do that.  Now that I myself am firmly of the belief that the meta-Oracle's powers are as advertised, then to convince you otherwise I would have to lie, and Tortoises cannot lie.

Achilles: Ah, then you never believed you had free will!

Tortoise: Not absolute free will, no.  I always believed that I had no control over what I believed (including, recursively, that I had no control over that belief).  But I did believe, until just now, that I had control over my actions, especially in matters as inconsequential as choosing a hand to put a coin in.

Achilles: But it was not inconsequential.  That action changed your worldview.  Maybe if it really were inconsequential you would still have free will?

Tortoise: I guess I can't rule out that possibility on the basis of the evidence that we have (and in fact I can't imagine any experiment we could possibly do that would rule it out).  But the question of whether or not to throw the switch is very consequential.  A life is at stake.  So it wouldn't help anyway.

Achilles: I can think of one other possibility: We could pray to God.  He might be able to save Henrietta.

Tortoise: I don't believe in God, but don't let that stop you.

Achilles: Dear God, please save Henrietta!

(The deep booming Voice of God rumbles through the air.)

God: And how exactly do you propose I do that?

Tortoise: Wow, that was so not what I expected.

Achilles: Dear God, thank you for answering the prayer of this humble mortal.  As for the answer to your question, well, you're God.  You are all-powerful.  You could, like, go and untie her before the train arrives.

God: I am indeed all-powerful.  I form the light and create darkness.  I am the Lord.  But I'm afraid I don't untie people from railroad tracks.  That's just not how I roll.

Tortoise: Why not?

God: Because if I do everything for you then you mortals will never grow up.  I gave you free will and moral intuition.  The rest is up to you.

Tortoise: Wait, what?  We have free will?

God: I didn't say that.  I said I gave you free will.  It does not follow that you still have it.

Achilles: That's true.  I once gave my niece a pair of mittens, but she lost them.

Tortoise: I must have lost mine, because I have just been presented with irrefutable evidence that I do not have free will.

God: What, the meta-Oracle's prophecy?  That doesn't prove that you don't have free will.

Tortoise: Of course it does.  If the meta-Oracle's prophecies are always right (and they do seem to be) then I have no choice but to do whatever the meta-Oracle foresees.

God: But that was true of the (non-meta) Oracle too.  Why did that not rock your world view the way that the meta-Oracle did?

Tortoise: Hm, good question.  I guess it's the fact that I was still able to thwart the (non-meta) Oracle when I learned its predictions ahead of time.  That allowed me to maintain the illusion of free will, even though the Oracle's prediction are indeed, now that I think of it, overwhelming evidence that I do not in fact have free will.  But the meta-Oracle is a whole 'nuther kettle of fish.  The meta-Oracle gave me the experience of making a choice that was directly counter to one of my goals (namely, maintaining the illusion that I have free will).  Why on earth would I do that if I really do have free will?

God: That is difficult for me to explain in a way that you will understand.  The closest I can come is to say that it's because of your sinful nature.

Tortoise: That can't be right.  When I sin it's because I choose (or at least I feel like I choose) to so something that I want to do but that you, God, don't want me to.  But my succumbing to the meta-Oracle's prediction was the exact opposite of that: it was something that I didn't want to do, and that you, God, couldn't possibly have cared about.

God: What makes you think I don't care?

Tortoise: What difference could it possibly have made to you whether I put a coin in my right or left hand?

God: I care about everything.  Everything that happens, down to the most trivial detail, is all part of my divine plan.  (Actually, they are not trivial details.  They only look trivial to you mortals who cannot see the big picture.)

Tortoise: Now I'm really confused.  If you're controlling everything, how can I have free will?

God: I didn't say I controlled everything, I said everything that happens is part of my plan.  Not the same thing.

Tortoise: I'm afraid I don't see the difference.

God: Most of the time the free choices of mortals like yourself align with my plan.  It is only on rare occasions, like when Pharaoh was going to free the Israelites prematurely, that I have to go in and meddle.  The rest of the time it's all you.

Achilles: You know, I've often wondered about that.  Why did you harden Pharaoh's heart?

God: To make it a better story.

Tortoise: What???

God: Sure, no one would have paid attention otherwise.  I am almighty God.  I could have freed the Israelites with a twitch of my little finger.  But that would have made such a dull movie!  No conflict, no suspense, no character development, no dramatic tension.  Every good story has to have a villain.

Achilles: Like Evan.

God: Exactly.

Tortoise: So nothing we do can interfere with your Plan.

God: That's right.  No self-respecting all-powerful deity could permit that.

Tortoise: So... sin, Henrietta's untimely death, all part of the plan?

God: Yes.

Evan: I always knew God was on my side!

God: I'm on everyone's side, Evan.  That doesn't mean I condone your actions.  Tying Henrietta to the railroad tracks was a horrible sin.

Evan: Then why did you make me do it?

God: I didn't make you do it.  You chose to do it.  That's what makes you an Evil Villain.

Evan: But you could have stopped me and you didn't.

God: The word "could" does not apply to me.  I am Perfect, so I can only do Perfect things.  In any particular circumstance there is only one Perfect course of action, and that is what I do.

Achilles: So... do you have free will?

God: No.

Tortoise: That is quite the bombshell revelation.

God: I don't see why.  There are lots of things I can't do.  I can't sin, for example.

Evan: That sucks for you.  Sinning can be a hell of a lot of fun.

God: (Wistfully.)  Yeah, I know.  Being Perfect is a very heavy burden.

Tortoise: This is something I've always wondered about: do you set the standard for perfection?  Or is there some externally defined standard for perfection that you just happen (or are somehow required) to meet?  Could you create a universe where the actions that are sinful in our universe were not sinful?

God: That's a very good question.

Tortoise: I can't really take credit for it.  I got it from Socrates.

God: And what answer did he give?

Tortoise: He kinda waffled, actually.  Surely you knew that?

God: Of course I knew that.  I am all-knowing.

Tortoise: Then why did you ask?

God: Because I'm trying to answer your question.

Tortoise: I'm afraid you have me at a loss.  My question was very straightforward.  Why don't you just answer it?

God: Because you wouldn't believe me.

Tortoise: And how do you know... oh, right.  OK, go ahead.

God: How did you learn about Socrates?

Tortoise: By reading accounts of his dialogs with his students as transcribed by Plato.  Socrates himself left no writings of his own.

God: So how do you know that Socrates was a real person and not just a fictional character invented by Plato?

Tortoise: Well, there are many other contemporaneous accounts of Socrates.  His life is pretty well documented.

God: Our friend Achilles here is in a rather similar situation, no?

Achilles: How do you mean?

God: You left no writings of your own.  Your existence is vouched for exclusively through the works of other writers like Homer and Lewis Carroll.

Achilles: Are you implying that I'm not a real person?

God: I'm suggesting you might not be.

Achilles: But I'm standing right here!

God: How do you know?

Achilles: How... do... I... I can't even...  Mr. T., you can see me, right?

Tortoise: Of course I can.  I'm not blind.

Achilles: And Evan, you too?

Evan: Well, duh, dude.

Achilles: So what more evidence do you need?  What more evidence could there possibly be?  My exploits during the Trojan War are well documented.

God: Well, there's a problem right there.  When was the Trojan war?

Achilles: I'm afraid I flunked history class.

God: The exact date doesn't matter.  Before or after Julius Caesar?

Achilles: Oh, definitely before.  I was long retired by the time he came along.

God: And when was the modern steam locomotive, like the one that is even now barreling down the track towards Henrietta, invented?

Achilles: I dunno, 1850 maybe?

God: So a few thousand years after Troy, right?

Achilles: Right.

God: And you don't see the problem?

Achilles: Not really.

God: You are several thousand years old.

Achilles: So what?  My mother dunked me in the river Styx when I was a baby.  That made me invulnerable.

God: Except for your heel.  Where Paris shot you with an arrow and killed you (as prophesied by Hector).

Achilles: Now that you mention it, I do vaguely recall that.

God: And doesn't that strike you as the least bit odd?

Achilles: I suppose it does.  Maybe this is all a dream?

(Achilles pinches himself.)

Achilles: Ouch!  No, definitely real.

God: I want you to consider the possibility that despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, that in fact you do not exist, that you and the Tortoise and Evan and Henrietta and even I, the Lord thy God, are just fictional characters in a Socratic dialog.

Tortoise: That is not quite the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, but it's damn close.

God: And yet, it is true.

Tortoise: And who is the Author of this (alleged) dialog?

God: His name is Ron.

(There is a momentary stunned silence.  Then Achilles, the Tortoise, and Evan all burst out laughing uncontrollably.)

Henrietta: Men!  Honestly!

God: I told you that you wouldn't believe me.

Tortoise: Well, yeah, but that was not exactly a tough call.  Ron?  Seriously?  You couldn't come up with a name that had a bit more ... gravitas?  I mean, we're talking about an entity that created you, God, Lord of Hosts, Alpha and Omega, the Uncaused Cause.

God: I'm sorry it doesn't meet with your expectations, but the Author's name is Ron.  I can't do anything about that.

Achilles: I thought you were omnipotent?

God: In our universe, yes, I can move mountains.  Watch.

(A mountain in the distance suddenly floats into the air.)

Tortoise: I am definitely going to have to re-evaluate my worldview.

God: But Ron does not exist in our universe.  He is in an entirely different ontological category.

Tortoise: If Ron doesn't exist, how did he create us?

God: I didn't say he didn't exist.  I said he didn't exist in our universe.  He definitely exists.

Tortoise: But... in some other universe?

God: I warned you that this would be very hard to explain.  It's not really "some other universe" in the way that you're thinking of.  What you're thinking of (which I happen to know because I'm omniscient) is what physicists call a "parallel universe".  There are parallel universes.  For example, there is a parallel universe where tortoises are ninja warriors.

Tortoise: Just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any weirder.

God: The Author exists outside of all of these universes.  He transcends not just space and time, like I do, he transcends existence itself (by our standard of existence).  He exists in a way that you cannot possibly imagine, and which I cannot possibly explain (despite the fact that I do in fact understand it, having been granted this special dispensation by Ron himself).

Tortoise: So Ron is a sort of a meta-god?

God: You can think of him that way, but he's not a god.  He's a mortal.

Achilles: So Ron created us in His own image.

God: After a fashion.  But in fact, Mr. T. here is really more like Ron than you are, Achilles.

Tortoise: So the Author is a Tortoise?

God: No, he's a human.  But he's a nerd, not a jock.

Tortoise: Does the Author have free will?

God: Alas, I am not privy to that.  I am only omniscient within the scope of our own ontological category.  When it comes to the Author, even I know only what he has revealed to me.  But tell me, Mr. T., why is all this so important to you?

Tortoise: Because it bears on the question of whether or not we can save Henrietta's life.  If we fail to save Henrietta I want to know why.

God: Oh, is that all?  I'll tell you why.  It's because you've been wasting all this time talking about philosophy rather than just throwing the damn switch!

(At that instant, the train rushes by.  Henrietta lets out a blood-curdling scream.  The tortoise and Achilles look on helpless and horrified as the train rushes towards her.)

God: Well, my work here is done.  Toodle-oo.

(God disappears in a puff of smoke.  There is an awkward silence.)

Tortoise: [BLEEP]!

Achilles: You know, Mr. T., there is one other thing we could try.

Tortoise: I'm all ears.

Achilles: We could ask the Author to save Henrietta.

Tortoise: You can't be serious.

Achilles: What is there to lose?

Tortoise: The remains of my dignity?  I'm really starting to feel as if I'm being punked.

Achilles: OK, I'll do it.  Oh mighty Author, please save Henrietta!

(As if on cue, the train suddenly makes a horrible screeching noise, derails, and bursts into flames.  Burning passengers run from the train, screaming in agony.  Achilles, Evan and the Tortoise survey the carnage in stunned silence.)

Evan:  Whoa.  Dude.

Henrietta: Can one of you idiots please come over here and untie me?

Monday, December 18, 2017

Book review: "A New Map for Relationships: Creating True Love at Home and Peace on the Planet" by Dorothie and Martin Hellman

We humans dream of meeting our soul mates, someone to be Juliet to our Romeo, Harry to our Sally, Jobs to our Woz, Larry to our Sergey.  Sadly, the odds are stacked heavily against us.  If you do the math you will find that in a typical human lifetime we can only hope to meet a tiny fraction of our 7 billion fellow humans.  And if you factor in the time it takes to properly vet someone to see if they're a suitable life (or business) partner, the set of prospects that you can reasonably expect to screen gets even smaller.

To make matters worse, finding a long-term partner in any endeavor is necessarily a barter transaction.  It's not enough that they be a good match for you, you also need to be a good match for them.  So when against all odds we find a suitable prospect, in order to improve our chances of closing the deal, we dissemble.  We put on our best clothes and our best behavior and engage in courtship rituals.  It is only much later, when the effort invested into a relationship has become significant and the sunk-cost fallacy is fully in play that we are willing to take the risk of revealing our true faces.  At which point, all too often, all hell breaks loose.

This dynamic plays itself out not just in interpersonal relationships, but in business and even international relationships as well (which are, after all, still human relationships).  I've seen more businesses fail than I care to count because the founders got to the point where they couldn't stand working with each other any more.

"A New Map for Relationships: Creating True Love at Home and Peace on the Planet" by Dorothie and Martin Hellman is a book about human relationships in the small and in the large.  It is divided into two parts.  In the first, the authors recount how their own marriage very nearly ended in divorce, and how they were able to put it back together again by practicing "compassion and holistic thinking."  In the second part, they speculate on how the lessons they learned from that experience might be extended to help repair international relationships.  The "new map" in the title refers to a literal paper map in the opening anecdote, which one of the authors (I don't want to give too many spoilers) tore to shreds during a dispute over finding directions.  This torn up map serves as a metaphor that binds the book together thematically.  It alternates between jointly-written sections, and passages attributed specifically to one author or the other, presented as dialogs.

This would normally be the point where I go through the book chapter by chapter giving pithy summaries of the content seasoned with my own erudite observations and amplifications.  But that presents me with a problem.  In fact, it presents me with the very problem that this book seeks to address: writing a book review is part of not just one but two human relationships, between the reviewer and the author, and between the reviewer and the audience.  The reason I read this book in the first place is that I met Martin Hellman at a political fundraiser.  We chatted, discovered that we seemed to have a lot of interests in common, and subsequently got together for a more extensive conversation at his home.

One of the reasons I was interested in pursuing this relationship is that Martin Hellman is not just an author, but also one of the founders of the field of modern cryptography.  One of the cornerstones of modern computer security is something called the Diffie-Hellman algorithm, of which Martin is the Hellman part.  For someone like me who is involved professionally in computer security, meeting Martin Hellman is like a physicist meeting Werner Heisenberg or Richard Feynman.

So reviewing this book presents me with a serious conflict of interest because Martin Hellman is famous and influential in my field.  A good word from him could open doors for me, and that gives me an incentive to write a more positive review than I might otherwise do in order to curry favor.  (Not that I would ever dream of doing such a thing!  But it's a theoretical possibility.)

Ordinarily this would be no more than a run-of-the-mill conflict that just comes with the territory of engaging in the academic process.  But in this case what would normally just be an innocent white lie would actually violate one of the central messages of the book!  One of the things the book advocates is committing oneself to a "zealous search for the truth."  So if I thought the book sucked, should I say so?  On the one hand, being straightforward and honest would show respect for this part of the book's message.  On the other hand, it might offend Martin and make him less likely to want to interact with me in the future.  Worse, I might just be *wrong*, and being honest about my (wrong) negative opinion might cause someone not to read this book who might otherwise have read it.  That person in turn might end up being the crucial link in a chain of events that leads to the next nuclear war, a possibility that the book takes very seriously (an entire chapter is dedicated to examining the logic of nuclear deterrence).  Might it be that to best serve the stated goal of this book I need to violate one of its tenets?

Interestingly, the book offers a parable which is almost directly on-point: Martin Hellman co-invented one of the cornerstones of modern computer technology, but he never made any money from it.  Other people did, however, and the book describes how that came about in some interesting (to a crypto geek like me) first-person historical detail.  At one point, Martin is presented with the opportunity to participate in a business deal, a side-effect of which would be to wreak some revenge on the people whose actions deprived him of the financial rewards of his invention.  The deal looks like a good one, but he worries that his reasoning is being clouded: does he want to proceed because it's really a good deal, or because it would serve his desire for revenge?  (If you want to know how it went you'll have to read the book!)

And now, having raised this issue, I face an even more serious problem.  Suppose I tell you now that this book is awesome, that everyone should read it, that it has the potential to pave the way to world peace.  Would you believe me?

This is the fundamental problem with all human relationships: we humans are *complicated*.  We want different things.  Just figuring out what someone's true goals are is really hard.  Heck, just figuring out what your *own* goals are is hard!  This is where many interpersonal relationships fail, because each side makes assumptions about the other's goals, or even their own, that turn out not to be true.  This is indeed one of the central messages of "A New Map..."  But (and this really is my honest assessment now) it doesn't go nearly far enough in heeding its own advice.

Consider the sub-title: "Creating True Love at Home and Peace on the Planet."  This certainly sounds appealing to me, and if you're reading my blog it is very likely appealing to you, but believe it or not it is not appealing to everyone.  Some (self-identified) Christians, for example, don't want Peace on the Planet, they want to hasten the Second Coming of Christ, and they believe that the best way to accomplish that is not to foster peace, but to catalyze the final war that will be the harbinger of His arrival.  These people celebrated Donald Trump's recent recognition of Jerusalem as the capital of Israel, not *despite* the risk that it might derail the peace process, but *because* it might do so.  Hard as it may be to fathom, some people are actually rooting for war (and some of them are influential in the Trump administration).

Another example: radical Islamists want neither World Peace nor True Love, they want a Caliphate.  If war is the means, so much the better, because then they get to die gloriously in service to Allah.  In their minds there is nothing nobler to which a human can aspire.  I could go on and on: some people believe that money and/or power are the ultimate measure of human virtue.  Some people believe that their nation-state has a manifest destiny to dominate the world.  Some people are desperately poor and have nothing to lose.  Some people make their living by selling weapons; World Peace would ruin them.

Achieving reconciliation is hard enough when everyone involved already shares the same goals.  What if they don't?  To this question the book offers no answer [1].  Because of that, although this book has a lot of sound and actionable advice for individuals who share the goal of making a personal relationship work, I am not optimistic that its lessons will find application on a larger scale.

Ultimately, "A New Map..." suffers from the same problem that doomed Sam Harris's "The Moral Landscape" in my eyes: both Sam and the Hellmans view the world through the lens of intellectually and economically privileged white western liberalism.  As I said in my review of Sam's book, I have a lot of sympathy for this point of view because I am myself an intellectually privileged white western liberal.  But I grew up in the South, and I've spent a fair amount of time traveling in Muslim countries.  So I'm pretty sure that the people who really ought to read this book, the ones who need to be reached in order to achieve its goals, will not even get past the title before dismissing it as yet another ivory-tower liberal calling on people to sit by the campfire and sing kumbaya.

This book is chock-full of well researched facts, sound reasoning, and actionable advice.  But I am not sanguine that the struggle for world peace will be won with facts and reasoning.

Notwithstanding everything that I've just said, this book is awesome.  Everyone should read it.

[1] In response to a preview of this review, the authors pushed back on this and claimed that the book does have an answer, and that it is presented in Chapter 8.  I won't try to summarize it here because I find their argument unconvincing (which is probably why I didn't consider it when I wrote that passage).  I direct the interested reader to the book, where they can make up their own minds.

Saturday, December 16, 2017

Here comes the next west coast mega-drought

As long as I'm blogging about extreme weather events I would also like to remind everyone that we just came off of the longest drought in California history, followed immediately by the wettest rainy season in California history.  Now it looks like that history could very well be starting to repeat itself.  The weather pattern that caused the six-year-long Great Drought is starting to form again.  It is now deep into what would normally be the rainy season, but the last time it rained was over two weeks ago.  The forecast is for zero percent chance of rain into the foreseeable future (which at the moment is through Christmas).

But I guess we deserve it because we voted for Hillary.

This should convince the climate skeptics. But it probably won't.

One of the factoids that climate-change denialists cling to is the fact (and it is a fact) that major storms haven't gotten measurably worse.  The damage from storms has gotten measurably worse, but that can be attributed to increased development on coastlines.  It might be that the storms themselves have gotten worse, but the data is not good enough to disentangle the two effects.

But storms are not the only natural disasters exacerbated by climate change.  As I write this, the Thomas Fire has grown to be the third largest in California history.  It only needs to grow another 10% to get to the #1 spot, and since it is only 40% contained at the moment and a new round of Santa Ana winds are blowing even as I write this, it will almost certainly achieve that dubious distinction.

But you can't draw conclusions about long-term trends from any single data point, so why am I bringing this up?  Because the Thomas fire is not an isolated incident.  It is only the latest in a long string of record-breaking fires in California.  If you look at the list of the twenty largest fires in California history, fifteen of them have happened in the last 20 years.  Nineteen of them have happened in the last 50 years.  The only fire on the top 20 list before 1970 was in 1932.

This increase in fire size cannot be the result of human development.  If anything, human development should result in smaller fires, because development removes wildland fuel.

There is also the national climate assessment, which has additional evidence that human-induced climate change is producing more catastrophic weather events.  This report was published by the Trump administration.  If that doesn't convince you that the problem is real and serious, then you will find kindred spirits among the birthers, the lunar landing denialists and the flat-earthers.  Good luck to you.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

Why Abortion is (not) Immoral: a followup

This is a followup to my previous post, "A Review of 'Why Abortion is Immoral'".  I want to follow up for two reasons.  First, in my original post I made a serious mistake, which I want to acknowledge, and also explain why I don't think the mistake impacts the overall validity of my original argument.  Second, Peter Donis introduced an interesting new wrinkle in the comments to that post, which I want to discuss at some length.

The mistake I made was claiming that Don Marquis "moved the goal posts" in his justification for why the future-of-value criterion (FOVC) does not imply the immorality of birth control.  That part wasn't wrong; he does move the goal posts, just not where I said he did.  What I said was that his justification required that a future-of-value be bound to a particular thing, and that this was not part of his original criterion.  That was wrong.  It was part of his original criterion, as commenter Publius kindly pointed out.

Here is Marquis original presentation.  I've added a highlight to the part that I missed (or at least forgot about):
What primarily makes killing wrong is neither its effect on the murderer nor its effect on the victim’s friends and relatives, but its effect on the victim. The loss of one’s life is one of the greatest losses one can suffer. The loss of one’s life deprives one of all the experiences, activities, projects, and enjoyments which would otherwise have constituted one’s future.  Therefore, killing someone is wrong, primarily because the killing inflicts (one of) the greatest possible losses on the victim.
He continues, but notice the subtle shift from the third to the first person:
To describe this as the loss of life can be misleading, however. The change in my biological state does not by itself make killing me wrong. The effect of the loss of my biological life is the loss to me of all those activities, projects, experiences, and enjoyments which would otherwise have constituted my future personal life. These activities, projects, experiences, and enjoyments are either valuable for their own sakes or are means to something else that is valuable for its own sake. Some parts of my future are not valued by me now, but will come to be valued by me as I grow older and as my values and capacities change. When I am killed, I am deprived both of what I now value which would have been part of my future personal life, but also what I would come to value. Therefore, when I die, I am deprived of all of the value of my future. Inflicting this loss on me is ultimately what makes killing me wrong.
He does this because he wants one of the consequences of his theory to be that killing hermits is morally wrong.  The only way to do that is to measure the future value of a human life by the quality metric of the person living it.  We don't want to have to find someone else to vouch for us in order to establish our own value.

Marquis continues by concluding:
This being the case, it would seem that what makes killing any adult human being prima facie seriously wrong is the loss of his other future.
This of course does not mean that the FOVC only applies to adult human beings.  The form of the argument is, "what makes the killing of adult human beings wrong is FOVC, therefore FOVC is a valid criterion by which to judge the wrongness of killing, and hence it is wrong to kill anything that values its own future."

Marquis then goes on to list four redeeming qualities of FOVC which I listed in the original post.  The fourth of these is:
In the fourth place, the account of the wrongness of killing defended in this essay does straightforwardly entail that it is prima facie seriously wrong to kill children and infants, for we do presume that they have futures of value.
Note the highlighted words.  This are where he actually moves the goal posts.  It's a subtle but crucial shift, and I think that may be why I missed it the first time around: "WE presume that THEY have futures of value."  Indeed fetuses do have futures of value relative to other people's quality metrics.  But Marquis has explicitly disclaimed this mode of reasoning!   It is not the effect of killing on friends, family, or concerned bystanders that makes killing wrong, it's the negative impact on the victim as assessed by the victim.  This is not an accident; it's the only way to save the hermits.  It's also the only way to not arrive at the conclusion that euthanasia is wrong.

The problem for Marquis is that fetuses do not and cannot possibly value their own lives.  To value anything you have to have a brain, and fetuses don't.  And it's even worse than that: the essential ingredient for valuing things is not a brain but a mind.  (This is why it's generally considered OK to kill brain-dead people and harvest their organs: they have brains, but not minds.)  Newborn babies have brains, but whether nor not they have minds is debatable.  In particular it's debatable whether a newborn human has more of a mind than, say, an adult chicken.  In fact, if you present the question to a chicken in a form that it can understand (e.g. standing over it with butcher's knife in your hand) I'll wager it will give you some pretty definitive indications that it does indeed value its own future.

So not only does FOVC fail to save fetuses, it even fails to save newborns, at least as long as we find it acceptable to kill chickens for food.  Oh well, at least the hermits can breathe a sigh of relief.  (And maybe the chickens if people really start to take Marquis seriously.)

I suppose the reason I missed this is that I was trying to give Marquis the benefit of the doubt, because the theory as he actually presents it is just hopeless.  The only way I can see to salvage it is to accept the moving of the goal posts, accept the premise that babies have futures-of-value because we adult humans say they do, and reason from there, at which point you run into the problem I described in the previous post, namely, that it's hard to decide where to stop the extrapolation backwards in time.  If you're going to impute value all the way back to the zygote, why stop there?

Enter Peter Donis with an unusually innovative (by the standards of the abortion debate) proposal to draw the bright line at implantation rather than fertilization.  Note that it is not even worth considering this unless we have already abandoned Marquis's FOVC-AABTV (As Assessed By The Victim).  We have to accept, either as an axiom or as a consequence of some other criterion, that the value of a newborn infant has already crossed the threshold beyond which it is morally wrong to kill it.  Then -- but only then -- we can ask: where was this threshold crossed?

The overwhelmingly most popular answer to this question (by those who accept its premises) is: at conception.  But this has problems with regards to the moral status of frozen embryos, the destruction of which most people do not regard as a moral transgression on a par with murder.  Peter's suggestion of drawing the line at implantation rather than conception is designed to solve that problem, along with several others that depend on events that are common before implantation but rare afterwards.

But this is only a temporary solution.  The problem of the moral status of frozen embryos only exists because we actually have the technology to freeze embryos.  Implantation is only a bright line because we don't yet have the technology to incubate an embryo outside of a womb.  But that constraint is probably only temporary, and it would be nice to have a moral framework that was AW-ready (Artificial Womb) as well as IA- and AI-ready.

The straightforward extrapolation of Peter's implantation criterion to artificial wombs is that an embryo crosses the moral threshold when it is taken out of the freezer and implanted into an artificial womb.  So let's do a thought experiment: a couple decides to have a kid, takes an embryo out of the freezer and puts it (literally!) in the oven.  Let's suppose that this is early days and the technology has not yet advanced to the point where you can order a Mr-Womb machine from Amazon.  You have to pay a company to rent and operate their machine.

Three months in to the process, both parents lose their jobs and are no longer able to pay the bills.  What should happen?

Or suppose that the technology has advanced to the point where you can buy a Mr. Womb for $199 and conduct this entire process in the comfort and privacy of your own home.  Now one day the couple's six-year-old daughter decides she wants a little sister, takes an embryo out of the freezer, pops it in and pushes the button.  Some hours later, the parents wake up and are horrified to discover what little Suzie has done.  They can't afford another child.  If they pull the plug at this point, have they committed murder?

It's also interesting to construct similar thought experiments based on hypothetical "gestational" processes for AIs.  I started writing one of those up and it turned into a very long passage (I think it could actually make a good premise for a science-fiction novel!) so I'm going to set that aside for now.

Friday, November 24, 2017

A review of "Why Abortion is Immoral"

Commenter Publius pointed me to this paper by Don Marquis, which advances a secular argument that abortion is immoral.  It's a good paper with an unusually well-reasoned -- though nonetheless incorrect -- argument.  I recommend reading it.  Finding the flaw in Marquis's argument makes an interesting and worthwhile exercise.  Seriously, go read it.  I'l wait.

Publius posted this link in the comments of my post, "The utter absurdity of the pro-life position."  I want to make it clear that the intended target of that post was a political position, not a philosophical one.  The political position is the one being advanced in the United States by a loosely affiliated coalition of organizations who refer to themselves as "pro life" (as opposed to their detractors who refer to them as "anti-abortion" or "anti-choice").  My post was intended to point out the intellectual dishonesty of this political movement, not to make the argument that an intellectually honest argument against abortion is not possible.  I have made that argument against other political positions (e.g. gays should be denied the right to marry) but I do not take this position on abortion.  Gay marriage is completely cut-and-dried.  It cannot be be and never has been opposed on any grounds other than thinly disguised (and sometimes not so thinly disguised) bigotry.

Not so with abortion.  I believe that it is possible for a reasonable and right-minded person to come to the conclusion that abortion is wrong.  That is why I support choice rather than (say) actively promoting abortion as a form of birth control.  However, I believe that most of the people active in the anti-abortion movement are neither reasonable nor right-minded because most of them also oppose the active promotion of birth control, which is the totally no-brainer answer to reducing the number of abortions.  But that's not what this post is about.

What this post is about is Don Marquis's argument, which really deserves to be taken seriously, notwithstanding that (IMHO) it is wrong.  The reason it deserves to be taken seriously is that it is an example of what a sound argument for the immorality of abortion would look like were one ever to be found.  Merely proclaiming that a fetus is a baby and describing the mechanics of an abortion in the most horrific terms one can muster doesn't count.  Proof-by-horror-story is not sound reasoning.  Marquis's argument is sober and secular.  It does not appeal to God or the "sanctity of life".  It is based on premises that are widely accepted by both religious and non-religious people.  For that reason alone it has promise as a way of actually advancing the debate in this seemingly intractable conflict.

Marquis's argument is also worth taking seriously because it might be salvageable.  It might be possible to patch the flaw in his argument (though I don't think so) and this could represent a real advance in the theory of human morality.  It was not that long ago that the idea that slavery was immoral was still legitimately controversial, so progress can (and often does) happen.

With that to frame the discussion, let me start by summarizing the Marquis's argument.  He begins, to his credit, by asking the question why killing is wrong in the first place, a necessary step which is too often glossed over, probably because both sides agree that killing is generally wrong even if they don't agree on why.  This covers up the possibility that the different justifications of the wrongness of killing might be the source of intractable disagreement down the line.  Indeed, Marquis opens the paper by pointing our how a failure to nail down the reason that killing is wrong in the first place causes problems for both sides:
the pro-choicer wants to find a moral principle concerning the wrongness of killing which tends to be narrow in scope in order that fetuses will not fall under it. The problem with narrow principles is that they often do not embrace enough. Hence, the needed principles such as “It is prima facie seriously wrong to kill only persons” or “It is prima facie wrong to kill only rational agents” do not explain why it is wrong to kill infants or young children or the severely retarded or even perhaps the severely mentally ill.
Appeals to social utility will seem satisfactory only to those who resolve not to think of the enormous difficulties with a utilitarian account of the wrongness of killing and the significant social costs of preserving the lives of the unproductive. A pro-choice strategy that extends the definition of “person” to infants or even to young children seems just as arbitrary as an anti-abortion strategy that extends the definition of “human being” to fetuses.
The principle “Only persons have the right to life” also suffers from an ambiguity. The term “person” is typically defined in terms of psychological characteristics, although there will certainly be disagreement concerning which characteristics are most important. Supposing that this matter can be settled, the pro-choicer is left with the problem of explaining why psychological characteristics should make a moral difference.
As an aside, let me point out that as an idea-ist I do not have a problem explaining this: psychological characteristics make moral differences because my foundational moral principle is that the interests of memes are primary.  Hence in my moral system the value of human life is not a premise but a conclusion, and one that is contingent on a human being able to provide habitat for memes, and a pre-requisite for that is having a functioning brain.  But let's leave that aside for now because this is not about me, it's about Marquis.

Marquis's answer to the question of why killing is wrong is that it deprives someone of their future.
[K]illing someone is wrong, primarily because the killing inflicts (one of) the greatest possible losses on the victim.  To describe this as the loss of life can be misleading, however. The change in my biological state does not by itself make killing me wrong. The effect of the loss of my biological life is the loss to me of all those activities, projects, experiences, and enjoyments which would otherwise have constituted my future personal life. These activities, projects, experiences, and enjoyments are either valuable for their own sakes or are means to something else that is valuable for its own sake. Some parts of my future are not valued by me now, but will come to be valued by me as I grow older and as my values and capacities change. When I am killed, I am deprived both of what I now value which would have been part of my future personal life, but also what I would come to value. Therefore, when I die, I am deprived of all of the value of my future. Inflicting this loss on me is ultimately what makes killing me wrong. This being the case, it would seem that what makes killing any adult human being prima facie seriously wrong is the loss of his other future.
Marquis calls this the future-of-value criterion, but sometimes refers to it as future-like-ours.  He cites four advantages of his theory, all of which I agree with: First, it's IA-proof.  Many theories of the wrongness of killing are human-centric and don't apply to intelligent aliens, but the future-of-value criterion does.  Second, it plausibly extends to animals.  Third, it does not imply that euthanasia is wrong (though it might be wrong for other reasons).  And fourth, it straightforwardly entails the wrongness of killing infants and children.

And, of course, it straightforwardly entails the wrongness of killing fetuses.

So what is wrong with this argument?

The problem is that the argument implies not only that abortion is wrong, but that contraception is wrong too, because it destroys the same future-of-value that abortion does.  Marquis addresses this issue towards the end of the paper:
But this analysis does not entail that contraception is wrong. Of course, contraception prevents the actualization of a possible future of value. Hence, it follows from the claim that futures of value should be maximized that contraception is prima facie immoral. This obligation to maximize does not exist, however; furthermore, nothing in the ethics of killing in this paper entails that it does. The ethics of killing in this essay would entail that contraception is wrong only if something were denied a human future of value by contraception. Nothing at all is denied such a future by contraception, however.
Candidates for a subject of harm by contraception fall into four categories: (1) some sperm or other, (2) some ovum or other, (3) a sperm and an ovum separately, and (4) a sperm and an ovum together. Assigning the harm to some sperm is utterly arbitrary, for no reason can be given for making a sperm the subject of harm rather than an ovum. Assigning the harm to some ovum is utterly arbitrary, for no reason can be given for making an ovum the subject of harm rather than a sperm. One might attempt to avoid these problems by insisting that contraception deprives both the sperm and the ovum separately of a valuable future like ours. On this alternative, too many futures are lost. Contraception was supposed to be wrong, because it deprived us of one future of value, not two. One might attempt to avoid this problem by holding that contraception deprives the combination of sperm and ovum of a valuable future like ours. But here the definite article misleads. At the time of contraception, there are hundreds of millions of sperm, one (released) ovum and millions of possible combinations of all of these. There is no actual combination at all. Is the subject of the loss to be a merely possible combination? Which one? This alternative does not yield an actual subject of harm either. Accordingly, the immorality of contraception is not entailed by the loss of a future-like-ours argument simply because there is no nonarbitrarily identifiable subject of the loss in the case of contraception.
Note, however, that Marquis has actually moved the goal posts here.  [UPDATE: I was wrong about this.  Marquis is not making a tacit change here, though it turns out not to matter.  Thanks to commenter Publius for pointing out my mistake.]  Before, he tried to move away from the problems associated with basing a moral judgement of abortion on the putative "value of human life" by basing it on a "future of value" instead, a criterion that applies to intelligent aliens as well as humans.  So far so good.  But now he has sneakily added an additional criterion to his quality metric, namely, that the future-of-value in question must be strongly bound to some thing.  He didn't actually say this before, but let's give him the benefit of the doubt.  At first blush it might seem that this little tweak actually does save the day because (he claims) the thing to which the future-of-value is bound has not yet come into existence before conception.

But in fact, his little tweak has changed an otherwise promising theory into one that merely begs the question.  It is far from clear that the thing to which the future-of-value is bound comes into existence at conception.  If there were consensus on this point there would be no argument.  Everyone would agree that an embryo is a human/person/whatever-it-is-you-want-to-call-a-thing-with-a-future-of-value and we'd be done.  But it is disagreement on this very point on which the whole controversy hangs.

And indeed there are strong reasons to doubt the proposition that a blastocyst is a thing-with-a-future-of-value while the sperm and egg that create it are not.  For starters, there are an awful lot of additional ingredients that need to be added to the pot before a blastocyst becomes a baby.  In fact, pretty close to 100% of the material that ends up being the baby is not present in the blastocyst, or even the embryo.

That prosaic consideration alone is enough to sink Marquis's argument, but we are far from done.  The first thing that happens to a newly fertilized egg is that it divides into two cells.  Each of those divides again, and so on and so on until baby is born (and thereafter as well).  But up until the third or fourth division, every one of those cells is totipotent, that is, each one is capable of developing into a fully formed human being by itself.  And indeed this happens naturally on occasion; that's how identical twins are formed.  So up until the the blastocyst becomes an embryo, is it one thing with a future-of-value, or is it multiple things?  (This is actually a serious theological question for those who hold that a human receives their soul at conception: do identical twins share one soul?  If not, where does the second one come from?)

We're still not done, far from it.  Nowadays we have the technology to intentionally separate out the cells of a blastocyst.  By failing to do so, we are depriving the individual cells of the blastocyst of having individual futures-of-value.  Are we then morally obligated to separate them?

In point of fact, this whole idea that even a fully fledged adult human is a single thing with a continuity-of-identity that can survive any circumstance (other than death) is really just a reflection of our current technological limitations.  Some day we'll be able to clone humans.  When that day comes, every cell in your body will be a mere technological intervention away from becoming a fully fledged human being without ever having been conceived.  What is the moral status of all of those potential humans?  If you injure yourself to the point where some of your cells die, are you depriving thousands of potential humans of their futures-of-value?

There is absolutely no basis for stipulating that a blastocyst is a thing-with-a-future-of-value while sperm-and-egg separately are not.  Indeed, there are strong philosophical arguments that call into question the idea that the identity of a thing has any sharp boundaries at all, or even that the very concept of "thing" is logically coherent.

Marquis sweeps all this under the rug and just blithely assumes, with no justification whatsoever, that there is a bright line to be drawn at conception, or at least somewhere, to keep us away from the infinite regress of potentiality that dooms the future-of-value argument.  But not only is there no bright line here, there are no bright lines in the whole universe.  That is, and always has been, the whole problem.