According to behavioral genetics, identical twins raised together are about as similar as identical twins raised separately.
Identical twins (raised separately or together) have personalities that are much more similar than two people chosen at random and much more similar than fraternal twins (raised together or separately). However, they do not have identical personalities. Far from it. Behavioral geneticists say that identical twins’ personalities correlate about 55% (without going into the technical details of how exactly these correlations are defined).
Identical twins share all of their genes. Identical twins raised apart share all of their genes and half of their environment; identical twins raised together share all of their genes and all of their environment. Behavioral geneticists conclude that 50% of personality comes from the genes, 0% to 10% comes from the environment, and 40% to 50% comes from...somewhere else.
(Note that behavioral geneticists also study fraternal twins and non-twin siblings, and the data from those studies tends to support these conclusions. For more details, see Chapter 19 of “The Blank Slate” by Steven Pinker.)
Somewhere else? But where else? Where else could personality come from, besides heredity and environment?
The simplest way to resolve The Twins Paradox is, of course, to conclude that the difference in personality comes from the soul. You might point out that identical twins raised together have the same genes and the same environment, but different souls. Maybe about half of your personality is from your genes and half is from your soul.
However, many modern thinkers are reluctant to embrace the hypothesis that the soul is a metaphysical entity with an independent existence.
Some have proposed that the hidden variable in The Twins Paradox is birth order, or the peer group. These solutions don’t make any sense to me. Identical twins raised together share both their birth order and their peer group, so how could these variables possibly account for the variation?
Two interesting solutions are those proposed by Steven Pinker and Daniel Dennett.
Steven Pinker proposes that the computational process that builds our personalities relies, like many computational processes in man-made digital computers, on random (quantum random or pseudo-random, it doesn’t matter) branches. If this is the case, then the finished “Personality” product can look very different, even if the original plan was the same, and even if there was no systematic input from the environment.
Daniel Dennett suggests that each human being spin a Self like a spider spins a web. The choices that each human being makes in his developmental years, as he is constructing himself, has profound consequences for the Self he turns out to be.
There’s a big difference between these two suggestions. Pinker’s suggestion is an attempt at explaining an unexpected phenomenon. Dennett’s was a prediction. It can be found in his book “Elbow Room”, published in 1984. He makes no mention of the data from behavioral genetics. Usually, Dennett loves data. He’s always quoting some experiment or another. So either the data was not available in 1984, or Dennett wasn’t aware of it.
(OK, wise guy, I don’t know what year the behavioral genetics data are from, or what year they became well-known. I tried to figure it out with my usual method: I searched Wikipedia for 5 minutes and then gave up. If the behavioral genetics data are from after 1984, that would show definitively that Dennett’s theory was a prediction. If the behavioral genetics data are from before 1984, we wouldn’t really know. I can tell you that Pinker’s “Blank Slate” is from 2003, and Judith Rich Harris’s “Nurture Assumption”, which relies on the same data, is from 1998.)
If I’m right, and Dennett’s theory was really a prediction of a experimental results that shocked everyone else, it doesn’t mean he’s right. It’s just one of those things that make you go “hmmm...”
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Free Will and the Theory of Computation: A Platonic Dialogue by MC Complete
Pierre: But you know the real reason I invited you to La Place de la Creme was to celebrate.
Daniel: Congratulations! Celebrate what?
Pierre: My project is finally finished.
Daniel: Your project? You mean the determinism engine you’re always talking about?
Pierre: Yes, the determinism engine. It has a complete model of the state of the universe and a complete model of physical law. It can predict what will happen at any point in time or space.
Daniel: The model of physical law is very impressive, but how could it have a complete model of the state of the universe? How are you storing all that information?
Pierre: Oh, that. It’s just an extrapolated matter analysis of a piece of fairy cake.
Daniel: Cool, like in “The Hitchiker’s Guide”?
Pierre: Exactly.
Daniel: Well, Pierre, this really is an amazing accomplishment. Let’s order some ice cream.
Pierre: Wait a minute, aren’t you going to ask me to predict something?
Daniel: What, right now?
Pierre: Of course. I can predict anything you want. The weather, the stock market, the Super Bowl -- just ask.
Daniel: Wow, that is so cool. Can you predict what flavor of ice cream I’m going to order?
Pierre: Of course, I’ll ask the daemon about your ice cream order right now.
Daniel: The daemon?
Pierre: Yes, the determinism engine, it's a background process, don't you know.
(They wait.)
Daniel: I’m sorry to say, but your daemon is really slow. How long is this going to take?
Pierre: No, the daemon is actually very fast, it’s just the WiFi at La Place is ancient, it's like something out of the 19th century. OK, here we go. It says here that you’re going to order chocolate.
Daniel: Wow. That is so cool. Waiter, I’d like a vanilla ice cream please.
Waiter: Excellent choice, Sir. I’ll be right back with your ice cream.
Pierre: Vanilla?
Waiter: Here you go, Sir. Enjoy.
Pierre: Wait a minute, vanilla?
Daniel: This stuff is delicious. You should get some for yourself.
Pierre: I don’t believe it. How did you do that? Do you have free will?
Daniel: Not free, Pierre, not free. Just undecidable.
Monday, April 30, 2012
The Forgotten City: A Hasidic Parable by MC Complete
A long time ago, in the days of Avraham Avinu, there was a very unusual city.
The people of the city were great baalei chessed. They took care of the widows and the orphans, the sick, the elderly and the poor. They were gentle and honest, and crime was almost unheard of. Discord and quarrels were rare. They had high standards of tznius. They were happy, humble, hard working, and intellectual. Of course, all the people of the city believed in Hashem and hated idolatry.
The people of the city had only one problem, namely, everyone else. Everyone else in the world was obviously very different from them. The surrounding culture was full of violence, oppression, promiscuity, and, worst of all, idolatry. So it was very important for the people of the city to keep out all negative influences, in other words, tumah.
Unfortunately, keeping out the tumah proved to be an almost impossible task. As we know all too well in the modern age, tumah is like the wild animals of the ten plagues. If you close the door, it comes in the window. If you close the window, it sticks its arm in through the ceiling and unlocks the door.
Eventually, the people of the city had no choice but to sever all contacts with the outside world. They knew they would endure some hardship under a subsistence economy, but they knew they were doing the right thing and they trusted in Hashem. Also, Hashem had blessed them with a great deal of extremely fertile land within the city limits. It was almost like the Garden of Eden. So they weren’t too worried.
Unfortunately, cutting off the outside world did not help much, for a very simple reason: the outside world didn’t get the memo. Idolaters kept visiting, bringing their tumah with them. The people of the city tried putting up a big sign:
MONOTHEISTS ONLY
NO TRESPASSING
But the idolaters just ignored it. They simply had no respect for the values, traditions and customs of the city. So the people of the city had no choice. They added another line to the sign, which now read:
MONOTHEISTS ONLY
NO TRESPASSING
VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW
For some reason, the people of the city chose a strange and abominable punishment for the crime of trespassing. Eventually, Hashem got sick of watching them administer this bizarre punishment to the trespassers, and He destroyed the city.
The people of the city were great baalei chessed. They took care of the widows and the orphans, the sick, the elderly and the poor. They were gentle and honest, and crime was almost unheard of. Discord and quarrels were rare. They had high standards of tznius. They were happy, humble, hard working, and intellectual. Of course, all the people of the city believed in Hashem and hated idolatry.
The people of the city had only one problem, namely, everyone else. Everyone else in the world was obviously very different from them. The surrounding culture was full of violence, oppression, promiscuity, and, worst of all, idolatry. So it was very important for the people of the city to keep out all negative influences, in other words, tumah.
Unfortunately, keeping out the tumah proved to be an almost impossible task. As we know all too well in the modern age, tumah is like the wild animals of the ten plagues. If you close the door, it comes in the window. If you close the window, it sticks its arm in through the ceiling and unlocks the door.
Eventually, the people of the city had no choice but to sever all contacts with the outside world. They knew they would endure some hardship under a subsistence economy, but they knew they were doing the right thing and they trusted in Hashem. Also, Hashem had blessed them with a great deal of extremely fertile land within the city limits. It was almost like the Garden of Eden. So they weren’t too worried.
Unfortunately, cutting off the outside world did not help much, for a very simple reason: the outside world didn’t get the memo. Idolaters kept visiting, bringing their tumah with them. The people of the city tried putting up a big sign:
MONOTHEISTS ONLY
NO TRESPASSING
But the idolaters just ignored it. They simply had no respect for the values, traditions and customs of the city. So the people of the city had no choice. They added another line to the sign, which now read:
MONOTHEISTS ONLY
NO TRESPASSING
VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW
For some reason, the people of the city chose a strange and abominable punishment for the crime of trespassing. Eventually, Hashem got sick of watching them administer this bizarre punishment to the trespassers, and He destroyed the city.
Monday, March 26, 2012
The Tefillin and the Etrog: A Hasidic Parable by MC Complete
(This story is based on a story of Rebbe Nachum of Chernobyl. See “The First Year of Marriage” by Rabbi Abraham J Twersky, MD, in the chapter on “Anger”.)
Once upon a time, there was a Hasid who was very poor. He lived in a small, two bedroom apartment with his wife and five children (they only had five because they couldn’t afford any more). They never had meat and fish except for Shabbos, when the Hasid’s wife bought a pack of chicken necks, which she split between the soup and the cholent. The Hasid worked 10 hours a day 6 days a week and he had many debts.
The Hasid did have one treasure. From his father, he had inherited the tefillin of the Kotzker. He laned the Kotzker’s tefillin for Shacharit every morning, and he could almost feel the holiness of the Kotzker himself. Rich men often approached the Hasid with large monetary offers for the tefillin, but he refused to part with them.
One Tishrei, the Hasid was shopping for Arba Minim. This time of year was always very depressing for him. He couldn’t avoid seeing many beautiful etrogim, but he could never afford any but the simplest etrog. As he walked through the shuk, expensive etrogim winked at the Hasid, sang to him, bombarded him with gravitons of desire. “Buy me,” they said. “You know you want to.”
“I can’t,” the Hasid replied. “I don’t have any money.”
Finally, he found an etrog that he could afford. With a heavy heart, he reached into his pocket for change, when he suddenly heard an etrog voice: “How can you appear before the King of Kings with such a shoddy etrog? Why, it’s barely kosher!”
The Hasid turned around, and saw, in the adjacent shot, the most beautiful etrog he had ever seen. In fact, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was an etrog beyond his wildest dreams. At once he decided: “This etrog is for me. I will bench with it this Sukkot.”
“How much do you want for this etrog?” the Hasid asked.
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford it,” the merchant said.
“Yes I can,” the Hasid said. “In this talis bag, I have the tefillin of the Kotzker.”
“The Kotzker?” asked the merchant. “Let me see.”
The merchant looked at the tefillin and frowned. “I am selling this etrog for $100,000,” he said. “The Kotzker’s tefillin will fetch, at most, $90,000. Do you have any other tefillin? The Baal Shem Tov’s, perhaps?”
“No,” said the Hasid. “Just the Kotzker’s.”
“Very well,” said the merchant. “I like you and I will give you a discount. Give me the tefillin and you may have the etrog.”
The merchant brought in his lawyers, drew up a contract, took the tefillin, and gave the Hasid the etrog (along with the deed to the etrog).
The Hasid was ecstatic. He was drunk with happiness. He sang and danced all the way home. He opened the door and met his wife.
“My dear wife!” he exclaimed. “You won’t believe it! Wait until you see our beautiful etrog!”
His wife frowned. “Please tell me you didn’t sell the Kotzker’s tefillin to buy an overpriced etrog,” she said.
“But my dear wife,” the Hasid said, “that’s exactly what I did.”
“For all these years, we’ve been struggling and hungry. You work 10 hours a day and you’re up to your ears in debt. We never have fish or meat. We never have money for clothes or furniture. To support your family, you never even considered selling the tefillin. I was supposed to wallow in the mud while you laned your tefillin. You are selfish and foolish. Give me that etrog right now.“
“Give you the etrog?” the Hasid asked. “Why?”
“It’s secondhand now. You probably just lost us 10%. But I’m sure I can find someone to take it off our hands for a good percentage of what you paid.”
“Sell it?” the Hasid said. “I’m not selling my etrog for anything.”
“Give me that etrog,” the Hasid’s wife said, “or get out of my house.”
Devastated, the Hasid left, etrog in hand. He went straight to the house of the Rebbe. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. So he went to the bais medrash. “Where is the Rebbe?” the Hasid asked.
“He’s at home,” the Rebbe’s lieutenant said.
So the Hasid went back to the Rebbe’s house and knocked again. There was no answer, so he knocked again. Finally the Rebbe came out. He gave the Hasid “the Rebbe look” (as if his eyes were laser beams tearing the Hasid into pieces) and then he said, “Please wait here for one minute.”
The Hasid waited for a minute, and then the Rebbe returned. “Sorry about that,” the Rebbe said. “I was having tea with the Rebbetzin.”
The Rebbe led the Hasid into his home and they both sat down at the table. The Hasid told the Rebbe what happened.
“Nu?” the Rebbe said. “Let’s see the etrog.” The Hasid took the etrog out of its box and showed it to the Rebbe. “Wow,” the Rebbe said. “That is the most beautiful etrog I have ever seen in my whole entire life.”
“You see?” the Hasid said. “And she wants me to sell it!”
“When Rebbe Elazar ben Azaria was appointed president of the Sanhedrin, what is the first thing he did?” the Rebbe asked. “He consulted his wife. $100,000 is a lot of money, especially for a poor man like you. Why didn’t you consult your wife before making such a purchase?”
“I was afraid that if I took the time to go home, someone else would have taken my etrog,” the Hasid said.
“Nu?” the Rebbe said. “And so what? So someone else would have benched with this etrog on Sukkot. Is that such a bad thing? Did you ever ask your wife what she thought about the offers to buy the tefillin?”
“No,” the Hasid said.
“Why not?” the Rebbe said.
“Because I didn’t want to sell the tefillin,” the Hasid said. “I wouldn’t have listened to her anyway, so what would be the point of consulting her?”
“Don’t you think she should have a say in the finances of her own household?” the Rebbe asked.
“Yes, I suppose so,” the Hasid said.
“What you did is a terrible, terrible thing,” the Rebbe said. “You betrayed your wife’s trust.”
“So what should I do?” asked the Hasid.
“Obviously, you should give her the etrog, so she can sell it,” the Rebbe said. “But you must do more than that. You must apologize for what you did. And to show that you mean it, you must bring her flowers.”
“Can I bring the flowers tomorrow?” the Hasid asked.
“No,” said the Rebbe. “You must have the flowers in hand when you get home.”
“But Rebbe,” the Hasid said, “it’s 8PM. All the flower shops are closed by now.”
“You’re right,” said the Rebbe. “I hadn’t thought of that. Wait here for a minute.” The Hasid waited for a minute and then the Rebbe came back with a bouquet of fresh red roses. “I told the Rebbetzin the story, and she agreed to donate these roses to the cause,” he said. “I’ll replace them tomorrow. Just don’t tell your wife where you got them.”
So the Hasid returned home and gave his wife the etrog and the flowers. “I’m sorry I traded the Kotzker’s tefillin without consulting you,” the Hasid said.
“You just lost us a lot of money,” the Hasid’s wife said.
“I know,” the Hasid said. “I will try to always consult with you in the future.”
The Hasid’s wife smiled. “It’s OK, my dear husband,” she said. “What’s a few thousand dollars anyway? The important thing is that we have shalom bayis.”
Once upon a time, there was a Hasid who was very poor. He lived in a small, two bedroom apartment with his wife and five children (they only had five because they couldn’t afford any more). They never had meat and fish except for Shabbos, when the Hasid’s wife bought a pack of chicken necks, which she split between the soup and the cholent. The Hasid worked 10 hours a day 6 days a week and he had many debts.
The Hasid did have one treasure. From his father, he had inherited the tefillin of the Kotzker. He laned the Kotzker’s tefillin for Shacharit every morning, and he could almost feel the holiness of the Kotzker himself. Rich men often approached the Hasid with large monetary offers for the tefillin, but he refused to part with them.
One Tishrei, the Hasid was shopping for Arba Minim. This time of year was always very depressing for him. He couldn’t avoid seeing many beautiful etrogim, but he could never afford any but the simplest etrog. As he walked through the shuk, expensive etrogim winked at the Hasid, sang to him, bombarded him with gravitons of desire. “Buy me,” they said. “You know you want to.”
“I can’t,” the Hasid replied. “I don’t have any money.”
Finally, he found an etrog that he could afford. With a heavy heart, he reached into his pocket for change, when he suddenly heard an etrog voice: “How can you appear before the King of Kings with such a shoddy etrog? Why, it’s barely kosher!”
The Hasid turned around, and saw, in the adjacent shot, the most beautiful etrog he had ever seen. In fact, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was an etrog beyond his wildest dreams. At once he decided: “This etrog is for me. I will bench with it this Sukkot.”
“How much do you want for this etrog?” the Hasid asked.
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford it,” the merchant said.
“Yes I can,” the Hasid said. “In this talis bag, I have the tefillin of the Kotzker.”
“The Kotzker?” asked the merchant. “Let me see.”
The merchant looked at the tefillin and frowned. “I am selling this etrog for $100,000,” he said. “The Kotzker’s tefillin will fetch, at most, $90,000. Do you have any other tefillin? The Baal Shem Tov’s, perhaps?”
“No,” said the Hasid. “Just the Kotzker’s.”
“Very well,” said the merchant. “I like you and I will give you a discount. Give me the tefillin and you may have the etrog.”
The merchant brought in his lawyers, drew up a contract, took the tefillin, and gave the Hasid the etrog (along with the deed to the etrog).
The Hasid was ecstatic. He was drunk with happiness. He sang and danced all the way home. He opened the door and met his wife.
“My dear wife!” he exclaimed. “You won’t believe it! Wait until you see our beautiful etrog!”
His wife frowned. “Please tell me you didn’t sell the Kotzker’s tefillin to buy an overpriced etrog,” she said.
“But my dear wife,” the Hasid said, “that’s exactly what I did.”
“For all these years, we’ve been struggling and hungry. You work 10 hours a day and you’re up to your ears in debt. We never have fish or meat. We never have money for clothes or furniture. To support your family, you never even considered selling the tefillin. I was supposed to wallow in the mud while you laned your tefillin. You are selfish and foolish. Give me that etrog right now.“
“Give you the etrog?” the Hasid asked. “Why?”
“It’s secondhand now. You probably just lost us 10%. But I’m sure I can find someone to take it off our hands for a good percentage of what you paid.”
“Sell it?” the Hasid said. “I’m not selling my etrog for anything.”
“Give me that etrog,” the Hasid’s wife said, “or get out of my house.”
Devastated, the Hasid left, etrog in hand. He went straight to the house of the Rebbe. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. So he went to the bais medrash. “Where is the Rebbe?” the Hasid asked.
“He’s at home,” the Rebbe’s lieutenant said.
So the Hasid went back to the Rebbe’s house and knocked again. There was no answer, so he knocked again. Finally the Rebbe came out. He gave the Hasid “the Rebbe look” (as if his eyes were laser beams tearing the Hasid into pieces) and then he said, “Please wait here for one minute.”
The Hasid waited for a minute, and then the Rebbe returned. “Sorry about that,” the Rebbe said. “I was having tea with the Rebbetzin.”
The Rebbe led the Hasid into his home and they both sat down at the table. The Hasid told the Rebbe what happened.
“Nu?” the Rebbe said. “Let’s see the etrog.” The Hasid took the etrog out of its box and showed it to the Rebbe. “Wow,” the Rebbe said. “That is the most beautiful etrog I have ever seen in my whole entire life.”
“You see?” the Hasid said. “And she wants me to sell it!”
“When Rebbe Elazar ben Azaria was appointed president of the Sanhedrin, what is the first thing he did?” the Rebbe asked. “He consulted his wife. $100,000 is a lot of money, especially for a poor man like you. Why didn’t you consult your wife before making such a purchase?”
“I was afraid that if I took the time to go home, someone else would have taken my etrog,” the Hasid said.
“Nu?” the Rebbe said. “And so what? So someone else would have benched with this etrog on Sukkot. Is that such a bad thing? Did you ever ask your wife what she thought about the offers to buy the tefillin?”
“No,” the Hasid said.
“Why not?” the Rebbe said.
“Because I didn’t want to sell the tefillin,” the Hasid said. “I wouldn’t have listened to her anyway, so what would be the point of consulting her?”
“Don’t you think she should have a say in the finances of her own household?” the Rebbe asked.
“Yes, I suppose so,” the Hasid said.
“What you did is a terrible, terrible thing,” the Rebbe said. “You betrayed your wife’s trust.”
“So what should I do?” asked the Hasid.
“Obviously, you should give her the etrog, so she can sell it,” the Rebbe said. “But you must do more than that. You must apologize for what you did. And to show that you mean it, you must bring her flowers.”
“Can I bring the flowers tomorrow?” the Hasid asked.
“No,” said the Rebbe. “You must have the flowers in hand when you get home.”
“But Rebbe,” the Hasid said, “it’s 8PM. All the flower shops are closed by now.”
“You’re right,” said the Rebbe. “I hadn’t thought of that. Wait here for a minute.” The Hasid waited for a minute and then the Rebbe came back with a bouquet of fresh red roses. “I told the Rebbetzin the story, and she agreed to donate these roses to the cause,” he said. “I’ll replace them tomorrow. Just don’t tell your wife where you got them.”
So the Hasid returned home and gave his wife the etrog and the flowers. “I’m sorry I traded the Kotzker’s tefillin without consulting you,” the Hasid said.
“You just lost us a lot of money,” the Hasid’s wife said.
“I know,” the Hasid said. “I will try to always consult with you in the future.”
The Hasid’s wife smiled. “It’s OK, my dear husband,” she said. “What’s a few thousand dollars anyway? The important thing is that we have shalom bayis.”
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Give Statistics a Chance: A Platonic Dialogue by MC Complete
Steven Pinker’s “Our Better Angels: Why Violence has Declined” is a must read. Or, in other words, you must read it.
It is a brilliant work of history and psychology: the history of violence and the psychology of violence.
And then there’s the evidence. So, so much evidence. It’s like somebody finally turned on the lights in a dark room.
Since “Better Angels” is such a required book, I have invited Steven Pinker -- that is, a fictional representation of Steven Pinker -- to my blog for a Platonic Dialogue.
Daniel: You know, Steven, when I mention your book to people, they’re always incredulous.
Steven: Well, of course they are. I’ve revealed History’s Best Kept Secret.
Daniel: Yes, but it’s not just that. People are incredulous for a very specific reason.
Steven: You mean Hitler?
Daniel: Exactly. Hitler, Stalin, and Mao. The two World Wars and the Fascist/Communist genocides.
Steven: So tell them to read my book, which will stun them with the inescapable conclusion that violence has declined despite the best efforts of Hitler and Stalin.
Daniel: But I read your book. You throw a lot of logic, math and data at the Hitler argument, and it’s all very brilliant, but when it’s all said and done, I can’t say what the bottom line is. I feel like you’ve pulled a fast one.
Steven: Hitler, Hitler. Why are people so obsessed with Hitler? Why can’t they focus on Kruschev and Gorbachev? Look, things may have been bad in the first half of the 20th century, but since World War 2, things have been unprecedentedly peaceful. Some people aren’t aware of this, but my book proves that it is so.
Daniel: You mean the Pax Americana?
Steven: Please don’t use that term! It’s called “The Long Peace”. During most of it, there were two superpowers, one of which was an “Evil Empire”.
Daniel: But maybe that was just a run of good luck.
Steven: Really? What about the World Wars and the Holocaust? Maybe they were just bad luck?
Daniel: Maybe. We can’t really say, can we?
Steven: All I am saying is “Give Statistics a Chance”. If you analyze the 20th century statistically relative to historical trends, you can show that the World Wars are statistically insignificant, whereas The Long Peace is statistically significant. In other words, the World Wars seem to be a run of bad luck, but The Long Peace is *not* just good luck -- it’s a game changer.
Daniel: I guess so.
Steven: Anyway, why are people so obsessed with war? My book is about so much more than that. Human violence is about so much more than that. Just to give one example, murder rates are about 1/30 of what they were Medieval Europe, due to a (more or less) consistent decline over the centuries. And murders have always killed more people than wars, even the World Wars.
Daniel: Yes, you’re absolutely right. Your book would be just as impressive if we just skipped Chapters 5 and 6 (“The Long Peace” and “The New Peace”). In fact, maybe even more impressive.
Steven: Don’t skip them! They’re very important!
Daniel: You know what other chapter we could skip?
Steven: Don’t skip any chapter! That’s cherrypicking!
Daniel: Chapter 1, where you bash the Torah.
Steven: Oh, you were offended by that, were you?
Daniel: Well, to be perfectly honest, I actually wasn’t offended. But most of my friends, who happen to be Jewish Fundamentalists, would be very offended. There’s no way they’ll keep reading after Chapter 1.
Steven: Well, I’m sorry, but as a pacifist, the Torah just makes me mad. It makes my blood boil.
Daniel: Look, I understand, but Chapter 1 is really not necessary. You could remove it from the book and barely notice its absence. All that is accomplished by Chapter 1 is writing off a section of your potential audience. It may not be a large section of your audience, but it’s a section of your audience that means a lot to me...
It is a brilliant work of history and psychology: the history of violence and the psychology of violence.
And then there’s the evidence. So, so much evidence. It’s like somebody finally turned on the lights in a dark room.
Since “Better Angels” is such a required book, I have invited Steven Pinker -- that is, a fictional representation of Steven Pinker -- to my blog for a Platonic Dialogue.
Daniel: You know, Steven, when I mention your book to people, they’re always incredulous.
Steven: Well, of course they are. I’ve revealed History’s Best Kept Secret.
Daniel: Yes, but it’s not just that. People are incredulous for a very specific reason.
Steven: You mean Hitler?
Daniel: Exactly. Hitler, Stalin, and Mao. The two World Wars and the Fascist/Communist genocides.
Steven: So tell them to read my book, which will stun them with the inescapable conclusion that violence has declined despite the best efforts of Hitler and Stalin.
Daniel: But I read your book. You throw a lot of logic, math and data at the Hitler argument, and it’s all very brilliant, but when it’s all said and done, I can’t say what the bottom line is. I feel like you’ve pulled a fast one.
Steven: Hitler, Hitler. Why are people so obsessed with Hitler? Why can’t they focus on Kruschev and Gorbachev? Look, things may have been bad in the first half of the 20th century, but since World War 2, things have been unprecedentedly peaceful. Some people aren’t aware of this, but my book proves that it is so.
Daniel: You mean the Pax Americana?
Steven: Please don’t use that term! It’s called “The Long Peace”. During most of it, there were two superpowers, one of which was an “Evil Empire”.
Daniel: But maybe that was just a run of good luck.
Steven: Really? What about the World Wars and the Holocaust? Maybe they were just bad luck?
Daniel: Maybe. We can’t really say, can we?
Steven: All I am saying is “Give Statistics a Chance”. If you analyze the 20th century statistically relative to historical trends, you can show that the World Wars are statistically insignificant, whereas The Long Peace is statistically significant. In other words, the World Wars seem to be a run of bad luck, but The Long Peace is *not* just good luck -- it’s a game changer.
Daniel: I guess so.
Steven: Anyway, why are people so obsessed with war? My book is about so much more than that. Human violence is about so much more than that. Just to give one example, murder rates are about 1/30 of what they were Medieval Europe, due to a (more or less) consistent decline over the centuries. And murders have always killed more people than wars, even the World Wars.
Daniel: Yes, you’re absolutely right. Your book would be just as impressive if we just skipped Chapters 5 and 6 (“The Long Peace” and “The New Peace”). In fact, maybe even more impressive.
Steven: Don’t skip them! They’re very important!
Daniel: You know what other chapter we could skip?
Steven: Don’t skip any chapter! That’s cherrypicking!
Daniel: Chapter 1, where you bash the Torah.
Steven: Oh, you were offended by that, were you?
Daniel: Well, to be perfectly honest, I actually wasn’t offended. But most of my friends, who happen to be Jewish Fundamentalists, would be very offended. There’s no way they’ll keep reading after Chapter 1.
Steven: Well, I’m sorry, but as a pacifist, the Torah just makes me mad. It makes my blood boil.
Daniel: Look, I understand, but Chapter 1 is really not necessary. You could remove it from the book and barely notice its absence. All that is accomplished by Chapter 1 is writing off a section of your potential audience. It may not be a large section of your audience, but it’s a section of your audience that means a lot to me...
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Beyond a Shadow of a Doubt: A Platonic Dialogue by MC Complete
Daniel: I don’t understand this free will business. It’s meaningless. Who needs it?
Isaac: But if we didn’t have free will, what would be with moral responsibility?
Daniel: I don’t understand this moral responsibility business. It’s meaningless. Who needs it?
Isaac: But without moral responsibility, how could we punish criminals?
Daniel: Aha. Punishing criminals is about deterrence. Not revenge.
Isaac: But if punishing criminals is only about deterrence, then why do we take pains (in theory) to avoid punishing the innocent?
Daniel: What? Why not?
Isaac: Taking pains to avoid punishing the innocent dilutes the deterrence effect (in theory). If moral responsibility is not an issue, then why would we care so much if the alleged criminal actually committed the crime?
Daniel: Hmmm, I hadn’t thought of that. Very clever. In that case, what is moral responsibility?
Isaac: Heck if I know. But it must be something!
Isaac: But if we didn’t have free will, what would be with moral responsibility?
Daniel: I don’t understand this moral responsibility business. It’s meaningless. Who needs it?
Isaac: But without moral responsibility, how could we punish criminals?
Daniel: Aha. Punishing criminals is about deterrence. Not revenge.
Isaac: But if punishing criminals is only about deterrence, then why do we take pains (in theory) to avoid punishing the innocent?
Daniel: What? Why not?
Isaac: Taking pains to avoid punishing the innocent dilutes the deterrence effect (in theory). If moral responsibility is not an issue, then why would we care so much if the alleged criminal actually committed the crime?
Daniel: Hmmm, I hadn’t thought of that. Very clever. In that case, what is moral responsibility?
Isaac: Heck if I know. But it must be something!
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Work smarter, not harder: A Hasidic Parable by MC Complete
A long time ago, in a village far, far away, there were two brothers, Reuven and Shimon. Reuven and Shimon were very different in many ways. Reuven was always tired and sleep deprived; Shimon always got plenty of rest. Reuven was always busy, worried and stressed out; Shimon always took it easy. But there was one thing the brothers had in common: they both learned a lot of Torah.
After 120 years, the brothers went to shamayim. When they got to Gan Eden, Reuven was rewarded with a beautiful plot of land with flowers, fruit trees, a Shas, a Rambam, a Shulchan Aruch, and the Ran on Nedarim. However, Shimon was rewarded with a huge plot of land, with trees, flowers, birds, a waterfall, and a library full of Rishonim, Achronim, and Poskim, and wireless.
When Shimon saw this, he was very upset. He want to Hashem and said, “Hashem, I don’t understand. My borther worked so hard all his life. He was sleep deprived, stressed out, and worried, and yet he always found time to learn Torah. And how he learned Torah! He would not turn the page until he understood every word of the Gemara. I know that sometimes he would struggle with passages in the Gemara, so much so that sometimes he would not be able to sleep.”
“Hashem, You know that I did not learn Torah like that. I never had the kochos hanefesh that my brother had. If I didn’t understand something, I would read some mefarshim, think about it for a few minutes, maybe discuss it with my brother, and then, if I wasn’t getting anywhere, I would move on and forget about it.”
“There must be some mistake! I got the portion of Gan Eden that was clearly intended for my brother.”
“Do not worry about your brother, “ said Hashem. “He got the a beautiful portion in Gan Eden. But you got the portion that was intended for you.”
“When I learn Torah,” Hashem said, “do you think I’m tired, stressed out, and worried? Of course not. For Me, learning Torah is easy. Your brother learned Torah the way a man learns Torah, but you learned the way that I learn. You fulfilled the words of My Torah: in the image of God was Man created.”
“Effort and willpower is an aspect of the body, but wisdom is an aspect of the soul.”
This life is a constant struggle between the Yetzer Tov and the Yetzer Hara. The Yetzer Tov is like a tiny nation state surrounded on all sides by large enemy nations. The Yetzer Tov has no hope of overpowering the Yetzer Hara. The only hope of the Yetzer Tov is to have better weapons and better battle plans.
And lots and lots of siyata dishmaya.
After 120 years, the brothers went to shamayim. When they got to Gan Eden, Reuven was rewarded with a beautiful plot of land with flowers, fruit trees, a Shas, a Rambam, a Shulchan Aruch, and the Ran on Nedarim. However, Shimon was rewarded with a huge plot of land, with trees, flowers, birds, a waterfall, and a library full of Rishonim, Achronim, and Poskim, and wireless.
When Shimon saw this, he was very upset. He want to Hashem and said, “Hashem, I don’t understand. My borther worked so hard all his life. He was sleep deprived, stressed out, and worried, and yet he always found time to learn Torah. And how he learned Torah! He would not turn the page until he understood every word of the Gemara. I know that sometimes he would struggle with passages in the Gemara, so much so that sometimes he would not be able to sleep.”
“Hashem, You know that I did not learn Torah like that. I never had the kochos hanefesh that my brother had. If I didn’t understand something, I would read some mefarshim, think about it for a few minutes, maybe discuss it with my brother, and then, if I wasn’t getting anywhere, I would move on and forget about it.”
“There must be some mistake! I got the portion of Gan Eden that was clearly intended for my brother.”
“Do not worry about your brother, “ said Hashem. “He got the a beautiful portion in Gan Eden. But you got the portion that was intended for you.”
“When I learn Torah,” Hashem said, “do you think I’m tired, stressed out, and worried? Of course not. For Me, learning Torah is easy. Your brother learned Torah the way a man learns Torah, but you learned the way that I learn. You fulfilled the words of My Torah: in the image of God was Man created.”
“Effort and willpower is an aspect of the body, but wisdom is an aspect of the soul.”
This life is a constant struggle between the Yetzer Tov and the Yetzer Hara. The Yetzer Tov is like a tiny nation state surrounded on all sides by large enemy nations. The Yetzer Tov has no hope of overpowering the Yetzer Hara. The only hope of the Yetzer Tov is to have better weapons and better battle plans.
And lots and lots of siyata dishmaya.
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