In all seriousness, though, the parallels between some forms of Rapture philosophy and some forms of Singularity philosophy are pretty strong. Uploading your mind into a machine is very similar to being taken up to heaven.
248 karma · joined March 1, 2008
In all seriousness, though, the parallels between some forms of Rapture philosophy and some forms of Singularity philosophy are pretty strong. Uploading your mind into a machine is very similar to being taken up to heaven.
I'm generally driven by seeing something working, even if it's only working enough that I can see some data on a page or have a single button that makes something happen.
If I can keep a good decoupling between my views and my models it's pretty easy to go back whenever I get the itch and make things look nicer without touching anything else. Unless you have a lot of javascript doing intense dom operations on a page you should be able to redesign it at will without worrying about breaking anything else, so I don't really worry about getting it right the first time, or really any time unless I'm getting ready to show it someone who's going to judge it on visual rather than functional grounds.
I've found (and, again, this may only apply to me and not you) that leaving design for later helps keep me from getting bogged down in details and losing my steam. If I have a very concrete picture of how something should look in my head I start worrying about getting my boxes to line up right and why my line heights are off and all that stuff that doesn't actually contribute to getting anything working. If I've purposely left the design aside I've in essence given myself permission to be okay with things looking crappy until I feel like fixing it, which helps keep me going on things that actually contribute to working code.
On the other hand, maybe someone can make a quick buck by selling rewritable/removable "Hi, my book is ________" stickers for the back of kindles.
How many Loglan speakers does it take to fix a broken light bulb?
Two. One to fix it, and another to figure out what kind of bulb emits broken light.
In all seriousness, though, one of the things I treasure most about our squishy human languages is how much ambiguity they contain. Being able to construct sentences that mean two (or three, or more) things at once and playing around with the intersections of polysemy (http://languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu/nll/?p=2079) and listener context is great fun. I feel like you lose some of that when you take inspiration for your language as much from predicate calculus as from Chinese.
Shakesville (http://shakespearessister.blogspot.com/) has a regular series where they point out how regularly various media outlets write stories about domestic abuse where the story is framed so that the victims (overwhelmingly women) are blamed for their assaults. This is an extreme case, but it's illustrative of how society at large (and each of us at small) doesn't approach blame in a reasoned and careful way that considers all the angles and second- or third-order causes.
I doubt the point of the survey is to actually determine blame for specific events, but to investigate how our faulty meat-brains tend to lay blame when we have limited information.
There are plenty of problems with magnetic monopoles, but that was a particularly unfortunate choice of analogy.
It wasn't just that different things respond differently, it was that some things respond poorly and the beans respond well. But the metaphor only works if you accept the conclusions and don't try to examine it closer. For example, did either of the characters in the story taste the water? If the whole point is that the beans changed the character of the water, it does your metaphor a great disservice to ignore the fact that the carrots are going to change the flavor (admittedly it's not going to be as nice as the coffee, but it's the exact thing that the center of the parable hinges on).
As an example of what I think is a nicely constructed metaphor, look for the first metaphor in Book I of the Aeneid (too large to reproduce here, check out http://classics.mit.edu/Virgil/aeneid.1.i.html and search for "His finny coursers"). It comes in the scene where Poseidon is calming the seas of some rogue winds loosed by Aeolus, and compares him to a "grave and pious man" talking down a rioting crowd. The correspondence between the rioting crowd and the sea is intuitively clear, and the modern innovation of modeling crowd and traffic behavior with techniques from fluid dynamics serves to reinforce it. The image of calming the crowd with "sober words" lends insight into Poseidon's approach toward his domain. On a personal level it also invokes the story of Joshua Norton calming a San Francisco riot by reciting the Lord's Prayer in the street.
The point (which I've taken an awful long time to get to, I apologize) is that unclear and ambiguous metaphors tend in my experience to bely unclear thinking. When I can rewrite a story as I read it to have the opposite meaning as it was supposed to, it suggests to me that it was not written in the first place with a critical eye.
The thing that always bothers me about these stories is how you could just as easily spin the negative foods into positives and come down hard on the 'good' one. Would you rather be like the carrots that began life rigid and inflexible but learned to adapt and become flexible and malleable; able to adapt to new situations? Or like the eggs, which started out fragile and easy to crack but found a hidden inner strength in adversity? Or are you going to be like coffee and totally decohere in the boiling water, ultimately losing your identity and becoming little more than vapor, able to be blown away by a strong breeze?
A good metaphor has an inner clarity that this just lacks.
Not only is one of your premises (a/a = b/b -> a=b) clearly false, but your conclusion doesn't mean anything.
a=b ^ a=b -> n=(n-1) ^ n!=(n-1) is just a contradiction. Your first and second terms together imply n=(n-1) which directly contradicts your third term.
I'm afraid you've simply proved a contradiction, which just means (because of, well, proof by contradiction) that you're arguments are flawed.
I seem to remember danah boyd talking about something to that effect at one point; that a lot of the Twitter activity she'd observed among young people was about talking amongst a small circle of friends. The only people really broadcasting on Twitter are people who were already famous for something besides their 140 character brilliance.
It seems more like they invented a hammer that's custom-designed to pound nails with a square head. No one has a better hammer for that. And then Twitter made a hammer that can pound nails with any kind of head, and does it good enough most of the time. Twitter just happened to solve a more general problem than TechRadium did.
It feels unwholesome because Twitter isn't really a system for sending mass emergency alerts to people. That just happens to be one application of being able to send short messages to a host of devices. And, really, Twitter wouldn't even be in competition with ISIS if it hadn't become absurdly popular for reasons that have nothing to do with emergency alerts. The feeling here of suing someone for getting so popular that an infrastructure has grown around them that lets them do what you do is, again, unwholesome.
Also, while his graph is somewhat more pleasing to my eyes than the original, it still doesn't tell me what I really want to know about that data. I have two questions about that line: what happened with that first really big spike, and does he think that the two similarly-shaped regions that follow it represent the beginning of a cycle that we might see again. His graph is called "Rapid Traffic Growth", but I think there's a more interesting story in there.
1. Define a machine read- and writable logic that can express your theorem and the steps you think it'll take to get there. 2. Write an automated proof-checker that can verify that proofs in this language are correct. 3. Prove the correctness of the checker. 4. Write a program that starts with your axioms and writes out a proof that ends in your theorem. 5. Verify it with the checker.
Now the only proof that needs to be human-surveyable for us to be certain that everything is correct is the one in step 3. The proof created by step 4 can fill up a skyscraper full of hard disks, and as long as the proof checker verifies it we know that it must be correct. Given a simple enough proof language (FOPL, for example) and a suitable programming language (the choice at the time was lisp, I believe) step 3's proof is easily short enough for a human to verify.
The only hole left is the possibility of a subtle machine malfunction that causes the checker to falsely categorize a proof as correct. On modern hardware this possibility is remote enough that once a proof has been verified a number of times by independent researchers on their own hardware we can safely ignore it.