Oh Yeah, I Forgot

Really interesting article on memory training and the human brain over on Wired. My favorite quote:

We master the stories, the schemas, the frameworks, the paradigms; we rehearse the lingo; we swim in the episteme.

..."Swim in the epicene"? Awesome.

Lost In Translation

On our way back up to work from coffee today, Ironman and I were forced to circumnavigate an inconveniently parked Canada Post truck. Ironman was vocal in his condemnation of the mailman's parking skills. I suggested we should write an angry letter.

A ridiculous conversation followed: how, exactly, would one address a letter destined for the actual postal service? I proposed (probably incorrectly), that you could probably just leave the address off entirely, and assume that it would find its way. During the short elevator ride, we were unable to satisfactorily resolve this thorny dilemma. Ironman, to me: "You should blog about it".

And here we are.

There's something "meta" about addressing a correspondence to the very entity responsible for the delivery of said correspondence. From one point of view, it's as simple as tipping the paperboy, acknowledging the existence of the physical machinery responsible for the abstract concept of "delivery". From another, it's one example of a self-referential meta-psychosymbolism that informs all human language and thought. And guess which of these points of view we will be discussing?

It's pretty widely accepted that language plays a pivotal role in the healthy neurophysiological development of the human brain, particularly in childhood. Stories about children raised by dogs, or abandoned to their own devices from the age of three, never fail to include a chapter on the shocking underdevelopment of various essential brain functions. Language teaches us to think, and vice-versa. But only to a point.

We use language to describe things, and in so doing, create our own personal symbolic dictionaries for dealing with concepts. Semantically, the word "rock" is not a rock, nor does it describe or refer to a particular physical rock. It triggers instead a chain of recursive psycho-symbolic dereferentiation that eventually unravels into a semantic symbol of "rock"-ness. And that mental image somehow stands in for all the rocks in the universe, or at least those we can perceive.

It is almost ridiculously simple for the human mind to construct a psycho-semantic representation of concepts like "infinity", or "everything". I mean, you can't actually conceive of all the physical objects, or actions, or concepts that fall under the umbrella of "everything", at least not as easily as "rock". But language, and the semantic associations it invokes and informs, is crucial to our ability to describe the concept that describes the indescribable.

Everything is basically meta data, describing other meta data, along an inferential chain of semantic associations, that end in a sort of shorthand notation for the world around us. In computer languages, this chain is finite, ending with "machine-language" instructions that interact with the actual, physical hardware of the machine. This simplicity is sacrificed in the human brain, in favor of the capability for higher thought.

Rather than a "chain", think of an infinitely branching "tree" of associations. While your brain is busy translating the word "rock" into the mental symbol it's meant to represent, it will apply the semantic value of the word, the pragmatic value of the context in which the word is used, the syntax, or structure of the inter-relation of other symbols used in the context, and a bunch of other stuff I barely understand. And through the application of all of these contextual signifiers, will prune the tree for the possible meanings of "rock" into the one symbol that makes sense.

When this mechanism breaks, as in Aphasia or some other cognitive disorder, it basically breaks language. A stroke victim, unable to communicate, may or may not still be able to understand "rock". May or may not lose the capability for abstract thought, the very capability that was created using the scaffolding of language.

If it's possible to address our mailman's callous disregard for parking etiquette by writing a letter to Canada Post, then it follows that we can fix a broken mind by communicating with it. This can be tricky, like arson at the Fire Department, when the part of your brain responsible for communication is the part that's broken. Imagine the effectiveness, in this scenario, of a language based on smell, or temperature, or light.

It does not follow that it's possible to break a healthy mind by withholding meaningful communication, though it would be fun to try.

And now I'm bored of this (I can only imagine how you must feel), so in conclusion,

Dear Canada Post,
Please don't park on my fucking sidewalk.
Sincerely,
A concerned citizen.

Beauty

In science, the observer effect refers to changes effected on an observed phenomena, by the mere act of observation.

For example, in order for an audience to listen to a live performance of Verdi's la traviata, they must be present in the auditorium. By virtue of the presence of all these rustling, sighing (and in my case yawning) people, the acoustics of the auditorium are altered, thereby altering the observed phenomena.

Some performers may get stage fright due to the presence of an audience, altering it further.

I may begin to snore. My snoring has a high-pitched, flute-like consonance that, I feel, can only enhance the auditory experience we are describing. Nonetheless, the observed phenomena would likely suffer alteration.

As an aside, do not be misled into thinking that I am a connoisseur (nor even mildly tolerant) of opera. I enjoy all the meats of our cultural stew, but opera is the diamond in the stew. Everyone loves diamonds, but who wants to break a tooth on a rock when you're trying to enjoy some good stew, am I right?

So, back to the Observer Effect. I have a couple of questions, Mr. Wizard (RIP) :

Does observing evidence of the "observer effect" alter the effect?

Okay, but seriously: What about déjà vu?

Of course you know what déjà vu is, but scientists are still sort of puzzling out how it really works. After we got over accusations of witchcraft, precognition and prophecy, one theory used to be that different visual signals might take different neural pathways from your eyes to your visual cortex, one signal arriving picoseconds after the other, causing the sensation of having "seen" this thing before.

This, of course has been thoroughly dismissed as unscientific nincompoopery. Which is unfortunate, since it kind of takes the wind out of the sails of my most interesting question: If I observe a phenomena (thereby changing it, according to the observer effect), and experience déjà vu (thereby observing the same phenomena again), have I un-changed it? Have I reversed this specific instance of the observer effect, or simply compounded it? Have I un-observed?

How many people have "observed" the Mona Lisa? How many infinitesimal changes does that make?

Is someone observing me right now?

You see now, that I can write about pretty much any claptrap that pops into my head. My ninja master informs me I must use this power for good, not evil.

But before I do, let me draw a depressing conclusion from out of left field: According to the observer effect, perfection can not exist. Because in order for something to be perfect -- let's say, the perfect woman -- it must be subjectively judged by an observer to meet the stringent criteria of perfection. In absolute terms, these criteria are non-negotiable. Either you are (subjectively) perfect, or you're not. There's no such thing as more perfect, because perfection is, well, the best you can do, really.

If I observe this hypothetical perfect woman, my act of observation must change some aspect of her perfection, rendering her imperfect. Since perfection must be perceived in order to exist, and cannot be perceived without being altered, and cannot be altered without being diminished, it can not exist. Ergo liquet, QED.

You're thinking, "Hah, smarty pants! The object or person you deem perfect may not meet my high standards." And you are technically correct. This is, unfortunately, irrelevant. Even if you are the only person who ever observes this mythical perfection (from within, say, the confines of your isolated log cabin in the Jersey Pine Barrens, using a closed-circuit camera), this theory still applies.*

So the next time someone tells you that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, tell them to go fuck their hat.

Soon: Doggerel!

*The theory of non-perfection does not apply to imaginary girlfriends. Rest easy, chess-club.

All My Friends Are "Work Friends"

"Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say 'infinitely' when you mean 'very'; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite."
-- C. S. Lewis (1898 - 1963)

You're on my list, Lewis. I don't care if you're dead. I'll find you.

Cognitive Dissonance is that uncomfortable feeling you get when you try to hold two contradictory thoughts or beliefs in your head. I would imagine this is the type of thing that Church-going physicists are good at dealing with.

Have you ever visited a friend or relative at their place of work? It's like they're a completely different person. "This can't possibly be the same guy that was telling fart jokes at last night's poker game", you'll say to yourself, as you observe your drinking buddy, the one who wore the goat's head during Frosh Week, efficiently direct his team in the pursuit of Operational Excellence.

"I need those numbers on my desk by Thursday," he'll say.
"If we can't assess that risk, then we need to reexamine their value proposition," he'll say.
"If the delivery date slides, that revenue goes to next quarter. That's unacceptable," he'll say.

"Pull my finger," he'll say.

Psychologically, there is no immediately apparent way to reconcile these conflicting images of your friend/spouse/parent. In the heat of the moment, cognitive dissonance will force you to consider them as two separate people, one an efficient manager of operational "flow", the other a drunken practical joker / mother of two / yoga instructor / whatever. This is a postponement of analysis. Basically, your brain is saying "I can't process this right now, I'll deal with it later."

The scary thing is that other people think of you this way.

I have previously mentioned that buddy Ironman will be assuming responsibilities that could broadly be considered "boss-like" vis-a-vis myself. This scenario falls nicely into the category of psychological states that Cognitive Dissonance seems purpose-built to handle. This has even been unintentionally illustrated right here in this blog by my constant reference to him under two different names; Ironman and Boss Jr, a handy device that I think I'll continue to make use of.

Conclusion: I will continue to refer to him as Ironman when discussing him as a friend, and Boss Jr. when discussing him as a superior, and continue to think of him as two separate people.

Can you believe I've never undergone therapy of any kind?

Back in the day, during those brief periods of bachelorhood between long-term relationships, on those rare occasions when a woman would tell me I was cute, or (more rarely) "good-looking", I would usually offer one of two canned responses:

1) Well, my mother thinks so. (laughs all around, no one gets hurt).
2) Prove it.

HaikuBoxer, that paragon of wisdom and charm, has recently sent me zero-or-more flattering emails, responding to something or other I wrote herein. Neither of the above responses seems appropriate...

Next: Doggerel!