The Local Yarn

∞ · Wed Jan 16, 2013 · 2 Notes

Having been born and raised in Minnesota, I’ve had a lot of time to think about the most efficient way to shovel snow. Being as it’s now the dead of winter, I thought I’d formalize my findings on the subject so far. If you are also a long-time resident of the snowy climates, these findings might be painfully obvious to you; but if you’re one of those who find themselves suddenly and inexplicably transplanted to a snowy state, you might find it very useful.

In fig. 1 we see a common shoveling pattern. The shoveler begins in the center of the driveway on the end nearest the house (bottom of diagram) and starts shoveling outward, reaching the edge of the drive in three strokes (arrows in diagram). He or she then walks back to the middle of the driveway (dotted line) and repeats the proceedure.

This is a pretty shabby way to shovel, because you end up walking over the whole driveway twice: you walk over each area once to shovel it, and once while retracing your steps to start the next row.

With a little math, we can see precisely why this method is not optimal, and compare it to other possible methods. Let’s call $L$ the length of the driveway, $W$ the width, and (for simplicity) use $s$ as our unit of measure, equal to the width of your shovel. So the total distance you would travel when shoveling using the above method is $2(LW)$, which on a driveway measuring $30s \times 6s$ means you will walk $360s$ — quite a lot of wasted distance when you consider the area of the driveway only contains $180s$ of distance to begin with.

A first attempt at an improvement might have you start in one of the corners, shovel in one direction to the edge of the driveway, then turn around and shovel in the other direction (fig. 2). This would be an optimal pattern for plowing a field, since the distance covered is exactly $LW$. In practice, however, this is often impractical for snow shoveling. In the first couple of strokes, you would have to throw the snow nearly the entire length of the row ($W$) in order to clear it from the driveway. This is wasted effort, since none of the snow is more than $\frac{1}{2}W$ from at least one edge of the drive. For this reason, this pattern is optimal only when there’s so little snow that can push your shovel from one edge of the driveway to the other and accumulate no more than a shovelfull of snow.

Figure 3 shows a pattern that is optimal for all non-trivial amounts of snowfall. You begin by clearing a path $1s$ wide down the center of the driveway (A). You then turn around and begin working back towards the other end of the driveway, clearing the next $1s$ column with single shovel strokes (B). At the end of this second column, you again walk across to the opposite edge of the cleared area and clear the next column (C) and so on, moving in a square that widens out from the middle until the driveway is cleared (D).

Using this method, there is very little wasted travel, and you never have to throw snow further than $\frac{1}{2}W$. The distance traveled is roughly $L \times W$ — plus only a little extra to walk across the end of the driveway once each column is finished. We can discover the precise amount of this extra travel as follows: at the end of the first column you must walk $1s$ horizontally to start the next column, and after the second column you must walk $2s$, and so on up to $(W - 1)s$:

$$1s + 2s + \dotsb + (W-1)s$$

(Note that we stop at $W-1$ since at the end of the final column the shoveling is considered complete.) The formula to find the sum of all numbers between 1 and a given number $N$ is $(N+1)\frac{N}{2}$ (see example in the footnotes¹). To find the sum of all numbers from $1$ to $W-1$ we use $(W\color{gray}{-1+1})\frac{W-1}{2}$, making the complete distance traveled equal to

$$LW + \left(W\frac{W - 1}{2}\right)s$$

In our example driveway where $L = 30s, W = 6s$, this works out to

$$(30s \times 6s) + 6\frac{5}{2}s = \color{red}{188\frac{1}{2}s}$$

which represents a vast improvement over the distance of $360s$ needed to finish the driveway using the original method.

Continue reading…

∞ · Sun Jan 13, 2013

It’s been a few months since my last email update to readers of Noise of Creation. I’ve been poking away at the next several chapters, and had some very interesting conversations with a few readers. Chords (and nerves) are being struck on all sides.

Since starting the book, I’ve been saving links to articles and podcasts I come across which have clear connections to the ideas I’m using, and I’ll share a couple of them here.

Simulations

In the chapters on Contrariety (0013) and Copy (0020), reference is made to the “simulation argument” formalised by Nick Bostrom. The idea of a person living in a deliberately simulated reality is an ancient one. What Nick Bostrom did was to explain exactly how it might be probable (at least in a statistical sense) that our own universe is actually a simulation.

I first read about this idea a year ago in an interview with Nick published in the Atlantic. Not being a scientist, I tend to value this idea mainly for its imaginative potential more than anything, but it appears that at least a few others are exploring it in a serious, scientific way as well: a team of physicists at the University of Washington believe that we can, in fact, test whether the universe we live in is actually a simulation — and they’ve proposed experiments that would allow us to do so.

People’s reactions to this possibility seem to range from amusement to (more commonly) dismissive annoyance. It’s safe to say most of us don’t know how to handle thinking about it.

It’s true that, at first glance, everything would seem kind of pointless if it only existed as some kind of artificial test run inside a colossal computer. To me, however, it raises all kinds of interesting questions. For example, if it’s true, wouldn’t this confirm that the universe exists for a purpose, and that our existence is not meaningless? What would it mean to make contact with our simulator(s)?

The significance of the meaning attached to our universe would also vary wildly depending on the nature of the simulation. We could be the magnum opus of a particular “author” in a world where world-simulations are the province of great artists; we could be the equivalent of a programming (or writing) exercise by a novice; we might be the sole, gargantuan product of a civilisation which has long since died out, running on aging machinery — or a single iteration of a computational experiment that involves thousands or millions of test runs.

I remain quite skeptical that experiments can prove the question one way or the other, but I’m glad to know that some capable people are taking the question seriously.

The Cloudy Stuff of Stones

In the chapters on Substantiality and Insubstantiality (0002 and 0003) I attempt to explore the idea that Matter may not be as “hefty” as we tend to think it is — neither more nor less real than Thought.

I was interested, then, to hear the Radiolab podcast released a couple of weeks ago, titled Solid as a Rock:

“Robert and Jim go toe-to-toe for a friendly dust-up over whether, at its very base, the universe is made up of solid bits and pieces of stuff…or a cloudy foundation that, more than anything else we can put our fingers on, resembles thoughts and ideas”

This “friendly dust-up” isn’t logically rigourous or factually conclusive, but it’s an interesting (and more thorough) exploration of the idea that I attempted to introduce in my book. Be sure and read the comments as well — a lot of people are seriously annoyed by this idea (some not without good reason, I imagine).

This idea of the material universe being ultimately composed of information, rather than of microscopic billiard-balls, fits nicely with the simulation argument, but remains independent of it. It implies that everything visible is in some sense an illusion — which, far from being an outlandish idea, is one of the few things science and religion currently seem to agree on.

∞ · Sun Jan 6, 2013 · 3 Notes

People carry around a lot of different mental models of what “a person” is, and frequently resort to diagrams to explain themselves.

The most common one I encountered while growing up was a series of concentric circles neatly dividing a person into separate realms of “body”, “soul” and “spirit”.

Simple Trichotomy

What intentional and unintentional statements does this diagrams make? For example, what exactly are we supposed to learn from the Spirit being a small circle inside of the Soul? Are we supposed to think the spirit is a subset of the soul? If so, how do we know this? If not, isn’t the diagram somewhat deceptive?

Here’s one which moves the elements around a bit and attempts to fit in the concepts of “Mind” and “Heart” too.

The Soul Reshuffled

As you might be able to tell from the terms in the labels, Christians often use these diagrams as “Biblical” explanations of particular teachings; but although the Bible differentiates between some of these terms in some cases, there is nothing about “the soul” or “the spirit” or “the heart” to be found in it which resembles these or any other diagrams.

Antoine Fabre d’Olivet thought about it and came up with this:

Whether intentionally or not, all these diagrams look like products of mathematics and geometry. Except that the statements being made are about things which, unlike math and geometry, do not have observable proportions or relationships.

Psychologists have their own famous diagrams:

These don’t seem as much like graphed equations. Maybe they’re supposed to be like anatomical drawings?

Drawing from Kaishi Hen (Analysis of Cadavers), 1772

Or perhaps they’re like metaphysical “maps”:

But both anatomical and cartographical drawings depend on some kind of measurable observation. We still have no objective way of surveying the psyche. Supposing we could, the very act of doing so would alter its landscape.

In the end, there’s no way I, or anyone, can come up with a “plan” of all the metaphysical aspects of a person that will be of any use to you except as an illustration of my own very subjective ideas.

And perhaps that’s all that Freud and Jung and the Christians were trying to do with these diagrams; maybe they just wanted to illustrate their ideas about our spiritual/psychological makeup. The problem is in dressing up their subjective ideas in the visual style of objective science, when they were not scientifically derived.

There is a better language for creating these kinds of subjective illustrations. It’s called Art.

‘The Thinker’ by Renoir

‘Monk by the Sea’ by Caspar David Friedrich

A person’s psyche¹ is a changing mix of thousands of ingredients, including past versions of itself. It may not be possible to diagram a person’s psyche in the same way you would diagram their kidneys — I certainly don’t think it is. It may only be possible to describe it “in portrait,” from select angles. By resorting to art for this purpose, rather than to science, we are being honest with ourselves; we admit that our perspectives on people are limited, complex, and coloured.

I believe that if you could sit and contemplate either of these paintings² (or high-quality reproductions), you would learn truer things — maybe not about all human souls, but about at least two particular souls — than you would from any pseudoscientific diagram.

Continue reading…

∞ · Thu Dec 27, 2012

My parents’ dinner table has grown large out of necessity. Even the not un-large table we used when I was a boy has been replaced and is now only the kitchen table. The current model can seat four people comfortably on the sides, and, if need be, two on the ends, which is the configuration for Tuesday and Saturday nights. On most occasions, anywhere from a third to half of the people around the table are “adopted” family, people who are staying at the Place or drop in out of habit. When everyone is home, which is about once every two years, we mash four people on the ends as well as the sides, and others either stand by the walls or sit in extra odd chairs that spill into the living room.

Our table at Swaledale is a modest satellite of this prodigious commons. This last summer we were able to replace the original thrift-store model with a small mahogany piece, purchased at a discount from a kind neighbor. While my parents’ table can magically sustain as many simultaneous conversations as there are pairs, trios and quartets of people gathered around, ours can sustain only one. But it has the advantage of quiet — you never need to ‘steel yourself’ for a dinner at Swaledale, which is sometimes necessary at the Place. For the few of us who alternate between the two, each seems to give a lively balance to the other.

But the interesting thing is that, to date, both tables have only ever grown in size, with the addition of spouses and grandchildren. I was reminded of this line from A Christmas Carol:

“‘But however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor tiny Tim — shall we — or this first parting that there was among us?’”

Substitute any of our names for Tim’s, and the line becomes a very sobering one, and yet as sure as prophecy. We’ve never yet had that kind of parting within our immediate families. It seems impossible when you think about it, almost a statistic miracle. And yet the longer the winning streak goes on, the easier it is to take it for granted. That “first parting” is in the cards for us at some point, and the season of the large tables will end before it begins again. These days, right now, are the “good old days.” Let us be thankful for this time while we have it.

∞ · Fri Dec 21, 2012

It was raining in December when it should have been snowing. I’d been standing on a corner next to three or four people who were waiting for the bus. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Across the street stood that most contemptibly generic, mundane creation, the strip mall, its loud signs glowing in the rain.

I hate strip malls. Once when I was young, I found, in the entry bathroom, a sentence penciled in small letters on the wallpaper next to the toilet bowl. It had been scrawled in a moment of uncontainable spite by one of my little sisters about another. It proclaimed: “Claire is so dumb I puked.” All grown-ups, if they are honest, have at least one thing they distaste in the same way: strongly, stupidly, and — for the most part — secretly. I hate strip malls the same way: they are so dumb, I puke.

A voice at my elbow said, “Boring!” and I turned, surprised that anyone should have voiced my thought so succinctly. “Boring!” I repeated, out loud. “Has anyone ever pronounced a more thorough damnation on a building, a place of commerce, than boring. True enough! I die every time I look at that strip mall.”

The man himself was not exactly a wealth of intrigue, either: older, but not old; short; heavy-set; in jeans and an old bomber jacket, a moustache on a round face under a plain black winter cap. He said nothing in return; he only gave a noncommittal shrug under his vapid, ho-hum smile. It irritated me that he could be so perceptive of my secret vendetta and at the same time give every appearance of not caring one way or the other. “Good lord, man!” I burst out, “So do you enjoy ugliness? Do you suppose that we are talking about the weather?”

“I thought we were,” he said.

“Well, I am talking about that great fat ugly pancake of a strip mall in the middle of that great fat ugly parking lot over there,” I continued. The dam had burst, and if this man had never before considered how ugly a strip mall is (such people exist, you know), he was going to hear the whole case from me right now. “Do you know what a strip mall is? A strip mall is like a crust, except it has no nutritional value. It is bland like the core of an apple, but it is a seedless apple; it has not even the natural annoyance of having seeds. No, I’ll tell you: a strip mall is the gum you find in the crevice between all the norms of human society. No one person or institution designed it. In fact no one ever set out to design a strip mall. They seek to set up shops, and end up with strip malls. Like anything excreted by committee, it is as unintentional as a bus accident. Hold the busiest, noisiest city in your hand, toss it up in the air, and blow on it, and you will see strip malls flying away like flakes and settling on the dirt nearby. That’s a strip mall for you: a husk — a chaff. But we make our bread with it, and call it progress because it’s never been done before. The communists denied God with their lips, but at least they loved gloom and grandeur: at least they never produced anything that could make a sunny day less sunny and make a wild, gloomy day less wild and less gloomy. But yes,” I concluded, “put it all in a word with as much boiled-down blandness as is produced by the thing itself, and I could hardly do better than boring.”

The man continued smiling, but raised his eyebrows as he looked across the street. “I suppose that’s all true; but all I was going to say was, my little girl seems to think it’s boring too: she likes to pretend there’s a volcano there instead.” Then the bus came and he left. ‘

I blew out a long breath as it drove off, partly to admit defeat, and partly to repel the exhaust from the bus. I suppose there’s a difference between childlike and childish, but what is it? Immature spite and immature architecture both pose the same devilish and subtle threat, the threat of dragging everything around them into idiocy. Of all the reactions one might have to things that are intensely stupid, there are better ones than puking.

∞ · Thu Dec 13, 2012

I’ve wanted to begin writing on Distributism for awhile now. I would like to address myself to both to conservatives and liberals, and to religious and non-religious people, since my strong hope and suspicion is that there’s a lot of new, common ground to be found here. But it's hard to know where to begin an introduction when addressing such different groups of people, and when the subject has so many arms and legs. The best way, I think, is to be very brief.

One of our favourite authors¹ heard in this song “a compact and almost perfect summary of the whole social problem in industrial countries like England and America.”² He extracted six well-padded points from it, let me shave these down to two.

On Capitalism: “Got the Sack”

“This idiom … involves the whole of the unique economic system under which Father has now to live. …He can now, by industrial tradition, only be a particular kind of servant; a servant who has not the security of a slave. If he owned his own shop and tools, he could not get the sack. If his master owned him, he could not get the sack. The slave and the guildsman know where they will sleep every night; it was only the proletarian of individualist industrialism who could get the sack…”

On Socialism: “From the Water-Works”

“The water-works which employed Father is a very large, official and impersonal institution. Whether it is technically a bureaucratic department or a Big business makes little or no change in the feelings of Father in connection with it. The water-works might or might not be nationalized; and it would make no necessary difference to Father being fired, and no difference at all to his being accused of playing with fire. In fact, if the Capitalists are more likely to give him the sack, the Socialists are even more likely to forbid him the smoke. There is no freedom for Father except in some sort of private ownership of things like water and fire. If he owned his own well his water could never be cut off, and while he sits by his own fire his pipe can never be put out. That is the real meaning of property, and the real argument against Socialism; probably the only argument against Socialism.”

Third Way

The core argument of Distributism, then, is that only by owning their own means of living can families be really free and secure. Capitalism allows for this, but it also comes with built-in mechanisms to subvert and disincentivize it — this I believe we have all seen, but I will discuss it at length in another article (see Lemonade-Stand Distributism). Socialism removes the concept of property and, with it, freedom and security for families. The goal of Distributism is that every family possess and retain ownership of their livelihood, and it describes a framework in which every aspect of civic life may be brought to defend that ownership.