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Posts Tagged ‘Philosophy’

If people’s beliefs strengthen in the face of argument, then how do you reassess beliefs to arrive at the good ones?  Epistemic Nihilism.

Destroy everything in your head, attacking from all angles with all other beliefs.  Throw beliefs at each other, they your soldiers and you their general.  Marshal them to war and pit them mercilessly and endlessly at odds.  Those nations of beliefs which stand, those individuals which triumph, they should be your initial guide to the beliefs which stand above the others.

And never forget to send in the cowards and deserters which hide amongst the shadows of your mind.  They too must be tested.

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Go Here and Read. (H/T Reddit)

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This article from the BBC discusses a study which correlates increased living space with increased evolution.  More particularly, the ability of a mutation to thrive is directly correlated to the ease with which it can enter an evolutionary niche.  The article ends with a critical quote from another evolutionary biologist:

And in general, what is the impetus to occupy new portions of ecological space if not to avoid competition with the species in the space already occupied?

The problem with this question is it’s subtly misinterpreting the study results.  First, generally, evolution is success by accident, so there’s no “impetus” involved.  But more importantly, the study is pointing out not that evolution does not creatures into additional ecological spaces, but rather that having found ecological spaces, things evolve.

Survival, once a free ecological niche is found, is assured for some time.  Take the evolution of birds.  Once they evolved wings, why evolve further?  There’s no reason to, no evolutionary pressure; especially initially, when individuals can just move into open space within the ecological niche they already inhabit.  However, there is ample room for new species to evolve without any threat.  Competition does not provoke proliferation through specialization necessarily.  Instead, it could as easily reduce the ability for new trials to succeed and thrive, since they would be rapidly killed by ruthless competitors before they could find their niche.

When success is assured and survival simple, though, new traits have a much easier time developing without significantly harming the survival opportunities of the infant species.

The impetus to occupy a new niche, then (if we can speak of such a thing), is not to avoid competition.  The animal moving into the niche is likely the descendant of a successful survivor and competitor.  It has no particular need to expand.  Rather, the impetus is more likely why not expand?

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Arstechnica (hey, they’ve had some back-to-back articles I want to comment on!) has posted an article discussing a panel talking about the Limits of Understanding.  Particularly, the panel seemed to focus on apparent deficiencies in math – notably, the practical intractability of biology to mathematical modeling and Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem.

Now, the proper modeling of biology may simple be a problem of time…sometime, a mathematical model may be devised of sufficient complexity and rigor that it is considered an adequate analysis of the underlying systems leading to observable reality.  What exercises the mathematicians more is whether an “adequate model” is a true model, that is.

The statement which interests me the most, though, is the final two sentences, uttered by the author of the article himself:

If math turns out to be just a tool (and a tool with some substantial limits), that may disappoint mathematicians, but it won’t necessarily slow down our ability to understand and model the natural world. This may be my background as a scientist talking, but that seems like the most important consideration, and I’m willing to live with a community of disappointed mathematicians in order to get there.

This demonstrates an infuriating philosophical stance.  A model does two things: it relates observations to one another, expressing a causal relationship chain between them, and elucidates the underlying real factors which produce these observations.  There exist two parts to the natural world: the observable, particular parts and the invisible relations underlying them.  Two rocks are observable, the force holding them to the ground, or the force value we say they exhibit as a property is not.  We infer force, based on changes over time.  Force isn’t so much real as a very successful description of an inferred relationship.  Mass is similar: it’s a relationship one objects exhibits vis a vis all other possible objects.  Importantly, mass was very successfully describes as a constant property of a given set of material.  However, mass can equally well be described as a property of curved space surrounding an object (if we’re talking about the source of the “attractive” force) or as a measure of the type of curvature produced by a massive object.

The statement by the author above exhibits a certain lack of philosophical follow through.  A model which successfully relates observed experience to one another implicitly makes statements about the invisible relationships observations have.  We cannot “understand and model” the natural world correctly unless we also correctly model those invisible relationships.  Unfortunately, those relationships are invisible; the best we can do is infer their nature.  If we have inferred incorrectly, then we are wrong, and our understanding is flawed.  We DON’T understand.  Since these relationships are invisible, this is somewhat untestable, so we won’t know.  The hope is that, by using rigorously consistent systems, systems which exhibit the same properties as the fundamental relational properties of existence, we can leave behind some of those inferential worries.

What is irritating the mathematicians is that Godel seems to have annihilated that possibility.  What really frustrates them is that if Godel truly killed the possibility of a formal system being provable, or that it is composed of two distinct subsets of theorems: those which are provable and those which are not, then do the relationships underpinning the universe dividable into a set of provable relations?  That is, do all the relationships of the universe derive from a rational order.  Importantly, Godel showed that certain theorems of a given system cannot follow from an entire set of other theorems.  It’s like saying a relationship could be true, or false, and it bears no relation to other theorems.  That’s fine, you might say, we can just look and see, right?

That’s part of the mathematicians problem, though: you can’t.  We’re speaking here of the fundamental relations of the universe, not the observable particulars.  Physics and biology aren’t much use if they can’t predict what’s going to happen, based on other things it knows.  Godel showed that, if you have a formal system of rules that is good enough to describes math, then there are going to be statements in that system YOU CAN’T PROVE.  Which means you can’t predict.  If someone asks, you have to say “I don’t know”.  Hofstadter shows (in Godel, Escher, and Bach) that there exists an infinite set of such statements.

If we take the positivist approach of simply using math as models where appropriate, we’ve thrown up our hands and admitted: we can’t actually describe the universe.  We can describe bits of it, but we can’t relate it together.  Further, because we cannot assert that the universe is describable by fundamental, consistent laws – because there cannot exist any such systems, including the universe – we can’t actually say the models we use are true, correct descriptions of how the universe works.  That’s not decidable.  All we can say is they work.  There demonstrably exists at least one other formal system which can accurately describe the observable phenomena a model describes, and it is impossible to decide between them.  In fact, it’s not even possible to say the universe is rational, because that, too, is undecidable.

If the purpose of the University is the search for truth, then it becomes problematic for the University if it can be rationally demonstrated that Truth is unreachable.  That means its purpose is finished: it has found the one Truth: there is no Truth.  Everything else is mental masturbation.

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So sayeth the guy who talks about movies a lot: never can video games aspire to have, amidst their mighty pantheon of wondrous achievements, a single, solitary instance of a “Work of Art”.

I disagree, and I think it comes down to definitions here.  Apparently, I have a broader definition of art than Ebert…or perhaps we approach it in two very different directions, leading to radically different final definitions that end up with some overlap.  In reading through his argument, I’m really unable to discern precisely what his definition of art IS.

Of course, the basis of his discourse is a rebuttal of a rather poorly made argument, by a woman who undermined her point at the very beginning of her talk by agreeing with Ebert that “No one in or out of the field has ever been able to cite a game worthy of comparison with the great poets, filmmakers, novelists and poets.”  This isn’t a very persuasive rhetorical maneuver, nor is it true.  I emphatically can name games worthy of such comparison, and know people who would name other such games.

She then continues down the strictly shoddy rhetorical path of continually throwing up obstacles to her argument.  Games which have been with us for centuries or millenia are not art.  This actually isn’t too controversial, which is why I think she so easily agrees: how is baseball art?  Football?  Mahjong?  We don’t really call these art normally, and since we’ve never granted them the positive assertion, then the negation must apply.  If something isn’t art, it’s “Not Art”.

I think this is partly a problem of our linguistic structure, where we have the exact same syntax for denying a property to something and saying we don’t know if it has that property.  If we never say something is art…that could mean, you know, that we’ve just never gone about thinking about it.  But Kellee Santiago simply goes on with the uncontested assertion that none of these games are art, appealing directly to common usage.  Never does she ask why they aren’t art.

Instead, she hops over to wikipedia to try and define art, arriving at this:

Art is the process or product of deliberately arranging elements in a way to affect the senses or emotions.

Of course, the article has a giant label over it, pointing out potential issues with it.  This definition, for instance, has no corroborating citations.  Wikipedia is built strictly on summarizing multiple sources in an effort to distill common, accessible knowledge, of which definitions are a part.  But let’s work with this, since it’s going to, at least initially, be Santiago’s starting place.  It’s worthwhile to point out that further down, wikipedia delves into the substantial argument raging with the philosophy of aesthetics (a particular philosophical endeavor I’ve always found cringeworthy, anyway), quickly diluting the clarity of its original definition.  Further, as Ebert notes, chess may fit that definition…as might football, baseball, mahjong, and other non-video-games.

Part of the issue here is that beauty, passion, the “Dionysian”, as Nietzsche called it, is somehow missing.  Take Kellee’s final definition: “Art is a way of communicating ideas to an audience in a way the audience finds engaging”.  What, precisely, is the idea communicated by music?  It doesn’t seem to be anything specific.  Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, something I tend to consider a staggering work of art, seems to offer no specific concepts or conceptual arrangements.  Pachelbel’s Canon in D is another wonderful artistic accomplishment, and the idea there seems to be…the generally accurate application of the rules of the canon, rules which are quite precise.  Indeed, the act of creating a canon, as Bach was famed for, was very much like…a game.  Simply look at the puzzle canon.

In fact, it feels like she just pushed the argument off.  Anything can be said to communicate an idea, as, strictly speaking, the moment a human comes in contact with something external, an idea is formed to attempt to mentally model this something.  Really, the thing differentiating art seems to be “engagement”, which remains poorly defined.

See, there’s little point in continuing.  We can’t use the examples she gives as a means of inductively arriving at a general definition of art, because she’s trying to convince they are instances of art.  We’d need to know they were first, and then try and move from there.  So really, she’s trying to claim her definition is good, and show how games are getting close to whatever her definition is.

It’s no good; her argument is, as Ebert properly notes, not terribly cohesive and difficult to see from the examples given.  She already conceded the ground that these examples aren’t art…they’re apparently the chicken scratches of early cave painters.  I agree with Ebert in his response to this:

They were great artists at that time, geniuses with nothing to build on, and were not in the process of becoming Michelangelo or anyone else.

Art, I think, has to be considered an end in itself.  A work of art is self-contained.

But then, what is art?  Ebert doesn’t seem to have a solid definition either, nor does he respond to the “engagement” definition.  He does point to a single difference, as he sees it, between games and art.

One obvious difference between art and games is that you can win a game. It has rules, points, objectives, and an outcome.

This is interesting, I think, because it seems to miss the point.  It is not that games have “rules, points, objectives, and an outcome”.  That’s like saying a human body has hands feet, torso, chest and legs.  A game IS those things.  He’s correct, if you don’t have rules and goals, you don’t have a game.  You can win at a single instance of a game; you cannot “win” a game.  The game sits seperately from our playthroughs, giving weight to them, providing the bones to hold up the meat of our interaction.

A game, in its essence, consists entirely of a conglomeration of concepts, of abstract rules governing a “world”, a set of particles upon which those rules operate.  If ever there were a medium which sought to express ideas, games, in all forms, is it.  Games are representations of structures of motion, whimsical, semi-real, relevant, or absolutely divorced from any connection to the rules of our own world.  All of the narratives constructs, the stories, the setting, the graphics, the music, the controls, the design, all of these are woven together into the higher form of a game.  They are subordinate to the whole, which is experienced as discovery.

Consider a Monet.  Impressionism is not, at least to me, terribly interesting initially.  However, upon finally seeing a monet, in person, from a distance, I discovered what was being shown: not simply the static image of a pond, or a snowed-upon roof, but the distillation of the motion.  Seen from afar, they managed to convey a more dynamic, visceral representation of the subject matter than a more statically detailed rendition.  That’s not to say Impressionism therefore was better art…it simply has its own virtues.

I am left to think that it is something of this sort which makes something potentially art: it’s ability to evoke passion in us.  Art is something towards which we cannot be indifferent, or at least which was cared for in its making.  Passion is the true tool of the artist, and all the myriad forms of “art” are simply new ways to express the passion of the artist.  Perhaps I am simply troubled by the lack of concern for the artist, for we focus on the audience.  Does an artist even think of the audience?  Is an audience necessary to art?  Or is art the result of the vain attempt to give form to what is strictly a concept, to birth into reality something hinted at in a mind?  If it is this latter, isn’t the impact on the audience simply a secondary concern?

Really, part of my disagreement here is that I find logical proofs to be artistic.  Indeed, they cannot fail to meet any definition provided by either Ebert or Santiago, yet I bet neither of them would wish to call logical proofs…art.  There is, however, no other word I can find to apply to the deft mental construction, the elegance and awe-inspiring brilliance of things like Cantor’s Diagonalization Argument or Godel’s Incompleteness Theorems.  If math and logic can produce works of art, I find myself open to discovering works of art anywhere.

Thus, I disagree with Roger Ebert and Kellee Santiago that games have yet to produce a masterpiece of the form.  I am quite willing to assert the Silent Hill 2 ranks as an absolute masterpiece of a game, on par with any of the masterpieces of psychological thriller I have seen and certainly equal to any of the great novels I have read.  I put down super mario brothers as an example of distilled fun, and put forward that watching what truly great players can do with the game says that the game itself is a work of art.  I would happily contend that Modern Warfare 1 (but not 2) was an absolute masterpiece of first person shooting and single-player gaming.  I think Final Fantasy VI and VII are both worthy of being called works of art, along with Chrono Trigger.  These games were not merely pivotal points in games history.

I shouldn’t fail to include Braid, though I sadly haven’t played it.  I would happily call Audiosurf a successful piece of experimental art.  Geometry Wars Evolved also qualifies as a work of art.  For me, Extreme G 2 delivered to me an experience which was evocative and brilliant (I couldn’t quite call Extreme G 3 better, and I didn’t play Wipeout XL, so I can’t comment on it).  Many Bioware games could arguably fit within this pantheon of masterpieces of art, along with many of Blizzard’s works.

Tetris is a masterpiece.

These are things I would put in a gallery, if a gallery could be a place where one person could sit, ensconced in the setting envisioned for these games for the time it takes to squeeze their wonder from them, and call them worthy of display.  I do not think games are lacking for works of art.  I think the world of video games overflows with some of the most profound and earnest creative effort humanity has ever born witness to, whether crass entertainment or high-minded morals.  Heck, the world SURROUNDING games gives birth to a massive creative effort, from the fansites to the webcomics to the theorycrafting to the remixed music.

In fact, I defy Santiago or Ebert to describe a single artistic subculture which has ever promoted such a diversity of creative effort.

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I still remember the spirited debate I had here with Jormundgard about Science as Religion.  I’ve been rifling around for ways to properly restart that conversation, but my mental inertia fizzled, the train of my thought changing to different tracks.  Despite that, I still peer out the windows, longingly gazing upon the mountains of that far country and the discoveries to be made upon their sides, amongst their foothills and valleys, and the vistas upon their peaks.

And I remember that conversation was begun talking about climate change and skepticism, sparked by talk of the Climategate Emails.  It was with this rolling about in my head that I read this interview with James Lovelock.  Here’s, for my money, the choicest quote:

What I like about sceptics is that in good science you need critics that make you think: “Crumbs, have I made a mistake here?” If you don’t have that continuously, you really are up the creek.

I’m relatively certain that this feeling is shared amongst all scientists, amateur and professional.  Indeed, on the grounds of the Church of Reason, amidst the cathedrals of the university, I’m certain it’s felt they are all skeptics and critics, for isn’t that fundamental to science?  The asking of questions?  Isn’t that the nature of Reason?

It is not, however.  Consider that the Logos as pursued by the disciples of Socrates (Plato and his student, Aristotle) moved along two paths: Dialectic and Logic.  Dialectic is the pursuit of knowledge through discourse, along the lines of questions and answers.  It is the very essence of skepticism; Logic, though, is not.  Aristotelian Logic, rather, is the exploration of existing axioms to produce theorems, the development and exploration of hierarchies, the refinement of models.  To be a skeptic is to question the assertions of a model, which is not the purpose of analytic logic.  Analytic logic is strictly concerned with the development of the model itself, not with its truth (or applicability or whatever).

That isn’t to say analysis is bad or unable to ascertain truth, but rather that it cannot question itself because it assumes its own accuracy.  Consider a standard logical formulation:

  1. p: Axiom 1
  2. p->q: Axiom 2
  3. q: from 1 & 2

We haven’t honestly said anything here beyond “given 1 and 2, 3”.  We haven’t demonstrated 1 and 2, so we haven’t demonstrated 3.  For any more complex demonstration, the set of assumptions grows, and over all the cloud hangs that the particular system of logic itself is an assumption.  A model of truth, not truth itself, the wall we touch in the dark and assume indicates a building is there.

Most science proceeds in the direction of examining and explaining the results of a series of assumptions.  Realize that measurements are taken assuming certain contexts hold true; it is very rare a measurement in such circumstance can contradict the assumptions behind its importance.  Scientists trod well-worn paths, waggling their beards too and fro as they look for changes to the grass lining their roads, or stopping to set a loose cobble firm.  They are not given to striking out perpendicular to the given path, as the important bit is the destination at the paths end: they already know where they are going.  They might stop to make the passage easier for those who follow, but new trails are not blazed by people who know where they are going.

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