science

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Oblivion is cold comfort, but it’s all the comfort I have to offer

Well, it’s Monday.  Meet the new week‒same as the old week.  There is nothing new or interesting happening, as far as I can see.  Nothing is new in my personal interactions with the world, and nothing is new in the world at large.  There may seem to be new things, and there are probably some details that are unique.  But then again, every snowflake is supposedly unique, but they’re all just flakes of snow, airborne ice crystals, and the overall behavior is nothing different despite all the trivially new specific flakes.  The phenomenon of snowfall is still just overall the same.

“So in the world,” as Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar said.  “‘Tis furnished well with men.  And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive.”  He goes on the claim that he is unique in the next sentence, but immediately thereafter, Brutus, Cassius, et al, demonstrate that he too is merely flesh and blood like all the rest.

All the heroes, all the villains, all the ordinary people‒they are all functionally identical, despite all their trivial differences.  What percentage of the people who have ever lived are remembered at all?  A smattering, a handful, if that‒not even a rounding error compared to the total of all people who have lived.  And many of those we do remember are probably highly fictionalized and may not have actually existed at all.

What are the odds that Gilgamesh and Enkidu were real people?  How about Achilles and Hector?  For crying out loud, we know that even Richard III, presented as Shakespeare’s most thoroughgoing villain (perhaps matched by Iago) and deformed as well, was pretty much nothing of either sort in real life (or that’s what the historical evidence suggests).  He was simply defeated and then vilified by those who had defeated him, presumably to help justify their own actions.

And, by the way, who remembers them?

This sort of fact is part of why I sometimes refer to people (and other lifeforms) as virtual particles.  They pop into existence, persist for an infinitesimal period of time, and then literally vanish again, without a proverbial trace.

Well, actually, as with all virtual particles (which are not actually a thing but are merely mathematical and pedagogical tools) the collective effects of us virtual particles‒aka living things‒can have impacts on the world as a whole.  It’s even conceivable that, in just the right circumstances, as with the “real” virtual particles*, a virtual personicle can become actual.  I’m not sure what that would mean in the real world, though, and I’m not convinced that it has ever yet happened.

All this is part of why I have no patience for people who become fanatical about their particular ideologies and such.  They’re all just equivalent to some fanciful imaginary imaginings by a group of photons or neutrinos or what have you.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s perfectly reasonable for someone to approach their current affairs and ideas as “important” in their local** transient bailiwick, for some things to be important to them.  But it would be silly in a pronounced (but unfortunately not funny) sense for anyone to imagine that they had access to some final, consequential knowledge about the nature of the world and particularly about how people should behave.  If someone had such knowledge, I suspect it would be obvious to any intellectually honest person, including intelligent but disinterested aliens.

Humans and their dogmas are transient and transitory and ephemeral (and other synonyms as well) as are all other specific forms of life and ways of life.  Life overall is transient; as far as we can tell, it cannot even in principle go on forever.  That’s not just referring to individual lives, but to life as a phenomenon.  We could be wrong about this; there is much we don’t know, and in principle, our descendants could discover ways around the Second Law of Thermodynamics.  But that’s quite a big “if”, as it were.

Sorry to be such a downer; it’s just my nature, apparently.  Look not for comfort from me, as the ghost of Marley said.  It comes from other regions and is delivered by other ministers to other sorts of people.  Though, in this case, I’m not sure about what sorts of ministers and people would be involved, let alone what “regions” might produce such comfort.

In any case, I have no comfort, so I can offer none to anyone else; I cannot give what I do not have and what I do not even hope to have.  The best I can offer is to say that, well, oblivion seems to be the only viable alternative to discomfort offered by this universe.  It’s not much to offer, I admit, but it’s the best I have.  And, as pointed out above, as far as we can tell, it’s waiting for us all, eventually.

I won’t say that I look forward to it, because that really doesn’t make much sense.  But I am tired of trying to continue despite having almost no good reason to do so.

I hope you, the average reader, feel better than I do.  Batman help you if you feel worse.

*There’s an oxymoron.

**That “local” can, in principle, include the entire planet.  The point is merely that it is quite finite and limited.

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Only the truly continuous is infinitely divisible

Well, it’s Friday, the last day of another work week—the first full week of August (or Sexember, if you prefer) in 2025.  And here I am writing things that, so far, are not only trivial but banal.  Perhaps, as I go along, I will write something more interesting and surprising, but so far, I’m not impressed with myself.  I guess these things happen.

I did not end up riding my new bike back to the house last night, because there were thunderstorms in the area, particularly down by where I live.  I’m not too intimidated by riding a bike in the rain, but it’s a new bike, and its configuration is different than the type to which I am used, and it is slightly wobblier than my normal, so I felt it wasn’t a great idea to ride it five miles in the rain.  It turned out the rain was almost over by the time I got to my train stop, but it was nevertheless still quite wet and puddly, and I probably was wise-ish to avoid riding in it.

Still, it’s slightly frustrating.  Hopefully, today it won’t be an issue, because it would be a shame to miss the whole weekend with it by the house.  There are supposed to be thunderstorms today again, but they are expected earlier in the day than yesterday, and the weather is predicted to clear by early evening.  That should be fine, at least.

Of course, weather prediction is never perfectly precise—Chaos Theory being applicable and all that—but forecasts done for only twelve hours or so in the future are likely to be much more accurate than those for a day or a few days or a week ahead of time.  After about five days, trying to get too specific a forecast is a bit of a waste of effort, and it may always be.  One cannot, with finite computing power, calculate things to infinite precision, and without infinite precision, in the long term, Chaos makes one’s predictions ever more inaccurate.

Of course, that raises (not “begs”!) the question of whether reality is actually defined in any meaningful sense down to the level where limitless precision would apply.  In other words, are Real Numbers actually a thing that exists in reality?  That may seem a strange question, given that they are called “Real Numbers”, but that’s just a name, given by humans as a file heading if you will, a way to index the subject.  It doesn’t actually signify the reality of the real numbers, any more than those who call themselves “Conservative” in the current US are in any legitimate sense conservative by most agreed upon uses of that word.

Of course, all non-complex numbers are Real numbers, and all Real numbers can be considered complex numbers (just with a zero i component if they are only Real).  The counting numbers are still Real numbers, as are all the integers and fractions, and of course, all our best known “irrational”* numbers, like π and e.  But the vast majority of Real numbers cannot be specified by any reductive formula or algorithm, but have do be described digit by digit, forever—maximum information-type entropy.

So, to describe fully a “typical” specific Real number usually requires infinite information, with infinite precision.  But there’s a real (haha) question whether any portion of reality is defined so precisely, or whether that could even have any meaning.  As far as we currently know, the smallest distance that has physical meaning is the Planck Length (about 1.6×10−35 m), and the shortest time that makes physical sense is the Planck Time (about 5.4×10−44 s), and so on.  These are very tiny numbers, but they are finite, not infinitesimal, and are certainly not infinitely non-repeating decimals.

But does the Planck Length (and Time) apply to actual, bottom-level reality, or is that merely a limit within the constraints of our current understanding?  We don’t know, for instance, how such things apply to gravity when it becomes strong enough for such scales to apply.

It’s mind-boggling, or at least wildly stimulating of probably inexpressible thought, that reality may be only finitely defined at every given point in space (which “points” themselves would only be finitely packed, so to speak, such that below a certain scale, the distance between two points would have no meaning) or that it may in fact be infinitely defined, down to the fully expressed Real Number level, and that indeed it may be infinitely divisible in the same sense Real Numbers are—and thus there would be, between any two points in spacetime, as many points as there are in ALL of spacetime.

Either possibility is wildly cool and difficult to represent internally—indeed, impossible to represent perfectly internally, but difficult even to contemplate roughly at any very deep level.  Is it any wonder that people like Cantor and Gödel were mentally ill, given the kinds of things they contemplated and explored?  I’m not saying those things were the reason for their illness; that would be a cheesy sort of magical thinking, redolent of an H. P. Lovecraft story.  But the contemplation of infinities and complexity and chaos is both sobering and intoxicating at the same time.

What do you know, I drifted into less banal areas after all.  I guess that’s a decent way to end the work week of blog posts.  I hope you all have an interesting and good weekend, without too many utterly unpredictable events (unless they’re good ones for you).

*Just to remind you, this does not refer to numbers that are in some sense crazy, just that they cannot be expressed as a ratio of two integers, no matter how large the integers.  That’s the original meaning of the word irrational, but the very fact that there existed such numbers seemed so horrifying to the old Pythagoreans—or so I’ve heard—that it almost immediately acquired it’s secondary, now more common, usage.

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This tue, tue sullied (or solid) day

Tuesday or not Tuesday?  That is the question.  And the answer, for today at least, is that today is Tuesday.

I don’t know when you’re reading this, though.  Odds are, if you aren’t reading this on the day I publish it, that you are not reading it on a Tuesday.  In fact, once we get out past the rest of this week* there should only be a roughly 1 in 7 chance that you are reading this on a Tuesday.

That’s probably pretty obvious, huh?  Still, it can be useful to be in the habit of thinking in terms of probability and statistics, since that’s the way nature sorts itself out, right on down to the level of quantum mechanics, to the best of our understanding.  If people had a better understanding of the nature of probability, many things in the world would run far better, or so I suspect.

I have written at least one previous post (on Iterations of Zero) about how I think probability and statistics should be emphasized far more in general math education at the secondary school level (even for non-college-prep students).

Imagine a world in which most people had grown up learning about the nature of probability with reasonable rigor.  There would be fewer headline-based scares about things that are unlikely enough to be irrelevant‒e.g., plane crashes‒and more appropriate understanding about things like vaccination and disease prevention of various kinds, among numerous other matters.

Imagine if the people of the world really understood the difference between absolute risk and relative risk, and if they grasped the difference between sensitivity and specificity for medical tests.  Heck, imagine if the public at large had a decent elementary grasp of Bayesian probability.  Bayes’s Theorem is not really all that difficult, when you get right down to it.  Veritasium did a nice video about it**.

Of course, as I’ve said before, if wishes were horses, we’d all be neck deep in horse shit, whereas that’s only figuratively the case as it is.  But it would be nice if politicians and other people with undue influence had to deal with a general public that was savvy about the legitimate use of statistics and why (and how) they are fundamental to a thorough understanding of the world itself.  It’s not an accident nor a mistake that Jaynes named his book Probability Theory: The Logic of Science.

And science is not an esoteric thing.  It is not a high-falutin’ mode of thought that doesn’t pertain to the average person.  It comes from the Latin scire, meaning to know.  It is fundamental to the nature of our epistemology, to not just what we know about the world but how we come to know it, how complete and how incomplete is our understanding and what the nature of the world really is at deepest and broadest and finest and coarsest levels.

So, it’s fairly pertinent to everyone, really.  After all, if you want to win a game (or get your best score or whatever) you’re best off understanding the rules as well as you can.  A true novice is unlikely to win a game of chess, or of Go, or even of Mario Kart against someone who knows what they are doing.

Now, nature isn’t our adversary per se‒if it were, we would all be long gone‒but it “knows” its rules and always and only plays by those rules, by definition.  In fact, if you come upon a place where you think nature has broken its rules***, what’s really happened is that you’ve come to a place where you don’t understand the rules.  Nature cannot be “wrong”.  There is no such thing as the “supernatural” in reality, because anything that actually happens, that actually exists, is part of nature.

Even if you discovered that you were in a situation such as that described by Descartes or The Matrix, in which the reality you think you know is an illusion, that is simply a newly discovered fact about the nature of reality, and it raises**** the question of what is the nature of that illusion, what is behind it, and by what laws of physics do those entities operate?

So, anyway, it’s good to learn about how reality works if you want your best chance (never a guarantee) of doing what you want successfully and getting what you desire from life.  No one here gets out alive (at least it’s very unlikely) but you might as well make the game as rewarding as you can in the meantime.

*Which I suspect would be when most non-same-day readers would read this.

**He also did a really nice one about the logistic map and chaos and the Mandelbrot Set that will blow your mind if you haven’t thought about it before.

***I’m thinking of those stories with submoronic headlines such as “New discovery breaks physics!” which don’t make sense to anyone who knows anything, and which should embarrass those who write them.

****It does not beg the question.  To beg a question is not to raise the question, but rather to proceed as if it had already been asked and answered in a way that you’re presuming it to be answered.  It is a way of skirting fundamental issues and avoiding having to prove a case.  In other words, it is willfully or accidentally disingenuous.

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Had we but time enough, and space…

It’s the beginning of a new week but the end of an old month:  Monday, June 30, 2025, AD (or CE, if you prefer).  After tonight at midnight, we will be in the second half of this year, for whatever that’s worth.

Of course, one can debate whether Monday is really the beginning of the week or just the beginning of the work week.  Many consider Sunday to be the start of the week, at least here in this region of the “West”.

But, of course, since mainstream Christianity sees Sunday as the sabbath day, a day which is supposed to commemorate the day on which God rested after creating the world, seeing Sunday as the beginning of the week doesn’t make a lot of sense.  In the “original” observance of the sabbath—the Jewish one—Shabbat falls on Saturday (beginning Friday at nightfall), which makes more sense.  Then, Sunday really is the beginning of the week.

Not that any of this actually signifies anything real.  The start of the week or the start of a month or the start of a year are all just as arbitrary as one’s choice of the location of the origin and the x and y axes in setting up a system of coordinates in Euclidean space (or a plane, in this case).  As long as one is consistent in applying them, any calculations involved will turn out the same.  It is, in a way, a kind of symmetry, which would—in physics, anyway, if one were applying Noether’s Theorem to such as absurd situation—imply a conservation law of some variety.

I suppose there is a sort of conservation of days and months, in that one cannot by adding or subtracting days or months on a calendar change the length of a year or of a lunar cycle.  Although, with a big enough rocket or explosion or whatever, one could noticeably alter those things—it would be catastrophic for creatures on Earth, but this is science we’re talking about here, and if life on Earth must suffer for the advancement of science, then so much the worse for life on Earth!

I was kidding with that last bit there.  I am currently alive and on Earth—though at times I rue both facts—so I don’t actually want to treat life on Earth frivolously for my own curiosity’s sake.  Also, and more importantly, the people who matter most to me live on Earth*.

Anyway, over time the orbit of the moon is going to lengthen, as the moon very slowly draws farther and farther away from the Earth (which it is doing).  The length of a day and of a year both also slowly and subtly change over time.  Those time scales are long, though, and probably the sun will go red giant before either rate has changed enough to cause significant trouble, barring some large-scale asteroid collision or something similar.

This does, however, raise a point about the relationship of symmetry and conservation laws, à la Emmy Noether’s theorem.

It is the symmetry of translation—moving something from one place to another doesn’t change the laws of physics—that implies conservation of momentum.  And it is the symmetry of rotation—it doesn’t matter in what direction you’re oriented, the laws of physics are the same—that implies conservation of angular momentum.  And it is the symmetry of time—the laws of physics don’t change from one moment to the next—that implies the conservation of energy.

But here’s the rub:  on the largest of scales, the universe is not time symmetric; the past is significantly different than the present (and the future).  And so, on long time scales, the conservation of energy does not apply.  This is not merely a case in which I’m playing word games, by the way.  In this instance, I am speaking the truth about the nature of energy at the level of the cosmos according physics as it is understood today.

It’s an interesting question whether our local asymmetry in time—i.e., that the direction toward the “Big Bang” looks quite different from the other direction in time—is really just a local phenomenon.  That may seem strange, but perhaps it will be useful to consider an analogy with the various dimensions of space.

In space, in general, there is no directionality to the three dimensions.  One can go up and down, back and forth, and from side to side with equal ease, at least in space in general.  However, if you live on the surface of the Earth**, there is a very real difference between “up-down” and the other two sets of directions.

This apparent directionality to space is caused, of course, by the gravitational effect of the mass of the Earth itself.  It is an entirely local directionality, caused by a local phenomenon.  And similarly, the seeming directionality of time may be merely because we are “near” (in time) to a local, powerfully influential phenomenon:  whatever caused the Big Bang and produced a region in time of extremely low entropy and significant expansion, whether it is cosmic inflation or something else.

It seems pretty clear that, as entropy increases “over time”, the difference between past and future will become less and less noticeable, until eventually, there will be effectively no directionality to time***.  And so, in the “heat death” of the universe, the conservation of energy would steadily apply more and more, even at cosmic scales.

Not that there would be anyone to notice.

Of course, one can ask if there exists more than one time dimension.  I have asked this before, myself, I think on my other blog, Iterations of Zero.  But now there are some serious physicists entertaining the notion.  This sort of thing always makes me feel at least a little bit clever:  when I thought of something before the mainstream physics articles were published (or at least before I encountered them).

Anyway, that’s enough of that for now, this morning.  I hope you all have as good a week as you can.  Well, you will inevitably have as good a week as you can, but I hope it will subjectively be good  for you, too.

*I am not one of those people.

**As I suspect most of you do, at least physically.

***Very much in the way that, as one gets farther and farther away from the surface of some strongly gravitating body, like a planet, the difference between up and down becomes less and less prominent and finally vanishes into undetectability.

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The stochasticity of quantum interactions and the names of days of the week

It’s Wednesday today.  That’s a weird way to spell a day, and a weird way to spell a version of the name of the god Wotan or Odin, after whom the day is named (unless I am quite, quite mistaken).

Our days are peculiarly and seemingly haphazardly named here in the English-speaking West.  We’re not the only ones with inconsistent weekday names, but ours are certainly a strange hodgepodge.  Sunday and Monday are relatively straightforward:  they’re named for the sun and the moon.  Then, weirdly, we suddenly switch to Norse (!) mythology and name the next four days after four of the old Scandinavian deities.  Then, abruptly, we switch to a Roman god, Saturn, for Saturday.

This “names of the days of the week” thing was clearly not planned out.  It just sort of happened.  But that’s the way so many things occur in the real world—indeed, perhaps everything just sort of happens, and at multiple levels—not randomly but nevertheless stochastically and in a way that is functionally unpredictable, at least in its details.

The various quantum fields just sort of interact in ways that, at their lowest stable energy levels, give us quarks and gluons and electrons and photons and W and Z bosons and various neutrinos and a nonzero Higgs field that interacts with some (but not all) of the other fields.  The quarks and gluons just happen to form up stably into protons (and some neutrons, but neutrons are only stable within an atomic nucleus—they decay with a half-life of about ten minutes when existing freely).  And the protons happen to interact, via the electromagnetic field, with the electron field, and they stably pair up, and neutrons come into play “afterwards”, stabilizing larger atomic nuclei (though that’s not all they do).

Then, on large scales, the graviton field (if there indeed is such a thing, which is suspected but not certain) interacts with all the other fields, and where the density of stuff is slightly higher it pulls that stuff in towards itself, and where it is less, that rarefied stuff gets thinned out further as its components are pulled by neighboring stronger areas of gravity.

This process undergoes positive feedback—as stuff gets denser, its gravity gets more prominent, and that in turn tends to make the stuff get denser still.  And if there is any net angular momentum to larger collections of the stuff—and there almost always is some net angular momentum, since there’s only one way to have zero angular momentum, and there is a functionally limitless number of ways for it to be nonzero*—the stuff starts to rotate around a net common axis.

And then, of course, we get galaxies, and in those galaxies, we get stars, in which the interactions of the various quantum fields and gravity lead the protons and neutrons to get together into bigger clumps, some of which are quite stable (and the ones that aren’t stable simply don’t endure but transform into other states until they find ones that are stable).

Then stars run out of fuel, and the various field interactions and gravity produce various kinds of spectacular deaths, most of which involve scattering at least some heavier elements** out into the reaches of the galaxies.  Then we get next generations of stars, which (by the way) clump and develop angular momentum in a smaller but similar way to the galaxies.  And now, with heavier elements, we get planets, some of which are largely solid.

I think you know the broad strokes of the rest of the story.  If not, let me know.

Of course, this is a very general sketch of how stuff just came together to form the universe in which we exist, and there’s no indication that that is anything more than just small things—or esoteric things, really, such as quantum fields and their local perturbations—interacting with each other and making patterns on larger scales, much as water molecules can clump into fantastic patterns in the frost on windows or in snowflakes when they get cool enough.  Simple (well, relatively simple) rules at small scales can come together to produce surprising things at larger scales when they all interact at secondary, tertiary, quaternary and higher levels.

If you want to see how remarkable that tendency can be even in two dimensions, find a website that lets you play “John Conway’s Game of Life” and see how stable and active and interactive shapes can arise from even truly simple rules.

What was my point?  Sorry, I got distracted there for a minute.  Oh, right, I just meant to say that the things that happen and that all seem very real and important and even inevitable and fundamental are largely the products of stochastic processes interacting in ways that ultimately are far from being representable by any kind of linear equation.

It’s entirely possible and plausible that, if the rules of the quantum fields—or the specific types of quantum fields*** involved—were different, and thus interacted with each other differently, they might still accumulate into structures and functions on higher levels, and though they might produce a universe that would be all but incomprehensible to us, and in which we could not survive for an instant, they might nevertheless form structures and processes that could become what would have to be called “alive” and even “aware” and “intelligent”.

But in how many such universes would there be creatures that name the days of whatever passes for their weeks after various astronomical bodies (or whatever they have that is comparable) and random mythological figures from different places and times?

I leave it to the reader to speculate.

*There’s only so fast anything can be spinning, since no part of the spinning thing can exceed the speed of light.  Even black holes have a maximum angular velocity.  Nevertheless, both the angular velocity and the net axis of rotation can be more or less continuously variable.  If we can apply the real numbers—which ironically may not be possible in the real world—there is an uncountably infinite number of possible ways for angular momentum to be nonzero.  That makes zero really unlikely and unstable.

**Astronomers call any element but Hydrogen and Helium a “metal”, which is a very loose use of the term if you ask me.  I think many astronomers would agree, and sometimes I think I detect more than a tiny amount of embarrassment when they tell people that astronomical definition.

***Or the configurations of strings and branes if superstring/M theory turns out to be correct.

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Thoughts on real versus virtual keyboards, books, and quantum teleportation

It’s Friday, and I’m writing this post on my mini laptop computer, because although yesterday I forgot it and had to use the smartphone, it was really quite nice the other day to be able to type for real and not tap around on some simulated keyboard with no aesthetic appeal, on which one cannot feel the keys responding to one’s touch (and which gives this one arthritic pain in the base of his thumbs).

I remember when the notion of such a virtual keyboard first appeared to me—this was in Star Trek: The Next Generation.  I thought the idea seemed terribly unsatisfactory despite being very clever.  I mean, I recognized the efficiency of it, but when the characters would read books and such things on their little portable “tablets”, it seemed almost heartbreaking.

Obviously, in a star ship in deep space, they’re not going to have room for a vast physical library such as the virtual one they clearly have in the ship’s computer.  It’s much like the fact that I have many more books in my Kindle library than I have in my physical living space (though I used to have way more physical books than I have current Kindle books).  But something is lost a bit, nevertheless, at least for me, with such virtual collections.

Actually, it just occurred to me:  in Star Trek, they use replicators to make their food and so on, applying the transporter technology to reproduce scanned items that include food.  Why could they not use that to replicate books as needed, then scan them away when they were done?

Of course, the quantum mechanics of potential real world transporter-type technology is such that you couldn’t mass produce anything from “scanning” any one particular item; as part of the required entanglement process for quantum teleportation, one destroys the quantum states of the particles in the original item (or person, if it’s a person, so Dr. McCoy was right to be leery of the transporter).

Also, the entangled particles used to reconstruct the item by creating a new set of particles in identical quantum states to the original, could not be kept in their transitional states indefinitely; such states are not inherently stable.  Even if they could be maintained thanks to advanced technology, once they were used to recreate the original item or person, those entangled particles would also have their own quantum states irreparably altered, and could not be used to make another copy.

You can never make more than one copy of a thing sent by quantum teleportation, The Enemy Within notwithstanding*.

Still, maybe the people in TNG could “scan” a bunch of real books, as if about to transport them using the ship’s transporters, and just…save them for later.  You couldn’t make multiple copies, again because the originals would not still exist after being scanned—as I noted before, such scanning destroys the initial quantum states of all the constituents of the scanned item (or person).  But they could just be singly stored in the “buffer”, saving the quantum state of the entangled particles used to apply quantum teleportation.

But wait, I hear you say, storing all those books “in transition” would entail a tremendous amount of stored quantum information that would need to be maintained in its entangled state indefinitely, at presumably great cost in data and energy.  Not only that, one would have to have the equivalent of the mass of those items in the ship at all times, no matter** what.

You are very clever, and you are, of course, correct; it wouldn’t be efficient in any sense, and would add to the power requirements of the ship.  Also, in any serious disruption of the ship’s stability and power—such as happens in nearly every episode, so more than twenty times a year on average—much of that quantum information would probably be lost.

Maybe it really doesn’t make practical sense to try to do such a thing.  After all, I’m the person who has bemoaned the incredible data wastage necessary to store audio, let alone video, files rather than the much more efficient written word.  And I have not changed my mind on that set of subjects.  I could record a video, or even an audio, of me reading the words of this blog post, and it would have a file size in the hundreds of K at least; for a video, it would probably be many megabytes in size.

Meanwhile, my average blog posts, as stored in Word, are 16 to 20 K in size.  It’s quite a difference.  Even just using the RAM of this small computer (4 gigabytes) I could load up as many as a quarter of a million blog posts (assuming nothing else were in the random-access memory, which in not the way things work).  That’s about 250 million words.  Even I am unlikely to write that much during my lifetime.

More importantly, with the written word no one has to look at my ugly mug (though I will admit that my voice is absolutely lovely, so it might be worth hearing any audio file I produce…Ha-ha, just kidding).

Anyway, as I noted, it’s Friday, and I’m almost certain we’re not working tomorrow—I’m inclined to say that, even if the office is open, I’m not working tomorrow, but I tend not to follow through on such ultimata, because I’m a pushover—so there won’t be another post until Monday, at the earliest (barring, as always, the unforeseen).

I hope you all have a good weekend, but at least I know, as I pointed out yesterday, that you will have the best weekend you possibly can, since whatever happens becomes inevitable as soon as it happens, and it may have always been so (if quantum superdeterminism is correct).  Of course, that means you will also have the worst weekend possible.  But for most weekends, that’s a comfort.  For most such weekends, you could honestly say, “Well, if that was the worst weekend I could possibly have had, it’s not so bad.”

Usually, you could honestly say and feel that.  And it’s very likely that this weekend will be one such usual weekend.

Have a good one.

*In any case, that episode is really more of a fable than anything truly science fiction.  It assumes a bizarre kind of dualism between body and mind and a further, cleanly divisible dualism even in the mind itself, which in the episode is split into discrete but very broad personality aspects that can be separated out into different bodies.  It’s an interesting exploration of the tension between aspects of a person’s character, and engages speculation about whether a dark/violent side is a necessary aspect for a good leader.

**No pun intended, but I’m leaving it.

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O heavy lightness, serious vanity, misshapen chaos of well-seeming blogs

Hello and good morning.  It’s Thursday, of course‒thus the “traditional” opening salutation‒and here I am again, writing another in a line of hundreds of Thursday blog posts.

Have I said all that I could say, already?  Probably not.  The number of possible 800+ word strings of English writing is surely unfathomably vast.  If I were going to try to give some kind of upper boundary, we would consider that there are a few million words in the English language, and I could just try to solve for a few million to the 800th power.  That’s a huge number (104800). But most of those combinations‒all of them, effectively‒would be nonsense.

By “all of them” I mean that, if one applies the constraints of grammar, or even just of making tolerable sense to a potential reader, the number of strings of 800 coherent words is so much smaller than the number of possible strings of 800 words without care for sensibility that, if one were looking at some shape or field that represented the latter, the former would probably be too small to see, given the constraints on the resolving power of visible light.

It’s a bit like the possibilities implicit in DNA.  The human genome is on the order of a billion or so base pairs* long, if memory serves, and each “site” on the genome has 4 possible “letters”.  So, the potential number of sequences of DNA in that genome is on the order of 4 to the billionth power, which would be 2 to the 2 billionth power, which is about 10 to the 600 millionth power (10600,000,000).

That’s a huge number. Remember, a googol is merely 10100, and it is already a number that far exceeds the number of baryons in the (visible) universe (which is on the order of 1080).  And remember how exponentials work:  every time you add 1 to the exponent you multiply by the base number, in this case 10.  So, 10101 is ten times larger than 10100.

As you can see, the number of possible DNA sequences is beyond astronomical, at least unless we get into, say, the measures of entropy represented by an event horizon, as an indicator of the number of possible quantum states it could have “within”.  But distances and times and numbers of particles in the accessible universe are unnoticeably small compared to the number of possible sequences of DNA**.

However, the vast majority of those base-pair combinations would certainly not code for anything that we would consider human, or indeed any other living creature that’s ever existed on Earth.  Most are the analogue of throwing random words together to make a blog post.  They wouldn’t come close to coding for anything that would be a living creature.

Nevertheless, even ruling out all the nonsense, the number of possible viable human genomes is vast.  It may still be larger than the number of particles in the visible universe, but don’t quote me on that‒I haven’t checked those numbers.  In any case, it’s much larger than the number of humans who have ever lived, and probably larger than the number of humans who will ever live even if the species goes on to become cosmically significant.

What this all comes down to, I guess, is that I haven’t come close to writing all the possible blog posts I could write, even ruling out ones that wouldn’t make any sense and even ruling out ones that differ from others only by a word or two.  I guess this blog itself constitutes a case in point.

But boy, it can be a lot of work trying to write something new every day, and even more work trying to write something interesting.  That’s why I don’t bother with the latter criterion; I just write whatever comes out, which is usually something at least mildly interesting to me, and I figure it’ll reach kindred spirits if they happen upon it‒and if such people even exist.

Speaking of kindred spirits, I hope you all have a lovely day.  At least I hope it will be as good as it can possibly be‒which it will, since once it’s happened, it can’t have been otherwise than it was.

TTFN

*In case you don’t recall, DNA is a long chain molecule of polymerized “nitrogenous bases”, adenine, guanine, thymine, and cytosine.  Because each DNA base can pair up only with its complementary base (A with T, G with C) this allows for high fidelity copying, and thus reproduction.

**Now, if the universe is spatially infinite‒which it looks like it is, but may not be‒then of course the number of particles or quantum states or even planets with life would be infinite, and thus larger than any possible finite number, no matter how big you might choose.  Fun things happen when one deals with infinities.

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Therefore the Moon, the governess of blogs, pale in her anger washes all the air

Hello and good morning.  It’s Thursday, the first of May*, the beginning of yet another stupid month.  They just keep coming, on and on and on, so irritatingly relentless that I find myself wishing for the elimination of the Moon and the destabilization of the Earth’s rotation and orbit just to break the tedium.

I know that would inconvenience a great many other people, though, so I’m not going to try to make it happen.  To be fair, it would be much “easier” to alter the Earth’s rotation than to shift the Moon.  A decent-sized asteroid collision at the right angle could alter both the rate of Earth’s rotation and its angle to the ecliptic.

Of course, such an impact would have devastating consequences for almost everything and everyone on the planet’s surface.  So that’s a win-win scenario!

I’m kidding.  But I often fantasize about wiping out all life as we know it, because none of it is truly benign and it’s all futile and will always be marked broadly by fear and pain and other suffering, because all those things are evolutionarily vital (in the literal sense).  I shouldn’t choose that for other people, though, so I probably would never do such a thing even if I could.

Thinking back to earlier, though, I’ve been pondering the question of just how one would move the Moon in its orbit, and I thought about the reflectors up there in the old Apollo landing sites, still used (last I checked, anyway) to measure the distance to the moon with great precision.

There have long been discussions about how to alter the course of an asteroid that looked to be prone to intercept the Earth.  One way might be to vaporize a portion of the asteroid, causing its “outgassing” to act almost as a rocket propellant, and by Newton’s third law (or, equally valid, by the law of conservation of momentum) the asteroid would shift its trajectory in the direction away from the artificial outgassing.

Well, what if one were to train powerful lasers at one site on the surface of the Moon**?   The fact that the moon is tidally locked with Earth means it’s constantly showing the same face to us, so one could keep focusing on the same portion of the surface.  One could study the albedo and absorption characteristics of the surface of the Moon to try to pick the best wavelength for causing “outgassing” of that surface, and that outgassing would propel the moon away.

It would be a slow process, since the Moon is big, and shifting its orbit significantly would require the delivery of quite a bit of energy, but that’s okay.  One could set up a single laser (or pair of them on opposite sides of the Earth, or more if one desired faster effects) perhaps solar powered and using ordinary telescope-style tracking equipment and software, to train the lasers always on the same point on the surface of the moon.

Gradually, the Moon would shift away from Earth (you’d need to keep adjusting your aim a bit), more quickly than it currently is, and eventually:  lunar liberation!

Of course, even given the abysmal state of science on Earth (and particularly in the US right now), people would eventually notice the Moon moving, and they might even notice the “outgassing”.  But a lot could be done before then.

If one wanted to have a much quicker effect, or rather, a more instantaneous effect, one could develop a large depot of antimatter, which we know how to make in particle accelerators.  Storing antimatter is challenging, of course; it must be kept within electromagnetic fields in high vacuum, since it will annihilate if it encounters its matter counterpart.

Still, with enough time and patience and care (and money), one could gradually accumulate a large stockpile of antiprotons and positrons, perhaps stored adjacent to each other so their mutual electrical attraction makes containment slightly easier.  Then, when one had gathered enough, one could launch it toward the moon in a fairly standard rocket‒it wouldn’t need to be manned, and it certainly wouldn’t need to return to Earth.

Release your tons (I would guess) of antimatter onto the surface of the Moon, perhaps at the center of “mass” of its face that points toward Earth, and watch the fireworks!  There would be complete annihilation of matter-antimatter in a release of energy far more extreme than any mere nuclear weapons could produce.  Heck, if you wanted to bypass the whole Moon process, you could just accumulate your antimatter here on Earth over time, maybe near some damage-multiplier like the ice caps or near a super volcano or something, and release the containment when you’re ready.

In a typical nuclear explosion, less than one percent of the mass involved in the reaction is “converted to energy”***.  In an anti-matter reaction, ALL of it would be converted.  Imagine releasing hundreds of times more energy per kilogram than the most powerful nuclear weapons.

Of course, antimatter is absurdly expensive to make, but economies of scale might help that.  It’s not as though one would be expecting a profit‒unless one went the Bond villain route and used one’s anti-matter bomb to hold the Earth for ransom, which is a thought.

That’s enough of that madness for now.

Speaking of madness, today begins “Mental Health Awareness Month”.  I would say that I’m already aware of mental health in a general sense, I just don’t have much personal familiarity with it.  Mental illness, mental dysfunction, mental dysregulation, these are things with which I am more personally acquainted.  I’m only too aware of them.  Physical health falls into a similar position.

All right, well, before I discuss more ideas about how to alter or eliminate all life as we know it‒I’ve many such ideas, I’m afraid‒I should draw to a close for the day.  In case you can’t tell, I’m not right in the head, am I?  So this is a sort of appropriate month for me, especially coming as it does right after Autism Awareness Month.  Batman only knows what will happen next.

TTFN

*Also known as May Day.  I wonder how that came to be used as a distress call, as in, “Mayday, mayday, we are going down!”

**Alternatively, one could, in principle, use a very large array of adjustable mirrors on Earth, and they could be shifted to reflect sunlight and focus the reflections on one spot on the moon, but to get a strong effect would require a worldwide collaboration or at least acceptance of these mirrors.  It’s hard to see that happening.

***I used “scare” quotes because technically it’s all energy to begin with, it’s just changing form.

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Maybe it’s signal. Maybe it’s noise. Maybe it’s Maybelline?

Well, it’s Tuesday, and I don’t know that I have anything of use or substance to say, or anything to say that isn’t mostly just noise.  Perhaps I’m just some peculiar source of radio static in the background of the universe.  Or perhaps…perhaps I’m just pretending that what I do is unplanned, when in fact everything is calculated and subversive.

Ha!  I wish.  My brain doesn’t work like that, and I’m not sure anyone else’s does, either.  Even John Von Neumann had to develop complex mathematics and sophisticated models to deal with the limited degree of uncertainty in highly simplified versions of one-on-one poker.  If he was so intrigued by what he‒possessing perhaps the highest general intelligence of which history is firmly aware‒could not fully model, then this is strong evidence that no one, now or ever, has really been in control of anything.

Of course, game theory has advanced since Von Neumann co-invented it, and it is certainly useful, but it is clear that, at best, it deals in probabilities and tendencies.  There is no Asimovian 2nd Foundation Hari Seldon psychohistory that can figure out the specific events of whole galactic civilizations well into the future, and I doubt there ever will be.

Of course, if we want to be trivial, we can predict the far future with some degree of confidence:  Eventually, unless our knowledge of the universe is deeply mistaken*, as entropy increases inexorably, new stars will stop forming, old stars will burn out (even red dwarfs), black holes will evaporate, and the universe will be a thin haze of elementary particles.  Indeed, if everything eventually reduces to massless bosons (e.g., photons) then in a very real sense, time will literally have no meaning, since photons, being massless particles, do not “experience” time.  From their point of view‒to speak very figuratively‒their entire existence is instantaneous.

Of course, going on to the very far future, given the nature of probability, new universes may arise.  Something like Penrose’s conformal cyclic cosmology may be the way things happen, or there may merely be a Poincaré recurrence of the universe.  Or maybe, as I’ve speculated previously, time is not one way, and our future might also be the future of another, far distant “big bang” but for which time/entropy increases in the opposite direction.

Also, of course, if civilization and intelligence persists and grows, which is not a small “if”, then who knows where technology will develop?  Our descendants could conceivably develop the capacity to do cosmic engineering, literally shaping the large-scale development of the universe, or even making new ones.

But I suspect they still will not be able to micromanage perfectly the interactions of innumerable agents in complex systems.  Some limits are fundamental, and I think this may be one.  This comes down to something related to my “Elessar’s First Conjecture/Theorem”, that no complex, intelligence can ever fully understand itself in detail, because to model a given complex system requires a system of greater complexity, which itself will need to be described, leading to an infinite regress.

And, of course, we know that in complex systems, in which interactions are stochastic and multivariate and nonlinear (and thus exhibit chaotic development) the specifics of future happenings will be unpredictable since to know them perfectly, we would need an infinite number of significant digits**, though in some cases‒like entropy‒we can make general predictions with high confidence.  

This is part of why “planned economies” fail, and almost certainly always will, unless they are stupendously lucky.  In any case, such luck will not last, just as neither strength nor good purpose will last in the presence of the One Ring.  This is also why most complex conspiracy theories are simply laughable.

People derive their models of the world to too great a degree from our ubiquitous visual entertainment, which has been around long enough to be deeply self-mimicking and self-derivative.  Gunshots and explosions don’t behave in real life the way they do in action movies, but action movies (and shows and videos) take their models of the world from previous action movies, much as an AI’s model of human speech and interaction, if derived from the internet, is going to be increasingly contaminated by the products of other AIs, and may end up veering far away from anything reminiscent of human interactions, at least if left to its own devices.

Maybe that’s an advantage of written fiction over movies and TV and other videos; it’s not presenting a simulation of some version of reality, it’s telling you a story, describing things, but you have to imagine them.  Meanwhile, if all your fiction is in words, your physical intuition of the real world‒and your psychological and sociological and economic intuition‒would be derived from real events, not the Machiavellian machinations of Manichean movie-based manipulators.

That was an interesting stream of consciousness, if I do say so myself (and I do).  Who could have predicted it?  Not I.  And I’m the one who wrote it.  Which goes to my point.

Please try to have a good day.

*This is always possible in principle, but for many aspects of cosmology, our credences can be justifiably high.

**I sometimes say that while knowledge can vary greatly, ignorance is always infinite.  This can be proven with a single, simple example:  the digits of pi.  There are an infinite number of them, and no matter how many we calculate, there will be an infinite number we don’t know.  Ditto for e and any other transcendental numbers, let alone all the other real numbers that have no specific designation, of which there exist an uncountable infinity.  And this is just one place where infinite information dwells, of which we will always have only finite knowledge.

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We skipped the light fandango…

Well, here I am, writing a blog post again on Tuesday, Batman* only knows why.  I don’t really have anything of substance to say.  Not that I had anything of substance to say yesterday.

Actually, come to think of it, I did encounter a neat fact last week.

One morning I decided to get in a bit of reading in one of the textbooks I keep in my office‒Classical Electrodynamics by John David Jackson.  I employed a technique I’ve often used for reviewing:  I flipped a coin to increasingly winnow down the textbook‒heads is first half, tails is second half, etc.‒and pick a random section to start reading.

I knew that much of the mathematical formalism and at least some of the technical matters in the book would be unfamiliar, so I didn’t expect to understand fully what I was reading.  But I also know that the stuff I do and don’t understand will linger in my brain, and as I’m exposed to other things that go with it or explain it or link up with it, the picture will form.  I don’t read or learn especially quickly, but I do learn deeply, and in a way that connects ideas and principles together in the end.

There was much of this brief section (which was about refraction and/or absorption of light** by water) that was slightly over my head.  Nevertheless, it was interesting, and the author introduced a graph (see below) showing at the top the refraction of light by water across wavelengths, and how it tends to vary.  I assume we’re all at least implicitly aware of the fact that different wavelengths are refracted by water differently‒thus the phenomenon of rainbows.

Below this is a table showing the absorption of electromagnetic radiation by water across frequencies.  Here there is a steep upward slope when coming in toward the center from highest and lowest frequencies.  It peaks at around the microwave/infrared wavelengths from the left and around the ultraviolet from the right.

Then a striking thing happens.  There is a sudden, precipitous drop in absorption down to very low levels in a fairly narrow range of frequencies in the “middle” of the graph, meaning that in this range, light passes through water with relatively little absorption.  This is the range we know as visible light.

The author took the time to point out that this fact about the nature of water‒that it is more or less transparent in this very narrow range of frequencies‒is exactly why we Earthlings tend to see only in that range.  It’s not an accident of evolution, some ancient, stochastic occurrence that is thenceforward cemented, unchangeable, into all descendants, like the DNA code and ribosomes and the chirality of biological molecules.  It is instead a fundamental fact of physics that determines where creatures will be able to see if they first developed vision while living in water and then developed eyes that, like the rest of them, were mainly made of water.

There’s no point in making retinal proteins that react to wavelengths of EM radiation that are almost entirely absorbed by water.

That simple fact‒simple in summary, at least‒is enough to explain a huge swath of the nature of our visual perception, and it doesn’t require any further explaining to understand why we see in the range of light we do.

That was just a randomly chosen section of a textbook that reputedly is extremely difficult.  I don’t disagree with that assessment of difficulty; it was a very dense bunch of material even in just 4 or 5 pages.  But to think that one can find such remarkable facts while just trying to read and learn in random order from a textbook!

So, that’s an interesting little tidbit that seems worth sharing, at least to me.  It’s far more interesting than anything going on in the human world right now.  What’s more, this is a fact that has existed as long as water itself has existed‒and implicitly, it existed even before that, lying there waiting in the fundamental laws of nature.  And it will be there long after everything but those fundamental laws is gone.

If you want to embrace eternity, and things like Hilbert’s Hotel and Cantor’s diagonal proof make you worry about your sanity (this happens to many of us, so don’t feel bad) then focus on this fact about visible light.  It’s there, it’s real, it’s quasi-eternal, and it’s concrete.

Though the absorption spectrum for concrete is…quite different.

*This harkens back to the reference from Batman Begins, when Flass says “I swear to God,” and Batman snarls “Swear to me!”  It seems fun to use Batman when one would normally say God.

**By “light” I mean all electromagnetic radiation, from radio waves to gamma rays.