Random Enough

This post was made possible by a generous contribution by Mimi and Gavin toward the BeerAndTrembling education fund. To sponsor a blog post or otherwise help send BeerAndTrembling to Cornell University, check out the crowdfunding campaign here: BeerAndTrembling’s IndieGoGo Campaign

I take for granted that the law of cause and effect are inexorable. Even in very complicated circumstances, it seems obvious that an effect is dictated by its cause(s). Imagine flipping a coin. If we knew the starting position of the coin, the force of the toss, the angular momentum, the air resistance, and dozens of other factors, we could accurately calculate the result every time. The way the coin lands is not random. Quite the opposite; it is inevitable.

This premise is taken to its extreme by the warrior monks of The Darkness That Comes Before by R. Scott Bakker:

What comes before determines what comes after. Dünyain monks spent their lives immersed in the study of this principle, illuminating the intangible mesh of cause and effect that determined every happenstance and minimizing all that was wild and unpredictable. Because of this, events always unfolded with granitic certainty in Ishual. More often than not, one knew the skittering course a leaf would take through the terrace groves. More often than not, one knew what another would say before he spoke. To grasp what came before was to know what would come after. And to know what would come after was the beauty that stilled, the hallowed communion of intellect and circumstance—the gift of the Logos.

We are inclined to call coin tosses or the movement of falling leaves “random”, but they move in ways that would be completely predictable if we only knew all of the inputs. As Thomas Jefferson put it, “if we know the cause, we do not call it chance; but if we do not know it, we say it was produced by chance.” The path of a falling leaf would be knowable if we only knew all of the forces at work: the directions and speeds of the breezes as they swirled about the tree, the weight distribution of the leaf, and hundreds of other considerations. The forces at work dictate with certainty the leaf’s path.

But unlike the Dünyain monks of Bakker’s fantasy world, we ordinary humans can never calculate the result of a coin toss or the path of a leaf in the breeze. We can get better at predicting certain things based on experience, but the vast majority of the springs and gears that control the movements of our world are beyond our ken. So even if the monks are correct in their determinism, even if the result of every coin toss is set in stone from the instant the coin is released, our own limited knowledge of what comes before makes it impossible to know what will come after. The world may not be truly random, but it is random enough for our purposes.

Beer of the week: Coors Light – This week, we are pairing The Darkness That Comes Before with “the (Coors) Light I drank during.” The can’s famous blue-when-cold mountains (as seen in the above image) may officially represent the Rockies, but to me they will forever be the Yimaleti Mountains of Northwest Eärwa. (Is it me, or is “Yimaleti” a pretty obvious play on “Himalaya”?) Coors Light is very carbonated and crystal clear. It’s aroma is faint, but not the least bit surprising. The beer is smooth and crisp, with just a hint of lingering stickiness. It is refreshing, drinkable, and (more than any coin toss) predictable.

Reading of the week:  Lives of the Eminent Philosophers by Diogenes Laërtius, Democritus – Democritus believed that all matter was made up of atoms, and that these atoms, once set in motion by the vortex of the universe, impassively and inexorably collided to create all of matters varying forms. He believed that matter would decay just as inevitably, as the atoms continued to be moved and move each other in turn, in the eternal cycle of causes and effects. Diogenes makes Democritus sound almost like a Dünyain monk himself. Democritus (presumably by accurately perceiving causes and effects overlooked by others) “foretold certain future events” and made what appeared to be impossibly accurate observations.

By the way, The Darkness That Comes Before is not the reading of the week because it is over 500 pages long and is still under copyright. However, I recommend that any fan of fantasy go check it out from the local library. Bakker engages in some very ambitious world-building, and is not shy about throwing the reader right into the deep end. I think some things are a bit too clearly based on real events, religions, etc., but the whole product is quite entertaining.

Question for the week: “The skittering course a leaf would take through the terrace groves” is one thing, but to “kn[o]w what another would say before he spoke” is much more complicated. While the leaf is only subject to simple physics, it seems that the mind is subject to much more complex and varied inputs. Even so, are our thoughts determined by cause and effect just surely as physical phenomena are?

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B&T Goes to Cornell

I am pleased to announce that I have signed up for a course in beer tasting from Cornell University. Although I practically minored in beer drinking as an undergrad, this is an actual class from an Ivy League school. The course focuses on the differences in the myriad styles of beer, and how to apply a consistent set of criteria to evaluate and review them.

Shocking as it may be, however, Cornell is not free. And so, I have decided to crowdfund my tuition. I struggled with this decision because it feels frivolous and conceited to ask people to put their hard-earned money toward my hobby. But after a lot of consideration, I decided that there are good reasons to start a crowdfunding campaign.

For one thing this blog is not just my hobby. There are people out there who genuinely enjoy BeerAndTrembling. And I know for a fact that some people are actually excited to support this blog and contribute toward a class that will improve it.

Moreover, the crowdfunding campaign is not solely about the money. Hopefully, the crowdfunding platform will introduce BeerAndTrembling to a new audience. It may also inspire readers, old and new, to become involved in the blog through various “perks”, including the right to choose readings or beers to be featured in future blog posts. Plus, I am going to share my notes with everybody who donates, so that everybody who is interested can have access to Cornell’s expertise without Cornell’s price tag.

So check out the crowdfunding campaign here: BeerAndTrembling’s IndieGoGo Campaign

Make a donation, share the campaign, go read some good books, and cheers!

Beer of the week: Pinch of Grace – This beer is a perfect example of why I need this class. I feel completely incapable of writing competently about this beer. Pinch of Grace is an IPA with citrus peels and vanilla from Two Brothers Brewing Company in Illinois. Based on that description, I didn’t know whether to expect a creamsicle flavor or a hoppy IPA.  But I got neither. It was neither as sweet nor as hoppy as I expected. As it warmed, the vanilla opened up a bit, but I don’t think I would have guessed that vanilla was an ingredient. I rather enjoyed Pinch of Grace, but it sure tastes unusual.

Reading of the week: The Man with the Twisted Lip by Arthur Conan Doyle – Not only did I struggle with whether to start a crowdfunding campaign, I also struggled with this reading. The excerpt that I picked for reading of the week totally spoils the story, and spoiling a detective story seems especially gauche. On the other hand, the story is over a century-and-a-quarter old and just seemed perfect to pair with this blog post. So just consider this your spoiler warning.

Question for the week: Are there any additional “perks” you would that you think would get donations?


Finally Free

Many years ago, I found myself in an off-campus student apartment late at night. The evening had started with cheap keg beer, had proceeded to cheap Canadian whiskey, and, eventually, dumpster-dived Trader Joe’s orange juice. (The OJ was excellent and expiration dates are a lie.)

Anyway, I was in an unfamiliar apartment, with a few people whom I had only just met. I was sitting in a lounge chair. It’s owner, for some reason, decided that the time was right to inform me that his mother had died in that very chair. I was not horrified by the information, but I was fairly rattled by the next sentence:

“My father looked at me and said, ‘We’re finally free.’ ”

In the moment, the idea of a loved one’s death as liberating did not make any sense to me. This appeared to me to be the “monstrous joy” in Kate Chopin’s The Story of an Hour; the perverse realization that another’s death can brighten our own prospect for happiness. And the joy is all the more monstrous because it is so plausible. One simply must deny that there can be any joy in the passing of a loved one, yet there are so many ways in which such an event may be liberating.

But all these years later, I see how little I understood of the situation. I finally appreciate that the statement “we’re finally free” is not the same as “I am glad she’s dead.” I also understand that the “we” in the father’s statement may have included the mother. If she had suffered from a long and painful illness, she may have been freed by the “sweet release of death.”

My own shock on hearing the story was in large part because I have been so lucky with respect to the health of my loved ones. I had not witnessed a long, slow deterioration of health, or even been affected by any untimely deaths. I do not know now how I will react to any given loved one’s death, but I hope that I will not judge myself harshly for my own response. Whether I weep for days or laugh at all of the fun times we had, grief (like death itself) is not something to be planned.

Beer of the week: Zipline Copper Alt – This dark amber altbier comes from Nebraska’s Zipline Brewing Company. It has a nice, rocky head that fades quickly but leaves some noticeable lacing. The aroma has sourdough hints. The label says to look for chocolate and hazelnut notes, but I only get the hazelnut. This beer is a good find.

Reading of the week: The Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin – I don’t want to spoil this excellent story here, so I will only quote from the first line: “Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death.”

Question for the week: Is there a “wrong” way to grieve?