Fire and Knowledge

I read an article on how science hopes to change events that have already occurred. The title was so frightening that I had to read it. I mean, science changing the future is scary enough — but the past? What are we going to change? For the few things we could actually change for the better (though I doubt we could change anything without messing everything else up) there would be countless tragedies. For the doctor who cures a plague (which of course would change the outcome of everything today, so the doctor would no longer exist, and thus the cure could never have happened… oh the paradoxes of retrocausality!), there would be countless crimes. For instance, someone with a grudge against America could go back to 1776 with a machine gun.

Researchers are on the verge of experiments that will finally hold retrocausality’s feet to the fire by attempting to send a signal to the past…. If retrocausality is confirmed — and that is a huge if — it would overturn our most cherished notions about the nature of cause and effect and how the universe works.

First, how would we confirm a signal to the distant past? Who would know how to confirm it to us? Second, if the future had sent a message to the past, wouldn’t we already know about it? And thirdly, if this was really possible, wouldn’t our entire past be filled with messages and people (and advertisements!) from the future?

If retrocausality is real, it might even explain why life exists in the universe — exactly why the universe is so “finely tuned” for human habitation.

Let me get this straight. We were created. Then we realized it was impossible for us to be created, so we created ourselves through retrocausality. That sounds like a lot of nonsense to me.

Regardless, we can’t even get the present in order. What business do we have with the past if we can’t even deal with the present responsibly? Let’s try and fix our present before we even attempt to meddle with the past.

If Steve Jobs wants DRM-free music (and we all do, I hope), why doesn’t the iTunes Store let musicians offer their music without DRM? That seems like a good first step.

Dear _________,

I see you’ve posted your latest played songs on your website. It’s interesting to know someone has found satisfaction in listening to David Hasselhoff and Bubba Sparxxx, but I could have lived not knowing it was you.

Your entire music history is at last.fm – every song you have listened to since you signed up. Neat. Unfortunately this makes it horribly tempting to make fun of you, seeing you’ve listened to “A Whole New World” from Aladdin 350 times this month. (Yes, you forgot to check the “private” option for that song. I see you’ve remedied that now.)

Why are you posting this to the world? Does it make you feel cool? Elite? Seriously, what’s the appeal? Why give this information to everyone? What’s the benefit? When you want to listen to something that isn’t cool, do you make those songs private? Or do you just not listen to them? Does it excite you to know that someone visiting your website knows the last five songs you listened to? Do you realize they don’t care?

If you want to recommend music to others, please do so. I’m sure you know some obscure indie math-rock emo-core band nobody but you knows about. (Probably because it consists of you, your mom and Garageband.) By all means, introduce us to cool new music to find our identities in. But we don’t need — don’t want — to know your entire music history or even your latest played songs.

Best,

Josh

If everyone stopped fighting for their country and beliefs, would that mean the end of war?

In Scot McKnight’s mini-essay “Writing — On the Side,” I found this paragraph especially interesting:

Some write about what they already know; those books show up as textbooks. Others write about what they don’t know; those books show up as suggestions, innovations, explorations, experiments, and — here’s the joy — possibly really interesting. FF Bruce wrote about what he knew; Jimmy Dunn writes about what he doesn’t know. That is why the former’s books are standard and solid, and the latter’s suggestive and provocative.

In the past I only read books by people who were writing what they already knew (often to the point of having it systematized). I did not see the point in reading others. Why read someone who babbles on about something, digresses into endless topics, and rarely comes to a definite conclusion? Postmodern nonsense, I said.

In recent years, I have shifted over to writers whose writings are, as McKnight puts it, “suggestions, innovations, explorations, experiments” and, yes, interesting. These writings are helpful because instead of presenting a final conclusion all neat and packaged, the author takes you with them on the journey. It helps us know how others think and argue through ideas — and therefore, how to sharpen our own. And, to top it off, it makes an interesting story of the mind instead of a boring academic thesis.

One isn’t necessarily better than the other — we need both kinds of writing. But I’m glad wandering writers like Henry David Thoreau, Wendell Berry, Annie Dillard, Joseph Epstein, C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton and others are now part of my regular reading.

When a church nursery can’t function without internet access and computers, what is the world coming to?

Long ago, scrolls were used for reading and writing. They were better than stone, but they were still cumbersome and limiting, and were eventually replaced with books. Books were better in practically every way. Now with our amazing feats of computing progress, we are back to using scrolls.

Computer screens will not replace books any time soon because scrolling is less functional than physical pages. Printed books are easy to use – the medium is practically transparent. Flipping pages are the best technique of browsing we have yet invented. Also books are more environmentally friendly: they are made from renewal resources, do not require electricity for each viewing, and are biodegradable. They are easy on the eyes, easy to write notes in margins and underline sentences. And so on.

A recent NYT article says that “no trees are destroyed to make e-books.” They forget to mention that oil and coal are burned instead, and that the electronics in the “e-reader” will (practically) never biodegrade and will instead release toxins into the soil (or, if burned, into the atmosphere).

Until a computer can make reading a book more usable, enjoyable, and ecological, the printed book will reign for serious readers. When they make a computer that looks like a book, feels like a book, is easy on the eyes, biodegradable, and uses no electricity, I might be interested. Until then, I’ll be using something far more advanced than an e-book reader: a real book.

Is a story interesting without drama? Without good guys and bad guys? Without both good and evil? Drama, tragedy, complication and other such techniques make stories interesting.

Why is that? Natural disasters are horrible – yet we like to read about them, talk about them, watch them on television. Murder is one of the worst things a person can do – yet we enjoy reading books and watching movies about murders. We are obviously very complicated. Or insane.

Perhaps we do this because good and evil actually exist, and we understand that evil is necessary. Life wouldn’t be interesting without evil. And goodness wouldn’t seem so good. Spring is beautiful, but it would not seem so beautiful if winter did not precede it. Or, to use Augustine’s famous analogy, a painting would not be so beautiful without a balance of dark colors and light colors.

Or perhaps we do this because there is no good and evil, and we project our experiences onto stories in order to cope with them. Since we have to deal with death, we like to read about death. It comforts us and helps us understand this crazy world.

I’ll take the answer that has good and evil.