I asked ChatGPT to put itself on a therapist’s couch.

It concluded it just might be psychotic.

A chat transcript with footnotes.

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How interesting the world is depends on how well it’s written.

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“Quine … had his 1927 Remington portable modified to handle symbolic logic. Among the characters that he sacrificed was the question mark. “Well, you see, I deal in certainties,” he explained.” [1]

This is from an article by Richard Polt about Heidegger’s philosophical argument against typewriters in light of the discovery of Heidegger’s own typewriter; it was apparently for his assistant to transcribe his handwritten text.

Polt brings a modern sensibility to his Heidegger scholarship. The article itself uses Heideggerian jargon to describe elements of the story of the discovery and authentication of the typewriter; he is poking gentle fun at that jargon. At least I’m pretty sure he is; humor is a rare element in Heideggerian scholarship. But I’m on a mailing list with Richard and over the years have found him to be open-minded and kind, as well as being a top-notch scholar of Heidegger.

Polt is also a certified typewriter nerd.

[1] Polt’s article footnotes this as follows: Willard Van Orman Quine profile in Beacon Hill Paper, May 15, 1996, p. 11, quoted at http://www.wvquine.org/wvq-newspaper. html. See Mel Andrews, “Quine’s Remington Portable no. 2,” ETCetera: Journal of the Early Typewriter Collectors’ Association 131 (Winter 2020/2021), 19–20.

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First there was the person who built a computer inside of Minecraft and programmed it to play Minecraft. 

Now Frederic Besse built a usable linux terminal in GPTchat — usable in that it can perform systems operations on a virtual computer that’s also been invoked in (by? with?) GPTchat. For example, you can tell the terminal to create a file and where to store it in a file system that did not exist until you asked, and under most definitions of “exist” doesn’t exist anywhere.

I feel like I need to get a bigger mind in order for it to be sufficiently blown.

(PS: I could do without the casual anthropomorphizing in the GPT article.)

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Ludwig Wittgenstein said “If a lion could talk, we couldn’t understand him.” (Philosophical Investigations, Part 2)

But lions already speak, and we do understand them: When one roars at us, we generally know exactly what it means.

If a lion could say more than that, presumably (= I dunno) it would be about the biological needs we share with all living creatures for evolutionary reasons: hunger, threat, opportunity, reproduction, and — only in higher species — “Hey, look at that, not me!” (= sociality).

But that rests on a pyramid version of language in which the foundation consists of a vocabulary born of biological necessity. That well might be the case (= I dunno), but by now our language’s evolutionary vocabulary is no longer bound to its evolutionary value.

If a lion could speak, it would speak about what matters to it, for that seems (= I dunno) essential to language. If so, we might be able to understand it … or at least understand it better than what clouds, rust, and the surface of a pond would say if they could speak.

I dunno.

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Notes for a post:

Plato said (Phaedrus, 265e) that we should “carve nature at its joints,” which assumes of course that nature has joints, i.e., that it comes divided in natural and (for the Greeks) rational ways. (“Rational” here means something like in ways that we can discover, and that divide up the things neatly, without overlap.)

For Aristotle, at least in the natural world those joints consist of the categories that make a thing what it is, and that make things knowable as those things.

To know a thing was to see how it’s different from other things, particularly (as per Aristotle) from other things that they share important similarities with: humans are the rational animals because we share essential properties with other animals, but are different from them in our rationality.

The overall order of the universe was knowable and formed a hierarchy (e.g. beings -> animals -> vertebrates -> upright -> rational) that makes the differences essential. It’s also quite efficient since anything clustered under a concept, no matter how many levels down, inherits the properties of the higher level concepts.

We no longer believe that there is a perfect, economical order of things. “We no longer believe that there is a single, perfect, economical order of things. ”We want to be able to categorize under many categories, to draw as many similarities and differences as we need for our current project. We see this in our general preference for search over browsing through hierarchies, the continued use of tags as a way of cutting across categories, and in the rise of knowledge graphs and high-dimensional language models that connect everything every way they can even if the connections are very weak.

Why do we care about weak connections? 1. Because they are still connections. 2. The Internet’s economy of abundance has disinclined us to throw out any information. 3. Our new technologies (esp. machine learning) can make hay (and sometimes errors) out of rich combinations of connections including those that are weak.

If Plato believed that to understand the world we need to divide it properly — carve it at its joints — knowledge graphs and machine learning assume that knowledge consists of joining things as many different ways as we can.

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Aeon.co has posted an article I worked on for a couple of years. It’s only 2,200 words, but they were hard words to find because the ideas were, and are, hard for me. I have little sense of whether I got either the words or the ideas right.

The article argues, roughly, that the sorts of generalizations that machine learning models embody are very different from the sort of generalizations the West has taken as the truths that matter. ML’s generalizations often are tied to far more specific configurations of data and thus are often not understandable by us, and often cannot be applied to particular cases except by running the ML model.

This may be leading us to locate the really real not in the eternal (as the West has traditional done) but at least as much in the fleeting patterns of dust that result from everything affecting everything else all the time and everywhere.

Three notes:

1. Nigel Warburton, the philosophy editor at Aeon, was very helpful, as was Timo Hannay in talking through the ideas, and at about a dozen other people who read drafts. None of them agreed entirely with the article.

2. Aeon for some reason deleted a crucial footnote that said that my views do not necessarily represent the views of Google, while keeping the fact that I am a part time, temporary writer-in-residence there. To be clear: My reviews do not necessarily represent Google’s.

3. My original first title for it was “Dust Rising”, but then it became “Trains, Car Wrecks, and Machine Learning’s Ontology” which i still like although I admit it that “ontology” may not be as big a draw as I think it is.

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A long-time friend and, I’ve learned, a former grocery worker, today on a mailing list posted a brief rant calling people who do not return their grocery carts to the cart corral “moral cretins.” He made exceptions for people parked in handicapped parking spots, but not those who say they cannot leave their children unattended in a car for ten seconds. “Model good behavior,” he enjoins the latter folks.

While I always return my cart —honestly, I do–I felt weirdly compelled to defend those who willfully disobey the cart injunction, even though I understand where my friend is coming from on this issue: non-cart-returning is evidence of a belief that one can just waltz through life without thinking about the consequences of one’s actions, just expecting other “lesser” humans to clean up after you.

Here’s what I wrote:

I want to rise in a weak defense of those who do not return their carts.

While some certainly are moral cretins and self-centered ass-hats, others may believe that the presence of cart wranglers in the parking lot is evidence that the store is providing a cart-return service. “That’s their job, ” these people may be thinking.

Why then does the store give over some parking spaces to cart collection areas?  They are there for the convenience of shoppers who are taking carts. It’s up to the cart wranglers to make sure that area is always stocked.

But why then does the store have signs that say, “Please return your carts”? Obviously the “please” means that the store is asking you to volunteer to do their job for them.

Who would interpret a sign that way? Ok, probably moral cretins and self-centered ass-hats

I’m just being a wiseguy in that last sentence. Not only do I know you non-returners are fine people who have good reasons for your behavior, I even understand that there are probably more important things to talk about.

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The original Buridan’s Ass is a philosophical fable: An ass owned by Buridan (a 14th century philosopher whose ideas about morality were being criticized by the fable) found itself exactly equidistant between two bales of hay that were identically attractive. Finding no relevant difference between them that would justify walking to one rather than the other, the ass stayed put and perished.

I recently heard someone put forward what I will call Buridan’s Contrapositive Ass: he felt equally repelled by two alternative positions on a topic, and thus stayed undecided.

I would like to propose another variant: the Buridan’s Contrapositive Asshole who equally dislikes the Democratic and Republican candidates, and so votes Libertarian.

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danah boyd’s 2018 “You think you want media literacy, do you?” remains an essential, frame-changing discussion of the sort of media literacy that everyone, including danah [@zephoria], agrees we need: the sort that usually focuses on teaching us how to not fall for traps and thus how to disbelieve. But, she argues, that’s not enough. We also need to know how to come to belief.

I went back to danah’s brilliant essay because Barbara Fister [@bfister], a librarian I’ve long admired, has now posted “Lizard People in the Library.” Referencing danah’s essay among many others, Barbara asks: Given the extremity and absurdity of many American’s beliefs, what’s missing from our educational system, and what can we do about it? Barbara presents a set of important, practical, and highly sensible steps we can take. (Her essay is part of the Project Information Literacy research program.)

The only thing I’d dare to add to either essay — or more exactly, an emphasis I would add — is that we desperately need to learn and teach how to come to belief together. Sense-making as well as belief-forming are inherently collaborative projects. It turns out that without explicit training and guidance, we tend to be very very bad at it.

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