If an irresistible force was to act on an immovable object, what would happen?
A mathematician named Mike Alder decided to approach this philosophical paradox from a scientific perspective. He proposed a simple answer to the paradox – it is not worth discussing.
Alder argued that for an object to be immovable, all known forces must be acted upon it with no effect. Similarly, an irresistible force can only be called that if literally no object could ignore its effects. Therefore, the two cannot possibly exist in the same universe, meaning that the paradox is pointless. As Alder would put it – “Language is bigger than the universe”, as it allows us to formulate impossible scenarios that ignore the rules of science.
The implication of this line of thought is that if you cannot tangibly test an idea, then there is no point in arguing it as it would not add to scientific knowledge. This is a purist view of the fundamental principle of science that is falsifiability.
Sir Isaac Newton was one of the earliest pioneers of this philosophy. He wrote: “hypotheses non fingo”, or “I do not engage in untestable speculation”. Newton challenged the classical school of philosophy, where one would challenge and develop an idea through thought, discussion and argument. When faced with philosophical questions such as whether animals had rights, he would ask: “What set of observations do you consider would establish the truth of your claim?”.
Alder named his principle – that one should only discuss matters that can be tested and verified – Newton’s Flaming Laser Sword (as he believed all good principles should have sexy names). This is a play on Occam’s razor, the philosophical principle that once you shave away the complexities, the simplest truth remains. Alder believed that Newton’s Flaming Laser Sword was a much sharper and more dangerous tool than Occam’s Razor, meaning that as useful as it is, it should be used with care.
Of course, this is an extreme school of philosophy that is only upheld by a group of philosophers who we now call “scientists”. There are still many intangible issues that could only be solved through thinking, such as ethics. Thus, the battle between scientists and philosophers continue.
What makes us “us”? This is a question that every person on Earth would have asked (or constantly asking) themselves at some point in their lives. We seem to be gripped by an instinct to be unique – to not only discover our identity but to express it to the world.
Our identity is manifested through how we interact with the world. Some people express themselves visually – colourful hair, a token accessory they always wear or a general “look”. Some people opt to express their uniqueness through what they say – such as having catch-phrases or being the witty, funny guy.
However, by far the most common way people show their identity is through their mannerisms – specifically those we display consciously. For example, some common traits people openly show are “being a hugger”, “always smiling” or “never swearing”. It is almost as if we set up intricate sets of rules for ourselves so that we act in a way that is predictable by people who know us well – a persona code, if you will.
This becomes interesting when the expected behaviour is not necessarily positive, such as when your friend is acting in a way that irks you, like saying something stupid or being overly affectionate. Well, it could be that they are purposefully doing it as per their persona code, knowing that it may not be received well. This seems illogical – why would you act in a way that hurts your image?
This is because our “trademark” – what makes us “us” – is a complex combination of our past experiences, present behaviour and our choices for the future. Due to this complexity, it is impossible to be a “perfect person”. So perhaps the reason that we cling to our mannerisms – whether they are good or bad – is that we would rather be a perfect “me” than a perfect person.
Others may mock us for doing something “that’s so Raven” or “that’s so Jin”. But we would rather show the world our imperfections and be loved for them, than forcing ourselves to be something that we are not – perfect.
We are often corrected by others (as much as we correct others) on the proper pronunciation of words. Luckily, improper pronunciation is rarely consequential (other than sparking debates such as how to pronounce the word “gif”). However, on numerous occasions throughout history, this was not the case.
During World War 2, American soldiers in the Pacific Theatre came up with a questionable way of detecting enemy soldiers pretending to be allies to sneak in to bases. If a suspicious person was to approach a checkpoint claiming that they were an American or Filipino soldier, the sentry would ask them to say a certain word. The word was “lollapalooza” – an American colloquialism for something that is exceptional and extraordinary. The basis for this test was that Japanese people tend to pronounce the English letter “l” as “r” due to the difference in the two languages. Therefore, if the person was to repeat back “rorra-” they would be immediately shot.
This seems like a highly inaccurate method. What if they were an American soldier who had a bad head cold, or a lisp? But this type of racial profiling by the way someone pronounces a certain word has been commonly used throughout history to filter out people of certain races. Lollapalooza is an example of a shibboleth – a word that can distinguish people of a certain race by their inability to properly pronounce it.
The word comes from the Biblical story of the Ephraimites. When the Gileadites were invaded by the Ephraimites, they fought back and repelled the Ephraimites, who tried to retreat by crossing the River Jordan. The Gileadites planned ahead by securing the river so that they could capture the Ephraimites. They ordered each person crossing the river to say the word “shibboleth”. Because the Ephraimite’s dialect did not include a way to pronounce the “sh” sound, they would repeat back “sibboleth” and were killed on the spot.
Unfortunately, shibboleths have typically been used to identify members of a certain race so that they could be massacred. Nowadays, shibboleths are used in a more light-hearted manner. For example, New Zealanders and Australians mock each other on how each pronounce the words fish and chips. Because New Zealanders pronounce the “i” with a shorter sound, Australians tease that they say “fush and chups”. On the other hand, New Zealanders mock Australians on their long “i” sounds that make it sound as if they are saying “feesh and cheeps”.
The “Pepsi challenge” was a marketing campaign by Pepsi, where a person blindly takes sips from two different cups – one of Coke, one of Pepsi – and states which tastes better. The Pepsi challenge showed that people tended to prefer Pepsi to Coke in a blind sip test. This caused significant controversy and even led Coca-Cola to trial a change in their classic recipe, which failed disastrously.
Of course, there are many reasons why the results of this challenge may be invalid, as Malcolm Gladwell explored in his book Blink. The challenge is designed to isolate just a snapshot experience of each drink. Ergo, people tend to prefer a single sip of the sweeter, more citreous drink that is Pepsi, when they may not have enjoyed it as much if they had to drink an entire bottle.
Furthermore, multiple studies and experiments in the marketing field show a psychological phenomenon called sensation transference. This is when our perception of a sense is affected by other information such as the brand name, packaging or even the colour of the food or drink. For example, margarine was originally white but yellow colour was added to make it look more “butter-like”, greatly increasing sales.
This shows how little things that we may find insignificant can affect our decisions and first impressions. Our subconscious mind is a powerful processor that makes rapid assessments from a sea of information, while not bothering the conscious mind. We might buy a certain wine because the bottle looks more premium than another bottle. We may fall in love with someone because of a small detail like the way their nose looks. But at the same time, it can be just as easily misled as it uses only the information given to it at the time.
So the question is not how powerful your gut instinct is, but if you know yourself well enough to trust it.
Chess is a game of choice. Each move sets in motion a myriad of possible games and a single misplay can drastically turn the tables. A skilled chess player will deliberate on each move as they try to predict how the game will flow on from the decision they make, but in an infinite sea of possibilities, choosing the best outcome is extremely difficult.
However, there is one situation that is the direct opposite. Zugzwang is a state in which the most viable, ideal move is an impossible one – to not move. In zugzwang, whatever decision you make will reduce your odds of winning compared to skipping your turn. In some cases, you are even forced to make a choice that will spell your inevitable doom.
Life is similar to chess in that we are always faced with choices. What outfit will you wear today? Will you sit in the front seat or the back? Who will you ask to be your date for the ball? Should I take this job offer to change my career path, or stay in my current, stable job? Some choices are simple and appear inconsequential, yet others make us feel stressed even considering the implications. We often regret choices we made, looking back and wondering “What if?”. How would my life be different had I chosen differently?
But in the grand scheme of things, how important is it that we make “the best choice” each time? A majority of the time, it is highly unlikely that a single poor decision will completely ruin your life. Sure, your life may turn out different for better or for worse in a certain way, but we neglect to account for all of the other ways our life may change. Chaos theory teaches us that even a small change like a butterfly flapping its wings can wildly and unpredictably affect the future. For example, it could be that changing jobs results in your career progress being delayed by five years. However, by changing jobs you may meet the woman or man of your dreams, when you would have not met them had you not changed jobs.
We often trap ourselves in a state of zugzwang – pondering all the horrible ways our decisions may cause regrets in the future. Our fear of the unknown causes us to be paralysed by these choices. But as discussed above, our choices do not cause purely good or bad outcomes, but instead result in a simply different future due to the sheer number of variables that can change.
Ergo, there is no point stressing about each and every choice you make – you might as well pick one, see how it plays out and learn from the experience.
A merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of men. The young man wandered through the desert for forty days until he reached a beautiful castle at the top of a mountain. There lived the sage that the young man was looking for.
However, instead of finding a holy man, our hero entered a room and saw a great deal of activity; merchants coming and going, people chatting in the corners, a small orchestra playing sweet melodies, and there was a table laden with the most delectable dishes of that part of the world.
The wise man talked to everybody, and the young man had to wait for two hours until it was time for his audience.
With considerable patience, he listened attentively to the reason for the boy’s visit, but told him that at that moment he did not have the time to explain to him the Secret of Happiness. He suggested that the young man take a stroll around his palace and come back in two hours’ time.
“However, I want to ask you a favour,” he added, handing the boy a teaspoon, in which he poured two drops of oil. “While you walk, carry this spoon and don’t let the oil spill.”
The young man began to climb up and down the palace staircases, always keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. At the end of two hours he returned to the presence of the wise man.
“So,” asked the sage, “did you see the Persian tapestries hanging in my dining room? Did you see the garden that the Master of Gardeners took ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?”
Embarrassed, the young man confessed that he had seen nothing. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.
“So, go back and see the wonders of my world,” said the wise man. “You can’t trust a man if you don’t know his house.”
Now more at ease, the young man took the spoon and strolled again through the palace, this time paying attention to all the works of art that hung from the ceiling and walls. He saw the gardens, the mountains all around the palace, the delicacy of the flowers, the taste with which each work of art was placed in its niche. Returning to the sage, he reported in detail all that he had seen.
“But where are the two drops of oil that I entrusted to you?” asked the sage.
Looking down at the spoon, the young man realized that he had spilled the oil.
“Well, that is the only advice I have to give you,” said the sage of sages.
“The Secret of Happiness lies in looking at all the wonders of the world and never forgetting the two drops of oil in the spoon.”
In the mid-20th century, rat models were used by psychologists to study the science of drug addiction. Rats would be placed into cages, connected to a pump that would deliver a dose of morphine when a switch was pressed. These rats would press the switch to get more “hits”, with some rats pressing the button in preference to food and water, eventually dying from dehydration.
In the 1970’s, Professor Bruce Alexander questioned whether this was an accurate description of the nature of drug addiction in humans. He posited that given that rats are social animals, placing them in isolation would put them in an environment where the drugs were the only “escape”. To study this, his team designed a large enclosure that they nicknamed “Rat Park”.
Rat Park was designed to be a utopia for rats. It was 200 times the size of a standard cage, filled with comfortable cedar shaving floors, plenty of nesting areas, toys and abundant food. Most importantly, the enclosure had all 16 rats living in the same enclosure, so that they could interact with each other. The control group were placed individually in 16 separate isolated cages.
The researchers gave the rats a choice of two fluids to drink from – water and water laced with morphine. Although the rats initially stayed away from the morphine due to the bitterness, they eventually started drinking from it when they realised the euphoric sensation they got from drinking it. Interestingly, rats in cages would follow the traditionally predicted path of drinking more and more morphine, becoming addicted. However, rats living in Rat Park would barely touch the morphine water. Even when the morphine was sweetened with sugar, the rats would still not drink much of it.
Through rigorous experiments, the researchers deduced that the Rat Park residents preferred social interaction over the drug-induced haze from drinking morphine. Rats under the effects of morphine were less able to socialise and in an environment with adequate social stimulus, this was a good enough reason to avoid drugs.
In a different experiment, Professor Alexander’s team put rats already dependent on morphine into Rat Park. They found that despite withdrawal symptoms, rats would prefer staying away from morphine and would attempt to socialise.
Although it remains controversial, Alexander’s research into Rat Park offered new insights into the study of drug addiction. It raised the question of whether drug addiction was purely an issue of biochemistry and how much effect our social environment has on our life choices.
The following is an abridged story from a user on the internet site Reddit. It details the background of what he came to call the Ulysses Bucket List.
At the age of 15, the user ran away from home with no money or plan. He hopped on a train and decided to ride it as far as it would go. To his surprise, the line only lasted less than an hour and he decided to ride it all the way back again, to give himself more time to think about where to go from here. Just as the train was about to leave – back to where the user first got on – a girl came on the train and sat behind him. A short while later, she got up and sat down next to him, asking why he was writing on a napkin.
The user told her his story and that he was trying to plan how he wanted to live his life on the napkin. She laughed and they ended up getting to know each other. The 17-year old girl was riding to the end of the line, so he decided to stay on the train to keep talking to her. But the train ride was short and they soon had to say goodbye at the train station.
Before saying goodbye, she turned to him and asked a question that would become a wonderful part of the boy’s life. She asked:
“Tell me something you have done, or want to do, that you think I should do? It can be anything, as challenging as you want it to be, or as easy. As long as you give me the rest of my life to complete it, I promise I will do it.“
He was confused but agreed, and told her: ”Sing a song acapella in a room full of strangers.” She said that’s perfect and asked him if he would like a challenge as well, to which he agreed. Her challenge was: “Read, from start to finish, Ulysses by James Joyce.” After that strange exchange, the boy and the girl went their own ways, not knowing if they would ever see each other again.
For 12 years, the user tried and tried to read the book from cover to cover, but failed to finish the 780-page book. But even so, each time he picked up Ulysses, he would think back to that day and of her. Soon after parting ways with her, he’d realised something important. He decided to keep it going – with as many strangers as possible. Whenever he would leave someone whom he shared an experience with, he would add them to his “Ulysses Bucket List” – he would ask them to give him a challenge, as difficult or as easy as they want it to be, regardless of the fact that they have done it or not; simply something their heart had always wanted to do.
Through his travels, he received and completed challenges such as jumping into a body of water on a cold day without checking the temperature, buying twice as much food he intended on eating in a week and giving half to a stranger, and telling five people he hated the most that he loved and respected them. Some were simple but challenging, such as skydiving, while some were life-changing, such as a girl telling him that whenever he got mad at someone, walk away, sing his happy song in his head for 5 minutes and then go back to the person with a calm mind to work things out.
The Ulysses Bucket List not only pushed the user to broaden his horizons and do things he usually wouldn’t, but it also made all the people he met unforgettable, as each challenge would spark a memory of the person and the beautiful experiences and memories he shared with them. Despite all of the amazing memories and challenges – both those he’s completed and those he’s yet to start on – he has yet to finish James Joyce’s Ulysses, with only 30 pages left at the time of him writing the story. Each time he reads it, he remembers back to the day he met the girl that gave him the gift that has never once stopped giving.
NB: Read the comments and follow the thread to see what happened after he posted the story – almost like an epilogue thanks to another kind Redditor. Alternatively, read his follow-up post: https://goo.gl/S9ZfE8
Mary is a brilliant scientist who specialises in colour. She knows everything about colour – the spectrum, wavelengths, properties of light, the mechanism of how human vision works… She knows exactly how a certain wavelength of light will excite the retina and what kind of electrical impulse it will send in the brain. However, Mary has never seen colour. She has lived all of her life in a black and white room and can only observe the world through a black and white TV screen. The question is: if Mary was to leave the room and see the colourful world for what it is, would she learn something new?
Considering that Mary already knows everything theoretical about colour, would her seeing colour change anything? Or is the experience of seeing a colour something that you cannot learn without actually experiencing it?
This was a thought experiment proposed by Frank Jackson to question the nature of knowledge. Is physical knowledge truly everything, or is there something more than that? In philosophy, there is a concept called qualia, which describes the subjective, qualitative properties of experiences. That is, experience is a unique type of knowledge that cannot be learnt without experiencing it first-hand.
A further expansion of this idea is the refutation of physicalism – the school of thought that argues that everything (including knowledge and the mind) is physical. The logic is that since Mary knew everything “physical” about colour before leaving the room, her learning “something’ (i.e. experience of colour) is a direct argument against all knowledge being physical, as she learnt something “new”.
Another way to look at it is this. Some things in life can only be learnt through experiencing it. It is not enough trying to learn about life and the world purely from stories and books. To truly learn everything, you must get out there and experience it yourself.
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she’s not that good-looking. She doesn’t stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn’t young, either – must be near thirty, not even close to a “girl,” properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She’s the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there’s a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl – one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you’re drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I’ll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can’t recall the shape of hers – or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It’s weird.
“Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl,” I tell someone.
“Yeah?” he says. “Good-looking?”
“Not really.”
“Your favorite type, then?”
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember anything about her – the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts.”
“Strange.”
“Yeah. Strange.”
“So anyhow,” he says, already bored, “what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?”
“Nah. Just passed her on the street.”
She’s walking east to west, and I west to east. It’s a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and – what I’d really like to do – explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we’d have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
“Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?”
Ridiculous. I’d sound like an insurance salesman.
“Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?”
No, this is just as ridiculous. I’m not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who’s going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do.
“Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me.“
No, she wouldn’t believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you’re not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I’d probably go to pieces. I’d never recover from the shock. I’m thirty-two, and that’s what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can’t bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She’s written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she’s ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She’s lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started “Once upon a time” and ended “A sad story, don’t you think?”
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
“This is amazing,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you’re the 100% perfect girl for me.”
“And you,” she said to him, “are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I’d pictured you in every detail. It’s like a dream.”
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It’s a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one’s dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, “Let’s test ourselves – just once. If we really are each other’s 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we’ll marry then and there. What do you think?”
“Yes,” she said, “that is exactly what we should do.”
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other’s 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season’s terrible influenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence’s piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fourteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don’t you think?
Yes, that’s it, that is what I should have said to her.
