Most students at Columbia do not have first hand knowledge of war. Military violence has been a vicarious experience, channeled into our minds through television, film, and print.
The more sensitive among us struggle to extrapolate experiences of war from our everyday experience, discussing the latest mortality statistics from Guatemala, sensitizing ourselves to our parents' wartime memories, or incorporating into our framework of reality as depicted by a Mailer or a Coppola. But the taste of war—the sounds, the chill, the dead bodies—are remote and far removed. We know that wars have occurred, will occur, are occurring, but bringing such experience down into our hearts, and taking continual, tangible steps to prevent war, becomes a difficult task.
—"Breaking the War Mentality", Barack Obama, 1983.
So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said,
My Father, Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
and builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.
This seems to be the Twitter account of James Dresnok, the last survivor among six US soldiers who defected to North Korea following the Korean War. Dresnok is the subject of Crossing the Line by Daniel Gordon, who has made a career out of DPRK documentaries. It's an interesting companion to his earlier film A State of Mind, which followed two Pyongyang gymnasts preparing for the Mass Games. Both are rare observations of the daily lives of privileged, useful people in a totalitarian state. Both are marred by narration and simplifications that turn away from complex, uncomfortable truths (but maybe this is a trade-off that must be made to make a movie about North Korea).
I am still not sure if Dresnok is tragic, pitiful, or just stupid. He fled the strictures and discipline of the US Army for a nation where everything is controlled and everyone militarized. He seems happy to live out his days in a carefully constructed zoo, as long as the state meets his base needs for food, sex, liquor, and fame. In one scene, he describes his life in Pyongyang during the four year famine that began in 1994: "I still remember the Arduous March. Because of the sanctions and blockation of the American government and the Japanese, at least thousands, I think, or hundreds of thousands of Korean people died from starvation." In fact, it was between one and two million, maybe more. "My life has never changed since I've been in the DPRK," he continues. "The Korean people starved to death, but I got my rice rations, 800 grams a day, every day the same. When I eat my rice, I think about the people who died, who starved to death, but yet they fed me." It seems sincere. But yet he ate it, and still eats, unaware that suffering pervades so much more of his daily life.
His Twitter account is one of the strangest internet artifacts I've ever come across. Why did he send these messages? Is someone watching him, or are all tweets inane even when they are scarce and precious? What happened in the months-long silences between them? If the messages are carefully monitored, like everything in North Korea, how can it be that the first account he followed was a mediocre Kim Jong-il parody? Why is he following a gift shop in Peterborough, New Hampshire?
It is terrifying to think that North Korea might be a place so isolated and a state so totalizing that living within the truth is impossible. But at least it would be easy to forgive all the people who did evil and did not know. Dresnok owns an iPad, and with it the privilege of retweeting a bad joke from a CBS reporter. How can he not know—or not choose to know? And how then can we forgive him?
I cannot be the only one who finds cinemagraphs uncanny in the extreme. Look at those glasses of wine in perpetual wobble! Would you rather be doomed to butter bread for all eternity, or frozen in time forever, reaching for a canapé you will never eat?
Here is Nate Silver's 538 forecast versus the Intrade closing price for an Obama victory since June of this year. Trading in the prediction markets has been relatively thin, and banking regulations made it difficult for US citizens to participate this year. The big divergence in the last few weeks is interesting, but I predict that neither prediction will be falsified tonight. Here is a bigger version.
I dug up the 538 data from this URL if you care to muck around with it yourself.
I have been working up a sweat jaywalking for true justice, but a healthy philosophical workout should exercise your whole body of beliefs. As a fallibilist, I suspect that someday I'll have to abandon a deeply held belief in the name of truth and rationality. I want to be ready for this, too. So here is a complementary exercise. Every day or so, when you feel sure of some trivial opinion, change your mind for a moment. Ask yourself: What if you're wrong? What is the next best belief? How do you know? When the big day comes, you'll be ready. (But I could be wrong).
You are in a booth with two levers. Pulling lever 1 will increase the probability P of an apocalyptic war by some amount O. Pulling lever 2 will increase P by some amount R. Pulling either lever will instantly kill an innocent child. You may refuse to pull either lever, but doing so will increase P by some amount N and instantly kill an innocent child.
If R > O, but N is unknown, which lever do you pull? For what values of these probabilities would you pull each lever? What if N is a function of O, R, and the location of the booth? What if R, O, and N are all very small?
I'm glad I can reason about problems like this from the comfort of my armchair. I hesitate to think about the gruesome moral compromises I might be forced to make if they were real.
“It’s a singular apparatus,” the officer said to the traveler, running his somewhat admiring eyes over the apparatus, with which he was after all familiar. The traveler seemed to have accepted the invitation purely out of courtesy: the commander had asked him to attend the execution of a militant, who had been condemned to death. There probably wasn’t all that much interest in this execution even within the tribal areas. At least, here in this deep, sandy valley, which was closed in by barren slopes on all sides, the only person present, aside from the officer and the traveler, was a soldier seated at a carrel set deep in the ground.
The traveler had little interest in the apparatus and was almost visibly unconcerned as he walked back and forth behind the carrel, while the officer took care of the final adjustments, crawling underneath the apparatus, or scaling a ladder to examine the upper parts. These were chores that could have actually been left to a mechanic; but the officer performed them with great zeal either because he was a strong supporter of this apparatus or because there were other reasons why the job could not have been entrusted to anyone else.
“It’s all set!” he finally called and climbed down the ladder. He was extremely worn out and breathed with his mouth wide open.
“These uniforms must be far too heavy for summer,” the traveler said instead of inquiring about the apparatus, as the officer had expected.
“True enough,” said the officer, washing his greasy, oily hands in a pail of water that stood ready, “but they represent our homeland, and we do not want to lose our homeland.
“But now look at this apparatus,” he promptly added, drying his hands with a towel while simultaneously motioning toward the apparatus. “Up to this point, it requires manual labor, but from now on, the apparatus works automatically.”
The traveler nodded and followed him. The officer, seeking to protect himself against all contingencies, then said, “Naturally, malfunctions do occur, but while I hope we won’t have any today, they must be reckoned with. After all, the apparatus has to keep working uninterruptedly for fourteen hours. If malfunctions do occur, however, they are very minor and they can be dealt with immediately.
“Won’t you sit down?” he finally asked, pulling out a cane chair from a whole pile of them and offering it to the traveler; the latter could not refuse.
“I don’t know,” said the officer, “whether the commander has already filled you in about the apparatus.” The traveler gestured vaguely; the officer could ask for nothing better, since now he could explain the apparatus himself. “This apparatus,” he said, running his hand along a smooth curved panel, “was invented by our former commander. I assisted in the very first tests and I have been involved in all our work to perfect it. However, he alone deserves the credit for the invention. Have you heard about our former commander? No? Well, I’m not exaggerating when I say that the entire operation in the tribal areas is his achievement. By the time he retired, we, his friends, already knew that the operation, as he had organized it, was so self-contained that it would take his successor many years to change anything, even if he had a thousand plans in mind. And our prediction was correct: the new commander was forced to realize it. Too bad you never met the old commander! But,” the officer interrupted himself, “I’m rattling on, and his apparatus is standing here in front of us. It consists, as you can see, of two parts. Over the years, a popular nickname has developed for each of these parts. The stationary part is called the ‘director,’ and the mobile one the ‘reaper.’”
“The ‘reaper’?” asked the traveler. He hadn’t been listening very closely, the sun was entangled all too deeply in the shadeless valley, it was hard to focus one’s thoughts. Thus, the officer, in his tight, full-dress tunic, which was weighed down with epaulets and loaded with piping, struck him as all the more admirable, so eagerly explaining his subject and also, while speaking, applying a screwdriver to an occasional screw. The soldier seemed to be in the same frame of mind as the traveler. His head was propped on his hand, he stared at the blank screen of the console in his carrel, and he was utterly indifferent.
“Yes, the ‘reaper’,” said the officer, “the name fits, though it acts in only one place and far more skillfully. Anyhow, you’ll understand it right away. This reaper is one of many, which fly above us in precise and carefully calculated circles. Here, see, is its camera, which detects light and heat from miles away. Together, the apparatus watches all things in the tribal areas, and transmits the movements and acts of all men to the commander. When any man contravenes the commander’s Order, we may open proceedings against him.”
The traveler now felt a slight interest in the apparatus. Shading his eyes with one hand to protect them from the sun, he peered up the side of the structure. Its wings were broad and thin and its body narrow and bulbous. Underneath, the camera swiveled in a steel shell.
The officer had barely noticed the traveler’s earlier indifference, but he was alive to his now budding interest; that was why he broke off his explanations—to give the traveler time for undisturbed study.
“So when you have seen a man disobey the commander’s Order,” said the traveler, “and opened your proceedings…”
“Yes,” said the officer, pushing his cap back and running his hand over his hot face, “now listen, this is the remarkable thing! One needs only to whisper his name to the director, and the reaper will find him and carry out the judgment.”
“Just what is the judgment?” asked the traveler.
“You don’t know even that?” said the astounded officer, then bit his lip. “Please forgive me if my explanations are unsystematic; I apologize from the bottom of my heart. You see, it was the commander who used to provide the explanations; but the new commander has backed out of this honorary obligation and hesitates to discuss the operation. Still and all, I am the person most capable of explaining our modes of judgment, for I have on me”—he patted his breast pocket—”the latest rulings drawn up by the commander.”
“His own rulings?” asked the traveler. “Does he wear all those hats? Is he a soldier, a judge, a scholar, a legislator?”
“Yes, indeed,” said the officer, nodding, with a thoughtful, glassy stare. Then he scrutinized his hands: he didn’t find them clean enough to touch the documents; so he walked over to the pail and washed them again. Then he produced a small brown envelope, saying: “Our judgment is speedy but the process is rigorous and carefully considered. If a condemned man is guilty, the reapers are to burn and obliterate his body from the sky. For instance, this man,” said the officer, producing a photograph from the envelope, “has been seen plotting harm to our homeland among his tribesmen, building bombs to blow our soldiers apart. He is guilty, without doubt, of violating the commander’s Order.”
The traveler had wanted to put various questions to the officer, but, at the sight of the condemned man, asked only: “Does he know his judgment?”
“No,” said the officer, about to continue his explanations; but the traveler broke in: “He doesn’t know his own judgment?”
“No,” the officer repeated, pausing for an instant as if demanding a more detailed explanation of the question. The officer then said: “It would be no use informing him. He’s going to experience it anyway.”
The traveler wanted to hold his tongue, but he felt the photograph of the condemned man staring at him: he seemed to be asking whether the traveler could approve of the described procedure. That was why the traveler, who had already leaned back in his chair, now bent forward again and asked: “But he does know that he has been condemned?”
“No again,” said the officer, smiling at the traveler as if expecting further bizarre revelations from him.
“No,” said the traveler, rubbing his forehead. “Then the man doesn’t yet know how his defense was received?”
“He had no opportunity to defend himself,” said the officer, looking sideways as if talking to himself and not caring to embarrass the traveler by telling him about these self-evident matters.
“He must have had an opportunity to defend himself,” said the traveler, rising from the chair.
The officer realized he was in danger of delaying his explanation of the apparatus for a long time; so he went over to the traveler, took him by the arm, and motioned toward the bored soldier at his carrel.
“This is how things stand,” said the officer. “Before the last commander built the apparatus, the reach of the law was limited and guilty men escaped their punishment. Rendering judgment was an act of great cost and needless violence. The apparatus has brought order to the tribal areas, where evil men once evaded justice. The commander has defined a rigorous procedure and a process of review. He is a legal scholar and a man of conscience. He has reserved to himself all the final calculations, and decisions are made on this principle: guilt is always beyond doubt. Other courts of law cannot follow this principle, for they consist of many people and they also have higher courts over them. But this is not the case here. As I am the person most familiar with the apparatus, I carry out the commander’s orders.”
“Is everything clarified? But we’re wasting time, the execution should have started by now, and I still haven’t finished explaining the apparatus.”
He pressed the traveler back down on the chair, returned to the apparatus, and began: “As you can see, this screen on the director displays the reaper’s view of the condemned man. And a soldier must pull this lever to render judgment.” (At this mention the dozing soldier sat up and straightened his cap). “The commander insists on this: a mechanical process would be inhuman. Now if you understand the procedure, I will proceed.”
The traveler frowned. He had not been satisfied with the information on the judicial procedure. Nevertheless, he had to remind himself that this was a tribal area, that unusual measures were needed here, and that they had to resort to even the most stringent military discipline. However, he also pinned some hope on the new commander, who evidently had great knowledge of the law and respect for just procedure. It was this train of thought that led the traveler to ask, “Will the commander be attending the execution?”
“It’s not certain,” said the officer, embarrassed by the abrupt question, and his friendly expression became distorted: “That’s precisely why we have to hurry.”
“Now I must insist that I begin the procedure by locating the condemned man and opening the judicial proceedings.” He leaned into the console and seemed to speak a word. The screen filled with light and emitted an electric hum. “Now look! Can you appreciate the work of the apparatus?” The traveler could distinguish the outline of a man, though the view was faint and far.
“Do you understand the procedure? Next we will carry out the judgment and then the judicial procedure will be over.” The console buzzed and suddenly the image on the screen was confused and erratic. The officer walked over to the carrel and said, facing the traveler: “The machine is extremely intricate, something is bound to break now and then; but that shouldn’t interfere with one’s overall opinion. Anyway, I can replace the antenna.” The officer began at once to tighten screws here and there.
The traveler pondered: It’s always risky interfering decisively in other people’s business. He was a citizen of neither the tribal areas nor the officer’s country. If he were to condemn or even obstruct this execution, he might be told: You’re a foreigner, keep quiet. He couldn’t have responded to that, he could only have added that he was surprised at himself in this case, for he traveled purely with the goal of observing but in no way altering judicial methods in other countries. Of course, the situation here was highly tempting. The injustice of the procedure and the inhumanity of the execution were beyond all doubt. No one could assume any self-serving motives on the traveler’s part, for the condemned man was a stranger to him, a foreigner, and no one he sympathized with. The traveler himself had letters of recommendation from high places, had been welcomed here with great cordiality, and his being invited to this execution even seemed to indicate that they were asking his opinion about this legal action.
Seeing this uncertainty, and having completed his repairs, the officer went over to the traveler, who, with some vague foreboding, stepped back; but the officer grabbed his hand and pulled him aside. “I want to speak to you privately,” he said, “may I?”
“By all means,” said the traveler, listening with downcast eyes.
“I see the apparatus has not convinced you. I understand; you are trapped in old attitudes. Perhaps you’re opposed on principle to capital punishment in general and this kind of mechanical execution in particular. But I assure you that this procedure is speedy and humane. In other days our methods were far more violent: intricate and exquisite tortures…”
The officer had obviously forgotten whom he was dealing with; he had thrown his arms around the traveler and placed his head on his shoulder. The traveler was deeply embarrassed; he gazed impatiently over the officer’s head. The soldier tapped the side of the screen, which displayed a grainy image once more.
The officer quickly pulled himself together. “I didn’t mean to touch you,” he told the traveler. “I know it’s impossible to make those times comprehensible today. Anyway, the machine is still running and I must continue the procedure.”
On a signal from the officer, the soldier pulled the lever. The screen flashed white, then filled with a black cloud. The visitor saw the shapes of three burned bodies in the remains.
“Bug splat, sir,” said the soldier.
“And this concludes the judicial procedure,” said the officer.
The traveler was distressed. The officer had named one man, but the apparatus burned and obliterated the bodies of three. He knew he must speak his opposition, but seeing the expectant stares of the officer and soldier, hesitated for a moment. Neither one seemed to have seen the burned bodies of the other two men. On the contrary, they seemed proud of the apparatus and pleased with the procedure. And why not? After all, the officer was only acting on the commander’s Order. Surely he should turn to the commander first to speak his opposition. Flustered and embarrassed, he asked a question: “Are these mechanical malfunctions common?”
“Naturally, the outcome of the judicial procedure is not guaranteed, and mechanical malfunctions sometimes occur. This is why all parts of the procedure have been carefully planned and reviewed by the commander. But as you can see, today’s procedure was a success.”
“You gave the name of one condemned man and the apparatus killed three!” said the traveler, growing frustrated.
“Ah!” said the officer, smiling the way an old man smiles at a child’s nonsense but hides his true thoughts behind the smile. “I see you have misunderstood the procedure. I assure you, all three were guilty beyond all doubt. It’s all here in the commander’s ruling, if you care to read it,” he said, removing the envelope once more from his breast pocket. “Unfortunately, I can’t let you handle the documents, they are an important part of the procedure. Sit down, I’ll hold them up to you from here: then you’ll be able to see everything clearly.”
He showed him the first sheet. The traveler strained to read it, but all he could see were thick black stripes covering the paper so densely that the blank gaps were barely discernible.
“Read it,” said the officer.
“I can’t,” said the traveler.
“But it’s quite legible,” said the officer.
“Yes, the reasoning does look quite lengthy,” said the traveler, “but I can’t decipher it.”
“Naturally, some lines have been obscured, according to military procedure.” The officer showed many sheets to the traveler, each as unreadable as the last. ”The document is quite intricate—the commander has insisted that our best lawyers review it many times. I am obligated by procedure to show these documents to you, and I am doing so to ensure that you know I have met all my obligations. But as you can see, the reasoning is very clear: all men who receive judgment are guilty, and so today’s judicial procedure has gone according to plan.”
“Now I know everything,” said the traveler, tiring again of the officer’s descriptions.
“Except the most important part,” said the officer. “I have made some recent—and remarkable—modifications to the apparatus. Instead of speaking a man’s name, I need only describe his actions. It is a perfect apparatus: speak the actions of the guilty, and it can render judgment on all guilty men! Do you understand? I’ll demonstrate…”
The officer leaned in toward the console, but before he spoke, a loud ring interrupted his demonstration.
The soldier picked up a telephone on the console. “The commander, sir. He wishes to speak with our visitor.”
The officer’s smile faded into unease as the soldier handed the telephone to the visitor. He had gone to every length to describe the apparatus, but he feared the visitor’s understanding of the procedure was still incomplete.
“I wish to express my regret that I could not attend today’s procedure,” said the commander. “You are a distinguished visitor, and I hope we have received you well.”
The visitor felt a momentary thrill. The commander was a man of great achievements and many celebrated awards. Such flattering words from a man of such power! “I have been well received,” he began, and hesitated. Finally, however, he said as he had to: “but I must speak against your apparatus. You are a man of great knowledge of justice. Your officers and soldiers are merely acting according to procedure, but surely you see that this procedure is inadequate and the apparatus unjust.”
“Yes,” said the commander. “Your questions of procedure are well put. But I can assure you of this: the apparatus does not exist.”
The sun had nearly disappeared behind the far slope of the sandy valley. Beside the visitor, the apparatus hummed.
>You know, you and especially your grandparents could have used more of a spirit of lawbreaking. One day you will be called upon to break a big law in the name of justice and rationality. Everything will depend on it. You have to be ready. How are you going to prepare for that day when it really matters? You have to stay ‘in shape’ so that when the big day comes you will be ready. What you need is ‘anarchist calisthenics.’ Every day or so break some trivial law that makes no sense, even if it’s only jaywalking. Use your own head to judge whether a law is just or reasonable. That way, you’ll keep trim; and when the big day comes, you’ll be ready. —[James C. Scott](http://bleedingheartlibertarians.com/2012/10/anarchist-calisthenics/), who wrote the wonderful _[Seeing Like a State](http://www.amazon.com/Seeing-Like-State-Institution-University/dp/0300078153/)_. As the wimpiest of weak [philosophical](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophical_anarchism) [anarchists](http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/political-obligation/#PhiAna), I'll need a couch-to-5k program.
I wrote this letter to the New York Times Magazine a few weeks ago, in response to an article on Paul Ryan and Friedrich Hayek. I'm usually pleasantly surprised at the impact of letters to the editor, but this time it felt like sending a telegram. Since the article ran online a few days before the print magazine, it took three weeks to confirm that this wouldn't be published, during which time posting it anywhere else would have violated the NYT letters policy. Remind me again why I didn't just post a comment?
Re "Prime Time for Paul Ryan’s Guru (the One That’s Not Ayn Rand)" (Magazine, Aug. 21)
Friedrich Hayek might be a ghost hovering at the margins of establishment economics, but he has an eerie habit of haunting Nobel Prize winners. Hayek (who won a Nobel himself in 1974) is the second most cited economist in the official Prize lectures delivered by Nobel laureates. His most famous paper, "The Use of Knowledge in Society," was named one of the top 20 articles in the American Economic Review, among the most prestigious journals in economics.
Hayek's ideas reached beyond the economy to psychology, political philosophy, evolution, and the foundations of social science—fields that have all informed recent work in economics. It is a pity that a few politicians have led so many, including Mr Davidson, to dismiss him merely as some defunct economist.
Credible reports confirm that Barack Obama₁₉₉₆ has opened an unregistered chrono-portal and abducted Barack Obama₂₀₁₂, contemporary President of the United States. Suspect remains at large and may attempt to decriminalize marijuana, repeal the PATRIOT Act, and/or end foreign military interventions covert and conventional.
Any of the above actions may generate Category I paradoxes pursuant to §27-B of the TiME-Crime Act of 2084, possibly precluding future establishment of the Spacetime Regulation and Enforcement Agency and the Homeland Defense Robocommand. If apprehended, suspect should be transported over secure particlewise chronotransfer for immediate questioning-plus and indefinite detention without trial.
Chrono-warrants remain in force for Mitt Romney₄₋₂₀₁₂, Mitt Romney₂₋₂₀₁₂, Mitt Romney₁₁₋₂₀₁₁, Mitt Romney₇₋₂₀₁₁, Mitt Romney₄₋₂₀₁₁, Mitt Romney₂₀₀₆, Mitt Romney₂₀₀₂, and Mitt Romney₁₉₉₄, who may be traveling on the same campaign bus.
I haven't been writing here much recently, mostly because I've been spending my spare time writing code instead of blog posts. Since my last two posts are embarrassingly inane, I thought I'd put things back in balance. There are a wealth of excellent new resources for the self-taught programmer, but I've enjoyed classes at Udacity the most (and I am most optimistic about their prospects for remodeling education). Here are a few things I've made during my latest absence:
DaveDaveFind
DaveDaveFind is a very simple search engine that I built for an end-of-class contest in Udacity CS101, which promised that I'd learn to build a search engine. It indexes the course documents, discussion forums, and lecture videos. I'm amazed that it worked at all, but I did it by breaking big problems into small parts and reading a lot of documentation, which were two very good lessons to learn. I also learned to use Google App Engine and Bottle, interact with a simple API, work with a database, parse HTML, and all about software licensing. I also kept lots of notes, and of course the code is open source.
Tabminder
After a lot of self-study and my first Udacity course, I felt pretty comfortable in Python and wanted to learn Javascript, so I decided to write a Chrome extension. I designed Tabminder to complement StayFocusd, a wonderful tool that limits distracting browsing. Tabminder prevents me from wasting my daily distraction quotas by presenting a gentle reminder after every few minutes spent in a distracting tab. I learned all about Chrome extensions, message passing, localstorage and Javascript to make this, and I was pleasantly surprised at how much background knowledge from Python transferred over once I got a handle on working with the DOM. It is probably very bad, but I have not broken it yet. Here's the code.
Kicksaver
Kicksaver is my latest weekend project. It's a simple web app that finds and sorts Kickstarter projects that will end soon without meeting their funding goals. It also tweets endangered projects every once in a while. I've seen a few friends launch Kickstarter projects and stress out over meeting the funding threshold, and wanted to send some good karma towards starving internet artists. To build this project, I learned how to use App Engine's built-in webapp framework, how to use OAuth to interact with the Twitter API, and all about using AJAX to load new projects. I think the code is much cleaner than my earlier projects, thanks to CS253 and CS212, the courses I'm taking now. (It was also linked by The Verge this afternoon, so I'm currently learning a little about scaling!)
Everything I've done so far is open-source and free to fork. If you're interested, check out the code on Github here.
amandla
turnnoffyourmind
kianamaiart