Shorts

Consider Graham’s example below:

Suppose you're taking a class on medieval history and the final exam is coming up. The final exam is supposed to be a test of your knowledge of medieval history, right? So if you have a couple days between now and the exam, surely the best way to spend the time, if you want to do well on the exam, is to read the best books you can find about medieval history. Then you'll know a lot about it, and do well on the exam.

No, no, no, experienced students are saying to themselves. If you merely read good books on medieval history, most of the stuff you learned wouldn't be on the test. It's not good books you want to read, but the lecture notes and assigned reading in this class. And even most of that you can ignore, because you only have to worry about the sort of thing that could turn up as a test question. You're looking for sharply-defined chunks of information. If one of the assigned readings has an interesting digression on some subtle point, you can safely ignore that, because it's not the sort of thing that could be turned into a test question. But if the professor tells you that there were three underlying causes of the Schism of 1378, or three main consequences of the Black Death, you'd better know them. And whether they were in fact the causes or consequences is beside the point. For the purposes of this class they are.

It makes a strong point that what gets you the A on the test isn’t always (or usually) what means you understand a subject well. Instead, the test simplifies the material through the professor's eyes. When you step out of a classroom, though, reality has infinite complexity, and you can’t take the same shortcut (his word) of having someone else filter it all for you. You focus on what’s required instead of the big picture.

After leaving college, I struggled with this topic. There isn’t always a correct answer or a “way” it should be done. The work needs to get done, and you must figure it out. Think critically and be able to defend why you made your decisions, and you will do just fine. If anything, you will significantly outperform those looking to do what’s required because, like in history class, what’s required is often a considerable oversimplification of reality.

I first heard this on an Infinite Loops podcast with Derek Sivers (I can't remember if it was Part 1 or Part 2). I tend strongly to absolutes and forget that everything exists in an ebb and flow. The parable below was first documented in China over two thousand years ago:

Good luck and bad luck create each other

and it is difficult to foresee their change.

A righteous man lived near the border.

For no reason, his horse ran off into barbarian territory.

Everyone [people] felt sorry for him.

[But] His father spoke [to him]:

"Who knows if that won't bring you good luck?"

Several months later

his horse came back with a group of [good, noble] barbarian horses.

Everyone [people] congratulated him.

[But] His father spoke [to him]:

"Who knows if that won't bring you bad luck?"

Now his house is rich in horses

and the son mounted with joy/loved riding.

He fell and broke his leg.

Everyone [people] felt sorry for him.

[But] His father spoke [to him]:

"Who knows if that won't bring you good luck?"

One year later

the barbarians invaded across the border.

Adult men strung up their bows and went into battle.

Nine out of ten border residents were killed,

except for the son because of his broken leg.

Father and son were protected/both survived.



Hence: Bad luck brings good luck

and good luck brings bad luck.

This happens without end

and nobody can estimate it.

As an additional note, the story has been popularized in several different ways. Alan Watts seems to be the biggest spreader of the story through his public lectures, but recently, Bluey did an episode based on the story.

One thing I really enjoy reading is old articles that turn out to be very prescient. Once these events play out, they become table stakes laden with assumptions that are hard to parse through.

Paul Graham argues that since technological progress is accelerating, so is the creation of things we like too much. Things that are addicting.

The next 40 years will bring us some wonderful things. I don't mean to imply they're all to be avoided. Alcohol is a dangerous drug, but I'd rather live in a world with wine than one without. Most people can coexist with alcohol; but you have to be careful. More things we like will mean more things we have to be careful about.

A healthy skepticism of the things to come seems reasonable. Every day, we get things that are harder to say no to, like the constant dopamine from TikTok.

And unless the rate at which social antibodies evolve can increase to match the accelerating rate at which technological progress throws off new addictions, we'll be increasingly unable to rely on customs to protect us.

Historically, society has evolved over time and what most people did was a good indicator of what was good for you. Now, so many things are addictive there is a chance society won't evolve fast enough to adjust in a reasonable time frame to what is good and bad^[1].

The last one comes from one of his footnotes:

I worry we may be heading for a future in which only a few people plot their own itinerary through no-land, while everyone else books a package tour.

This is a key worry when I consider the future. We enter The Matrix where everyone's lives are driven by the latest addiction we have yet to conquer…

1. Jonathan Haidt, who recently published The Anxious Generation, seems to feel like we are starting to adapt to reduce adolescents’ use of social media. A silver lining in the realm of modern addictions.