The Wishing Game

Let’s play the “You get three wishes” game.

(And, yes, “ixnay on the wishing for more wishes.”)

Here is the challenge:  Can you craft a wish which cannot be subverted?

Terry Pratchett’s novel, Eric, is, like all Discworld novels, a mash-up parody of innumerable other things. In this case, the primary objects of mockery are Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, Homer, the Aztecs, and Dante.  As with all Discworld novels, it is marvelous fun.

In the novel Eric tries to summon a demon so he can get his three wishes.  He makes his wishes and in every case, while he technically gets his wish, it isn’t what he really meant.  That idea has been done many times in other stories.

Here is the twist.  It turns out there is a demon who has the job of figuring out how to subvert wishes.  You make a wish, and this demon then thinks about your wish and figures out how to simultaneously grant you your wish in the technical sense that you have to admit your wish was granted, but making sure it is not what you really wanted.

I hereby invent a new parlor game.  (Wait.  Does anyone else call these things parlor games anymore?)

I hereby invent a new Card game which for $24.99 you will be able to buy on Amazon.  Each card comes with a wish on it.  Players then compete to come up with ways to grant the wish, but do so in a way that it is very unappealing to have the wish fulfilled.  Something like Apples to Apples or, even more accurately, that Dictionary game where you come up with fake definitions. 

Good times for all. 

Anyone who wants to actually develop and sell this game, let me know.

Here is the first challenge:  I wish someone would come along, take this idea, sign a contract with me, causing me to get fabulously rich off of the royalties from this game. 

Your job:  figure out how to both technically grant that wish, but make sure that I will not be happy that my wish was granted.  You can use the comments section below for your ideas.

Reversing the question, though, is where this gets philosophically interesting.  Can you think of a wish which could not be subverted?  When I try to do that, I realize that the wish starts sounding like a legal document.  Does the genie who grants wishes accept 50 page legal documents for each wish?

Why is it so hard to simply state a wish?  Why are our wishes so complicated?

Eliot wrote (in East Coker):

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing

Is that the same idea?  Is the problem that when I think about wishes for the future, I actually do not know what I want?

I wish to be happy.  So, like Job, I am happy right before my world crashes down. 

I wish to be permanently happy.  So I spend my life consuming lotus plants or some other narcotic. 

I wish to be happy because I have cultivated virtue.  Does that work?  

The problem with wishes of that last type is that they are wishes for a state of internal thought.  To the best of my understanding of the three wishes game, you only get to wish for external things, things of the sort a genie can create.  Wishing for happiness is cheating.

So, if I am limited to external things, do I have any idea what it is I actually want?  Do you?

I Am Who You Perceive

“This is the only story of mine whose moral I know.  I don’t think it’s a marvelous moral; I simply happen to know what it is: we are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”

That is Kurt Vonnegut in the introduction to Mother Night.

The story is about an American spy in Nazi Germany, who pretends to be a Nazi because, he is, after all, a spy, but the American government can’t acknowledge that he is working for the government because he is, after all, a spy, so everyone thinks he really is a Nazi. 

His cover story is really good; you would never know he wasn’t a Nazi. 

So, is he a Nazi or not? 

Vonnegut is claiming that if it walks like a Nazi and talks like a Nazi and acts like a Nazi, then it is, in fact, a Nazi.

In other words, Perception is Reality.

Another way of putting this: Vonnegut seems to be some sort of modern day Berkeley in which the thing which exists actually exists only in a mind—there is no reality outside of perception—but Vonnegut is adding that there also is no individual outside others’ perception of that individual. 

I exist in your mind.  The “me” perceived by you is “me.”  I am under a delusion if I think that there is some entity called “me” separate from your perception of “me.”  “Know thyself” is simply a command to “find out what others think about you.”

At first glance, it is hard to think Vonnegut is serious here.  Surely I exist separate from your perception of me.  Really, I do.  [Insert foot stomping.]

But, then I imagine:  suppose we have a person who knows himself to be really kind and generous.  Truly kind and generous; the most kind and generous person ever to exist.   This person never has a thought which isn’t kind and generous.   

But everyone thinks the person is mean and nasty and completely self-absorbed.  Is that person kind and generous?  It is hard to imagine an argument that self-perception trumps external perception in a case like that.

Ask the question another way:  if I am kind in my heart and cruel in my actions, am I a kind or a cruel person?  It works the other way too.  I am a very cruel and mean person at heart, but everyone thinks I am really nice and wonderful and kind.  What is the right way to describe me? 

Identity is a tricky thing.  If Vonnegut is right, I don’t get to define my own identity.  Others define my identity. 

But, if I think I am a Giant Squid, if I truly believe that I am a Giant Squid, am I a Giant Squid?  I feel safe in assuming that we would all agree that any person who claims to be a Giant Squid is crazy.  Crazy people don’t get to define their own identity.  We, Enlightened Society, get to decide the identity of Crazy People.  I am not Napoleon even if I think I am Napoleon. 

But, am I Jim Hartley if I think I am Jim Hartley?  Or am I only Jim Hartley if others think I am Jim Hartley?  And before you hasten to say that my identity exists independent of your evaluation of my identity, remember as soon as you say that I am the one who determines my identity, then I am going to insist that I am a Giant Purple Squid named Qxxwzk.  Will you then henceforth address me and think about me in terms appropriate to my true identity?

Here is where it gets troubling.  Two weeks ago, in this space, I ruminated about Thompson’s The Killer Inside Me.  That novel has a person whose interior life is evil and his exterior life is boring and nice.  Reading that novel, there is no doubt that the character is really the evil person inside and not the nice person others perceive.  Reading Vonnegut’s novel, however, the obvious conclusion is that the character is really the evil person others perceive and not the nice person inside.

Is there a way to reconcile these two novels?  If not, which is right?  They are both rather persuasive.

One possible reconciliation: in both cases, the conclusion is that the evil side is the real person and the nice side is the act.  Is that true?  Does evil trump goodness?  You can’t be truly good unless there is no evil in you either externally or internally? 

Can the Fed Make a Decision?

“What is the Fed doing?” 

Lately, I get asked that question rather frequently. 

My response is invariably, “I have no idea.  I don’t think even the Fed knows what it is doing.” 

And, therein lies an interesting problem, both economic and philosophical.

The economic background.  In 2008, faced with that Financial Crisis you probably heard something about, the Fed did the right thing in flooding the markets with liquidity.  What we now know was happening was an old-fashioned bank run. But the run was happening in the Shadow Banking System.

The Shadow Banking System sounds ominous and mysterious, but it isn’t.  And that too requires a bit of background.

In the Great Depression, the United States separated commercial and investment banking because Congress was completely confused about what caused the Great Depression.  Commercial Banks could have checking accounts, which are money, so that is where all the subsequent attention went. 

Over time, investment banks developed things that looked like checking accounts for large depositors, but technically were not checking accounts.  (These accounts were called repo accounts.) 

In 2008, there was a run on the repo accounts.  (Gary Gorton deserves much credit for figuring this out.)  That bank run was the reason the financial crisis turned into a recession.

(It is worth noting: financial crises are quite common.  Most do not turn into recessions.)

So, when in 2008, the Fed flooded the system with reserves, it did a good thing.  They were literally following the textbook on how to deal with a bank run: Walter Bagehot’s Lombard Street.  (Trivia: the last name is pronounced Badge-It). 

So far, so good.

Then the Recession started.  The Fed, still reeling from the trauma of the financial crisis, decided to get in the game of trying to help end the recession.  It added more and more reserves to the system, thereby driving interest rates lower and lower.

It didn’t work, so they added more reserves and interest rates went even lower.  It still didn’t work.  So, they did it again.  And again.  (By the way, this is all Quantitative Easing was, another phrase which sounds mysterious, but isn’t.)

Now, to return to the original question, the Fed is currently stuck. They have kept short term interest rates near zero for over a decade.  Think about that.  If you graduated from college in 2009 and went to work in the financial sector, you are now 32 and you have never seen a world with short-term interest rates at anything other than functionally zero.

Now look at the Fed.  What is the job of the central bank?  The Fed has two goals mandated by Congress: keep unemployment low (check) and keep inflation low (check).  Why aren’t Fed officials dancing in the streets or spending their lives at the opera?

The tools of monetary policy are slow acting.  If the Fed responds to current conditions, it will always be too late.  So, the Fed has to base its decisions today on what it thinks economic conditions will be in the future.  That is hard even in the best of times.

But, what do you do when the economy is in this weird artificial state where interest rates have been kept so low for so long that you really can’t lower them much even if you wanted to do so?  At the same time, bank reserves are so incredibly high that if financial institutions ever start loaning out the excess reserves, we are looking at double digit inflation.

The Fed is paralyzed.  If they ever decide to allow short term interest rates to rise, then two things happen simultaneously. 

First, the higher interest rates could cause a slowdown in economic activity, and maybe even a recession.  That is not good.

Second, if interest rates rise, then banks may stop holding onto all the excess reserves. When they start lending them out, there could be inflation.  That is also not good.

There is an even worse possibility. Because of the staggering volume of excess reserves, it is possible for an increase in short term rates to simultaneously cause a slowdown in economic activity and induce banks to reduce excess reserves by lending more. Then we would have more money and less economic activity. Higher unemployment and higher inflation. That is really, really not good.

It is, of course technically possible that the Fed could manage things just right and everything would be perfect and wonderful. That is the Goldilocks Outcome.

(Alas, Goldilocks at the Fed is a fairy tale. Someone really ought to write that book, by the way.)

So, which of these things happens in the economy if the Fed goes down this route?  Nobody has any idea.  We have never done this before.

So, should the Fed just keep interest rates low, trying to make sure we don’t find out what happens if interest rates rise?  That just leaves a bigger problem for the next set of Fed officials, which seems to have been the plan for the last decade. 

It’s even harder though.  As economic conditions change, the current level of interest rates could end up being high enough to start the unknowable process above.  So, the Fed has to keep talking about its willingness to lower interest rates.  They can’t really lower them very much, but they do have to keep people thinking that interest rates aren’t going to increase.

That is why the Fed kept saying “be patient” and then suddenly changed its tune.  They are panicking.  They have no idea where “neutral” is any more. 

The worst thing for the Fed is a recession in a Presidential election year.  The second worst thing—finding out that when whatever exactly it is that has kept inflation so low gets relaxed, inflation doesn’t calmly rise to 2%; it shoots up much higher.

It’s a mess.  Maybe the Fed figures a way out of this mess.  But, it isn’t entirely clear that it is even possible to painlessly get out of this mess.

The philosophical problem.  What do you do if you are in charge of making a decision which will literally affect hundreds of millions of people and there are no good options?  Imagine that there is no way out, that you have spent a decade looking for a way out and are now convinced there is no way out.  No matter what you decide, a half a billion people or more will be negatively affected in some way. 

Could you make that decision?

Kipling the American Author

Is Rudyard Kipling an American?

Let’s start with the obvious fact about Kipling: he is out of fashion these days.

About the only thing most people know about him is the title of one of his poems.  Yeah, you know which poem.  Nobody actually even bothers to read the poem any more.

Everyone just knows: Kipling is bad, very bad.

I have spent years trying to convince people that Kipling is well worth reading. I have spent years trying to convince people that Kipling is not at all what they imagine him to be, that he has nuance and insight.  Nobody believes me.  For some strange reason, they just think I am being contrarian and iconoclastic.  Go figure.

But, I am very happy to report that I can now recommend a marvelous new book to people who disbelieve me about Kipling. 

If: The Untold Story of Kipling’s American Years, by Christopher Benfey.

If you think you don’t like Kipling, if you think he is just a racist imperialist jingoist, then you should really spend some time with this crisply written book.  If you love Kipling, you should also read this book. I had a very high opinion of Kipling before I read this book, but I now realize he is even better than I thought.  

This book, like all of Benfey’s books, is only superficially a biography.  It is actually a tapestry woven together of innumerable people and events.  Twain, Longfellow, Roosevelt, Emerson, William and Henry James, and Henry Adams all wander into the picture.

The book starts with an observation that surprises most people—Kipling lived in America for a number of years.  He was English, but grew up in India, so it has always been hard to place him.  Now, in the biggest surprise of the book, we can place him.

Kipling is best considered an American author.  Before reading Benfey’s book, I had never even thought about this idea.  But, after reading this book, it seems so obvious.

Consider:

1. Kipling’s poem “If” was originally published in a volume of Kipling’s tales, right after a story about George Washington.   “If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,/ Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch” is just one of the many refrains that are suddenly obviously setting forth Washington as the role model in “If.”

2. Kim, Kipling’s greatest novel, was started when he lived in America.  Kipling was fascinated with Mark Twain; on Kipling’s first trip to America, he made an arduous effort to track him down to meet him.  Now, knowing those two things, compare Kim to Huckleberry Finn. They are essentially the same story.  Kim and Huck are virtually the same character.  The lama and Jim are the same character, both in need of the guidance of their respective young friends in their quest for liberation. The Mississippi River and the Grand Trunk Road are the same paths.  Once you see it, it is uncanny.

Kipling's Kim: An American novel?

3. Captains Courageous also written while Kipling was in America, is obviously an American story.  See Moby Dick.

4. The Jungle Books were also written in America.  This is the most curious surprise.  Kipling’s original idea for the Jungle Books was to write a set of stories about local life near his home in Vermont.  When thinking about it, he realized he could do better imagining the local color of the jungle of India, where he grew up.

Kipling's The Jungle Books: American Novel?

This got me wondering: Start with the idea that the Jungle Books are about the idea of a person living in a particular space.  Now add in Mowgli and ask: stripped of the details of the location, who is Mowgli most like?  Yep, Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn.  Impish, resourceful, and recklessly brave.  At home in the wild parts of the world, but chafes in civilization. Then add in the characters to interact with Mowgli and realize that none of them are authority figures; they guide by example, both good and ill.  In other words, the Mowgli stories take place in India, but they are really American stories.

The Just-So Stories were also started in America; I haven’t thought about it yet, but I suspect on reflection they will also betray their American origins.

5. And then, to look at the obvious, that poem everyone knows, “The White Man’s Burden,” was written about America and the Philippines.  Benfey notes this poem had its genesis at the same time as another famous Kipling poem, “Recessional.”  He rightly pairs them to note that Kipling is vastly more ambiguous than people who only know the title of the one poem want to believe. 

“Recessional” is published before “White Man’s Burden.”  “Recessional” notes the collapsing of the British Empire, “Lo, all our pomp of yesterday,/ Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.”  Since Biblical literacy is not as high as it was in 1897, it is worth noting that Nineveh and Tyre are cities condemned by God in the Old Testament.

But, as the fallen empire retreats, what will fill the void in those lands?  Enter America: “Go bind your sons to exile/ To serve your captives need” and “The ports ye shall not enter,/ The roads ye shall not tread,/ Go make them with your living,/ And mark them with your dead!”

Combined, Kipling is arguing that America, not England, is the future.  Kipling has the American optimism that America can succeed where other countries have failed.  This is nothing other than American Exceptionalism.

(The obligatory note: Yes, Kipling does not have the views on race we all now share in the 21st century.  Yes, it would sure be nice if he had our 21st century sensibilities back in the late 19th century.)

But, the idea that America needs to take on the burden of helping others…what is still more American than that?

In other words, Benfey’s book shows that almost everything Kipling wrote was started in or deals with America. 

Once I started thinking along these lines I realized that a good case can probably be made that my favorite Kipling work, The Barrack Room Ballads, is also shockingly American.

These poems were written before Kipling ever set foot in America, and yet the focus on the common soldier is incredibly egalitarian.

Kipling's poems; are they too American?

For example, “Gunga Din” ends with “you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!” Class structure doesn’t matter—the simple Gunga Din, giving his life to bring a drink of water to a wounded soldier, is the better man.  The same sort of theme shows up in other poems in this collection.

The fact that Kipling has vastly more nuance than most people believe is beautifully illustrated in the surprising epilogue to Benfey’s book.  Having finished showing how Kipling interacted with America, Benfey devotes the epilogue to showing how America interacted with Kipling during the Vietnam War.  I cannot imagine a better way to show how nuanced Kipling is. 

There are, Benfey notes, three phases to the way Kipling played a role in Vietnam. At the outset of the war, Kim was literally a field manual for CIA operatives in Vietnam.  Then, as the war turned into a grind, The Barrack Room Ballads became the touchstone, describing the life of the common soldiers in the jungle. And as the war was slowly lost, there was Kipling again, in a poem much quoted at the time:

Now it is not good for the Christian’s health to hustle the Aryan brown,
For the Christian riles, and the Aryan smiles and he weareth the Christian down;
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white with the name of the late deceased,
And the epitaph drear: “A Fool lies here who tried to hustle the East.”

For years I have been recommending Kipling to anyone who is willing to give him a chance. 

Now, I will recommend Benfey’s If because it is hard for me to imagine that anyone giving it a fair read will not immediately want to pick up and start reading the poems and stories of that Great American Author, Rudyard Kipling.

The Worst Wodehouse Novel

P. G. Wodehouse is one of the greatest writers of all time.  He has over 100 books to his credit.  There are endless web pages devoted to telling you which are the best Wodehouse books.

But, what is the worst Wodehouse book?

My current candidate for that (dis)honor:  Not George Washington

One of Wodehouse’s early books (1907), co-authored with Herbert Westbrook, it is an autobiographically informed fictional account of a struggling writer seeking to make his way in the world. 

It is a story with four narrators, none of whom is really all that interesting, with a plot that just barely holds together, mostly serving to introduce an even larger set of not very interesting people. 

Even the title is odd; George Washington is never mentioned in the book; I suspect the title refers to Washington’s reputation for never telling a lie, but even that guess is a bit tenuous.

But, you don’t have to take my word for the fact that this book is not really very good. 

Robert McCrum in his truly excellent Wodehouse biography (cleverly entitled Wodehouse: A Life) notes that Not George Washington is “now a very rare book,” a fact which has been corrected by the Overlook Press reissuing it as part of their Collector’s Wodehouse. 

McCrum first explains the autobiographical nature of the novel—James Orlebar Cloyster is Wodehouse; Julian Eversleigh is Westbrook. 

McCrum then notes this:

The plot turns on [Cloyster’s] cunning plan to maximize the sale of his writing by persuading four complete strangers to put their names to his work.

Obviously, this book is so bad that McCrum, writing a biography of Wodehouse, could not be bothered to actually read the novel.  That summary is wrong, completely wrong.

1. Cloyster’s plot to have others publish his works under their names had absolutely nothing to do with maximizing sales.  The point of the plan was to makes sure that Cloyster’s fiancée would not find out he was a successful writer because he had decided he didn’t want to marry her after all.

2. Cloyster persuaded three, not four, people to put their names on his work.  There are even chapters with the titles “The First Ghost,” “The Second Ghost,” and “The Third Ghost,” so it doesn’t take much more than a glance at the table of contents to realize there is no fourth ghost.  (I suspect McCrum got the fourth person from the fact that Cloyster eventually published his fiancée’s play under his own name.)

3. None of the three people Cloyster involved in his plot were “complete strangers” or even less-than-complete strangers.  Cloyster’s relationships with all three are discussed at length in earlier chapters.

In other words, McCrum’s summary isn’t even ball-park close. 

It would be impossible, literally impossible, to read the novel and write the summary in McCrum’s biography of Wodehouse.  Indeed, it is hard to figure out how McCrum even got his “summary.”  (If anyone knows, I would love to hear how this happened.  Maybe I should write him to ask.)

When I recommended Wodehouse, I used to tell people it didn’t really matter which book they picked up first—they are all great. 

This was not ever precisely true; Wodehouse’s earliest books were tales of life in English boarding schools; but until Psmith enrolled at Wrynken, the books are not Wodehousian.  But, at least the school stories are charming in their own way.

After reading Not George Washington, however, I can never again pretend that all Wodehouse books are worth reading.  This particular book is only worth reading if you are obsessed with reading every volume in The Collector’s Wodehouse. 

Why Creation Matters

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”  Why does this matter? 

From the debate over this sentence, one would think the whole purpose of this sentence, indeed the whole purpose of the first two chapters of Genesis, is to fight a war over evolution.  However, such a fight completely ignores the theological importance of that sentence.

Set aside for a moment the question of the age of the earth and evolutionary mechanisms.  For a moment, imagine that the point of the first two chapters of Genesis is something other than answering historical scientific questions about the formation of the universe.  Instead, imagine that this passage in Genesis is there to teach us something about God, and how God relates to humans.

‘In the Beginning…’ A Catholic Understanding of the Story of Creation
and the Fall
,
by Joseph Ratzinger (later Pope Benedict XVI) is such a reflection. 

The Moral Importance of Creation

Consider, just for a second, the following possibility. Over a very long period of time, there was an evolutionary process which resulted in homo sapiens emerging on earth.  Then the question is, “How did this process happen?” 

One answer is that it was pure random chance. 

But, again, imagine just for a second, that there is something about the evolutionary mechanism, something about the way that species evolve over time, something about the initial conditions for this evolutionary process which made it inevitable that homo sapiens would emerge on earth.  In that case, we could say that humans were created; not directly in a flash, but created nonetheless.

Would this fact of creation mater?  Absolutely. Ratzinger writes:

Human life stands under God’s special protection, because each human being, however wretched or exalted he or she may be, however sick or suffering, however good-for-nothing or important, whether born or unborn, whether incurably ill or radiant with health—each one of us bears God’s breath in himself or herself, each one is God’s image.  This is the deepest reason for the inviolability of human dignity…

This point is far too rarely appreciated in the grand debates about evolution.  Which matters more: 1) how humans arrived on earth or 2) the moral status of human life?   

If humans are purely a product of blind chance, then there is nothing inherently worthy about your life or mine.  Then there is also nothing inherently wrong with valuing some lives more than others.  Indeed, there is no reason not to privilege some lives more than others. 

But, if everyone is equal in moral status because everyone was created somehow, someway in the image of God, then there is good reason to treat everyone with dignity, accord everyone the moral status of being fully human.

Creation of the Non-physical World

The theological importance of creation is not limited to how it affects our conception of the moral worth of the individual.  Creation also has enormous implications for what we think of as “Nature.” As Ratzinger notes, there are two ways to think about the term:

Nature is understood exclusively in the sense of the object of science; any other definition of the world is dismissed as meaningless.  Theological arguments about the “nature of humans” or “natural rights,” resting as they do on the concept of creation, meet a look of blank incomprehension; in fact, they seem nonsensical, the relic of an archaic “natural philosophy.”

The only natural things that emerge from a blind evolutionary mechanism are the brute facts about the physical world.  But, if the world is created, if those evolutionary mechanisms were somehow predetermined in the very fabric of physical matter, then it is possible that there are other, non-physical, things that are also part of nature.  If creation is real, then there may be a natural philosophy and natural rights and human nature, all of which are every bit as much a part of nature as the tree growing by a river in a forest.

Far too many Christians have lost sight of the importance of Creation.  When creation is treated as a weapon in the war over the existence of God, then creation is not very interesting.  The first two chapters of Genesis do not prove the existence of God, nor is that their intention.  By looking at these chapters purely as expressions of the mechanism of creation, Christians and non-Christians both miss the point.

Why Creation Matters

In the beginning, God created…us.  Since we are beings created in the image of God, we owe both to our Creator and to all those others who were also created in the image of God all the love and respect and dignity we can give. 

We are a part of a created order, not just a physical order, but a moral and spiritual order as well.  When we live our lives in accordance with that natural order, when we live our lives as part of this created order, both physical and non-physical, we live our lives as fully human.

You were created.  You were created in the image of God.  Live your life accordingly.

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