How, two people emailed to ask me (you know, you can comment on the blog), am I really going to win the Nobel Prize for this?
First, let me reiterate that I'm planning to win the Nobel Prize in Economics, not Literature. I want to quantify the value of stories in an economy, or, perhaps, the economic value of stories. A story, like money, ciriculates. I started thinking of this when I was working for The New Yorker and had friends in Wall Street who said that the best jokes start on the trading floor. My first thought was, "I should be paying 1% transaction fees for this?" and then I thought, "why not?"
So the question is: are stories a Public Good, like fresh air and a nice view? Could one articulate a Problem of the Anecdote, like the Problem of the Commons? Does the Coase Theorum apply to anecdotes?
Please, my economist friends: help address this and don't be snarky....
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Anecdote, Talmud, and Ethics
Anecdotes, I believe, reside in a space outside of ethics. That is, as a story (small story or integral story or whatever it is that makes anecdotes a subset of the genre story) it in and of itself has no duty to be ethical. An anecdote about something unethical is not unethical; a story about something ethical is not ethical. Anecdotes are amoral, perhaps one can say.
However, one can use anecdotes unethically and one can use anecdotes ethically. A talmudic friend of mind (or, rather, a friend who shares my love of Talmud), remarked recently that the Talmud is in essence a book of anecdotes. Indeed it is: and I would add that it is a book of anecdotes used ethically. Why? Because these anecdotes are used to parse, to understand, to make legible, to apply, to approach -- that is, to understand G-d.
Anecdotes can be used unethically when they are used to persuade. The Talmud itself is clear on this (chapter and verse, as it were, in later posts). The most unethical use of anecdote (or talmudic ethics) is in order to persuade oneself or others that what one is doing is actually ethical, even when it appears unethical. One should take great care not to keep a critical distance from the ethics one is studying, lest one think oneself above ethics.
However, one can use anecdotes unethically and one can use anecdotes ethically. A talmudic friend of mind (or, rather, a friend who shares my love of Talmud), remarked recently that the Talmud is in essence a book of anecdotes. Indeed it is: and I would add that it is a book of anecdotes used ethically. Why? Because these anecdotes are used to parse, to understand, to make legible, to apply, to approach -- that is, to understand G-d.
Anecdotes can be used unethically when they are used to persuade. The Talmud itself is clear on this (chapter and verse, as it were, in later posts). The most unethical use of anecdote (or talmudic ethics) is in order to persuade oneself or others that what one is doing is actually ethical, even when it appears unethical. One should take great care not to keep a critical distance from the ethics one is studying, lest one think oneself above ethics.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Parachute Salesman
I met a parachute salesman during my last plane trip. This seems interesting on its face; any further elaboration would be pointless. Or rather, the idea of a parachute salesman is somehow complete without narrative embroidery. But you are probably wondering about this anyway, since I don't usually talk to people on airplanes, let alone salespeople.
But he was very handsome in a twinkly eye sort of way when he was putting his bag in the overhead bin and apologizing for leaning over me. I was reading a medieval history textbook (which who'd have thought would be a real guy magnet?) and he sat down and then left to a seat in a different row (apparently with his boss) and then came back and said "I'd rather sit next to a medieval history book than pages of specs for our new parachute line." I said "you're in the parachute line? how pessimistic." "Au contraire," he rejoined (it is apparently a French parachute company that he works for), and, as you might imagine, very little medieval literature was read until we landed.
This was nearly a week ago and I should add that he apparently listened closely to my name and my college's name and found me and has emailed hello. Despite a wedding ring.
Hm.
But he was very handsome in a twinkly eye sort of way when he was putting his bag in the overhead bin and apologizing for leaning over me. I was reading a medieval history textbook (which who'd have thought would be a real guy magnet?) and he sat down and then left to a seat in a different row (apparently with his boss) and then came back and said "I'd rather sit next to a medieval history book than pages of specs for our new parachute line." I said "you're in the parachute line? how pessimistic." "Au contraire," he rejoined (it is apparently a French parachute company that he works for), and, as you might imagine, very little medieval literature was read until we landed.
This was nearly a week ago and I should add that he apparently listened closely to my name and my college's name and found me and has emailed hello. Despite a wedding ring.
Hm.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
The Second Pig
Everybody knows the story of the three little pigs. They are sent out by their mother to live on their own and become responsible pig citizens. The first pig makes his house out of straw -- quick, cheap, and easy -- then proceeds to have fun, at least until the wolf huffs and puffs and blows it all in (or down, whatever). (I'm dispensing with all discussions of hairs on chinny chin chins too, pace purists). The second pig (and it is unclear whether this pig first sees what happens with the first pig or is just a bit more cautious) builds his house with sticks, which would seem to offer more wolf-whistle resistance, but alas no. The third pig builds his house out of bricks, which not only withstands the wolf, but offers refuge to his risk-taking brothers.
The real idiot of this story is of course the second pig. The first pig gets something: playtime and the manifest support of his two brothers when he's in need. The third pig gets something too: the twin satisfaction of being prepared and of helping his brothers in need. But the second pig gets nothing: he takes no playtime, he gets no security. He can't even help out the first pig for very long.
The lesson: people who choose half-measures not only get nothing, they also lose the opportunity to get something. I'm a third pig who appreciates first pigs. But second pigs: ugh. Losers every one.
The real idiot of this story is of course the second pig. The first pig gets something: playtime and the manifest support of his two brothers when he's in need. The third pig gets something too: the twin satisfaction of being prepared and of helping his brothers in need. But the second pig gets nothing: he takes no playtime, he gets no security. He can't even help out the first pig for very long.
The lesson: people who choose half-measures not only get nothing, they also lose the opportunity to get something. I'm a third pig who appreciates first pigs. But second pigs: ugh. Losers every one.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Anecdotes and stories
Anecdotes are smaller than movie plot lines and bigger than one-liners. They live, or vibrate, or resonate, or some such thing, after they are told. Some anecdotes are always interesting.
Anecdotes that are found always to be of interest: stories of family members long estranged who re-connect and find that the whole thing was a misunderstanding. Stories of women who are dating someone totally unlikely: their dentist, their OB/GYN. (Not, I should add, their garbage man or VCR repairman. These are bad porn plots.) Stories of offspring whose parentage is unclear.
Anecdotes that are found always to be of interest: stories of family members long estranged who re-connect and find that the whole thing was a misunderstanding. Stories of women who are dating someone totally unlikely: their dentist, their OB/GYN. (Not, I should add, their garbage man or VCR repairman. These are bad porn plots.) Stories of offspring whose parentage is unclear.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Sharks and fish
Seeing a shark is always a good anecdote. Okay I didn't see the shark but I was snorkeling with people who saw a shark and that's almost as good. The snorkeling near the hotel isn't great but our first year here we found out where the locals snorkel, which is down Highway 30 (toward the waist of Maui), mile marker 14 to be exact, near the French restaurant that we never go to. There's a small strip of beach between the highway and the ocean, just enough to pull your car in between the trees and set a couple of towels down. The black sand beaches slope gently toward the water, there's no surf, because of the reef, which is good for small children, and there's a lot of shade. Once you head out about 20 feet, through a channel, the snorkeling is amazing. We've always seen everything: trigger fish, parrot fish, wrasses of all colors, turtles galore, and big eels with chalk-white cottony mouths and teeth. Every few years there's a shark attack at mile marker 14 too, but we haven't seen a shark.
I went out today with my brother Dave, who is brave, especially when I told him that it might not be the best time of the month for me to be snorkeling in shark-invested waters. He wasn't scared. But after a half hour, when we reached the end of the reef and the waters became deep, I became a little nervous and headed in. He and some others stayed out exploring. They came back in another half hour having seen a 7-8 foot white-tip shark asleep on the bottom of the ocean near the edge of the reef. He thinks it was asleep, though it could have been just being vewy vewy quiet, waiting for something yummy to come along. Or perhaps it had recently eaten and was being a bottom potato.
We managed to keep the news from the kids. But there is something about sharks, especially big ones, that excites listeners. Tomorrow we'll go back again.
I went out today with my brother Dave, who is brave, especially when I told him that it might not be the best time of the month for me to be snorkeling in shark-invested waters. He wasn't scared. But after a half hour, when we reached the end of the reef and the waters became deep, I became a little nervous and headed in. He and some others stayed out exploring. They came back in another half hour having seen a 7-8 foot white-tip shark asleep on the bottom of the ocean near the edge of the reef. He thinks it was asleep, though it could have been just being vewy vewy quiet, waiting for something yummy to come along. Or perhaps it had recently eaten and was being a bottom potato.
We managed to keep the news from the kids. But there is something about sharks, especially big ones, that excites listeners. Tomorrow we'll go back again.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Small worlds
When my family first began coming to Maui in 2000, I was semi-surprised to see a student of mine from Princeton, with her family, at the same resort. Only semi-surprised because one realizes how small a world the, how should one say, educated class in America is. It's like the wonderful scene in "Room With A View," where the Daniel Day Lewis character says, apropos of the "coincidence" of people who knew each other in Italy meeting again in the Italian rooms of the British Museum, that it is in reality no coincidence at all but utterly expected. So of course I should meet my Princeton students at a resort on Maui; the surprise is that I haven't met more of them.
So now five years later I see my same student and her family again (our schedules didn't overlap for a few years) and find that she is a third-year law student (which I sort of knew, since I wrote one of her law school recommendations), and that her brother is a fellow at one of those libertarian D.C. think tanks, and that her socialist parents are aghast. Again, I think that it is both a small world and not a small world; that we are schools of fish who swim together and circulate in the same small sea. What the hell am I doing in Mississippi, outside of that sea?
So now five years later I see my same student and her family again (our schedules didn't overlap for a few years) and find that she is a third-year law student (which I sort of knew, since I wrote one of her law school recommendations), and that her brother is a fellow at one of those libertarian D.C. think tanks, and that her socialist parents are aghast. Again, I think that it is both a small world and not a small world; that we are schools of fish who swim together and circulate in the same small sea. What the hell am I doing in Mississippi, outside of that sea?
Friday, December 23, 2005
Science and Labor
The thing about travelling with smart middle-school kids is that you can actually get them to focus on big questions if you work at it; the problem is that their brains generally relapse afterward and they behave like toddlers an hour later.
We had a nice conversation about whether one could call Captain Cook and his crew "scientists," and, by that standard, would be right in equating his crew's spirit of inquiry with that of the Polynesians who arrived in Hawaii centuries earlier. Spirited discussion; nothing decided.
I've been thinking a lot about Marx on this trip. Karl, not Groucho (though I'm grouchy); Kapital, not Manifesto. That is, I'm thinking about labor and who performs it and why and how it is visible or invisible. People really make an effort here in little ways that they don't in Mississippi. We were noticing this in Santa Monica too -- how store owners and buildings show evidence of care and thought in presentation and appearance. Well it's an expensive area, so why not, right? But even in the (relatively) poor and rural areas of Hawaii you see signs of labor, or care taken: little things like the way a vine is trained around a mailbox or the lava rocks are placed at the end of the driveway. I used to laugh at this sort of thing growing up but I really miss it in Mississippi. I guess it's what Guliani used to talk about re: graffiti and trash.
But I've been thinking about it in a Marxist way rather than a neo-con suburban "betterment" sort of way (as part of that oh-so-compelling discourse of the ownership society and the Friedman "nobody washes a rented car" thing which has its history in only allowing landowners to vote in england until 1867 or thereabouts). What the marxist labor model allows is a way of seeing labor for its own sake, not for accumulation or sale. To see labor is to see laborers, not owners. This thing that Friedman et al do to conflate labor with ownership undercuts the value of labor in favor of the value of price appreciation, thus turning those who plant flowers into members of the investment class rather than the laboring class.
Perhaps I'm noticing this here because there is no growth or change in the rural areas of Hawaii (no bulldozers apparent except on the fancy coasts), very few For Sale signs, some very iffy structures, and yet totally surrounded with incredible labor in working with the natural resources: winding vines, sweeps of ferns, homemade windchimes, tended orchids, hidden shell patterns, well-placed walkways -- all unnecessary except for aesthetic reasons. Just because. Ethical aesthetics. It makes me happier than anything else here because it's so absent in Mississippi. I know this sounds sentimental and goopy but I like seeing this labor and appreciating it as labor, not as lifestyle choice or hobby or the natural outlet of native energies.
We had a nice conversation about whether one could call Captain Cook and his crew "scientists," and, by that standard, would be right in equating his crew's spirit of inquiry with that of the Polynesians who arrived in Hawaii centuries earlier. Spirited discussion; nothing decided.
I've been thinking a lot about Marx on this trip. Karl, not Groucho (though I'm grouchy); Kapital, not Manifesto. That is, I'm thinking about labor and who performs it and why and how it is visible or invisible. People really make an effort here in little ways that they don't in Mississippi. We were noticing this in Santa Monica too -- how store owners and buildings show evidence of care and thought in presentation and appearance. Well it's an expensive area, so why not, right? But even in the (relatively) poor and rural areas of Hawaii you see signs of labor, or care taken: little things like the way a vine is trained around a mailbox or the lava rocks are placed at the end of the driveway. I used to laugh at this sort of thing growing up but I really miss it in Mississippi. I guess it's what Guliani used to talk about re: graffiti and trash.
But I've been thinking about it in a Marxist way rather than a neo-con suburban "betterment" sort of way (as part of that oh-so-compelling discourse of the ownership society and the Friedman "nobody washes a rented car" thing which has its history in only allowing landowners to vote in england until 1867 or thereabouts). What the marxist labor model allows is a way of seeing labor for its own sake, not for accumulation or sale. To see labor is to see laborers, not owners. This thing that Friedman et al do to conflate labor with ownership undercuts the value of labor in favor of the value of price appreciation, thus turning those who plant flowers into members of the investment class rather than the laboring class.
Perhaps I'm noticing this here because there is no growth or change in the rural areas of Hawaii (no bulldozers apparent except on the fancy coasts), very few For Sale signs, some very iffy structures, and yet totally surrounded with incredible labor in working with the natural resources: winding vines, sweeps of ferns, homemade windchimes, tended orchids, hidden shell patterns, well-placed walkways -- all unnecessary except for aesthetic reasons. Just because. Ethical aesthetics. It makes me happier than anything else here because it's so absent in Mississippi. I know this sounds sentimental and goopy but I like seeing this labor and appreciating it as labor, not as lifestyle choice or hobby or the natural outlet of native energies.
Volcano
I am in Hawaii. On Maui. Yesterday I was on the Big Island of Hawaii and went to visit Kilauea, the volcano, which I had wanted to see since I was eight years old. The whole Volcanoes National Park there is wonderful: worth seeing. Hiked the Kilauea Iki Crater. At the Observatory overlooking the Halema'uma'u Crater there is a description of the lake of lava there in 1866 by Mark Twain (from "Roughing It"). I had forgotten about that. I was in turn imagining Twain seeing the molten lava. It's all cool now.
Our hike inside the other crater was fun -- lots of steam vents out of which hiss hot steam (naturally). Very hot and sulphury.
At sunset we drove down a road called Chain of Craters road and stopped at the end of the road where a 2003 lava flow made it impassible. Then we walked along bumpy (but cool) lava, ignoring all of the Danger! signs, until we got to a viewing point where tourists were clustered. There, as the sun drifted lower, we could see dim red lights emerging on the hillside. Lava! Real live hot red lava! Very exciting. But from a distance. Closer to us, where the tube of lava met the ocean, wonderful billows of steam and red clouds puffed up. Wished we could hear it. Very exciting.
Our hike inside the other crater was fun -- lots of steam vents out of which hiss hot steam (naturally). Very hot and sulphury.
At sunset we drove down a road called Chain of Craters road and stopped at the end of the road where a 2003 lava flow made it impassible. Then we walked along bumpy (but cool) lava, ignoring all of the Danger! signs, until we got to a viewing point where tourists were clustered. There, as the sun drifted lower, we could see dim red lights emerging on the hillside. Lava! Real live hot red lava! Very exciting. But from a distance. Closer to us, where the tube of lava met the ocean, wonderful billows of steam and red clouds puffed up. Wished we could hear it. Very exciting.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Closing Day
On Tusday, November 22 (a sad day for those of us alive in 1963), I closed on my new townhouse. Actually there are two townhouses attached to each other but it is not a duplex for the following reason. The Bishop lived on one half, the Chief Justice of the State Supreme Court lived on the other half. There is, that is, quite a wall between church and state: ergo two townhouses, not a duplex.
The closing went pretty well; it was held at the Catholic Diocese. We had an interesting side discussion about the difference between a church deed and a warrantee deed. Apparently the church offers title insurance as part of the closing to make up for not issuing a warrantee deed (or something along these lines....don't quote me). The reason is that there's something about a warrantee deed that limits the liability of something happening after the sale upon the death of the seller. But because the church will never die, the Diocese lawyer explained, that would put them in the position of having liability on all property they've ever sold into perpetuity. Ah, I said. That's pretty optimistic of you. Luckily everybody laughed.
I'm not moving in right away. But some friends came over Tuesday evening to have wine and enjoy sitting on the carpet. At least they pretended to enjoy it, which is why I know they are friends.
The closing went pretty well; it was held at the Catholic Diocese. We had an interesting side discussion about the difference between a church deed and a warrantee deed. Apparently the church offers title insurance as part of the closing to make up for not issuing a warrantee deed (or something along these lines....don't quote me). The reason is that there's something about a warrantee deed that limits the liability of something happening after the sale upon the death of the seller. But because the church will never die, the Diocese lawyer explained, that would put them in the position of having liability on all property they've ever sold into perpetuity. Ah, I said. That's pretty optimistic of you. Luckily everybody laughed.
I'm not moving in right away. But some friends came over Tuesday evening to have wine and enjoy sitting on the carpet. At least they pretended to enjoy it, which is why I know they are friends.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
100 years old and a lot of stories. RIP
An aged grandparent died this morning; he was 100 years old and one month exactly. A very very kind man. Once about five or so years ago I said to him: "Grandpa Jack, I've never heard you say a nasty thing about anybody. Ever. Is this a conscious decision on your part? Do you deliberately hold your tongue or are you just always nice? Have you ever said something aloud that was unkind?" He considered for a moment and said, "I've heard that Hitler wasn't such a great guy."
His older sister died a few years ago at 104. She had been losing her hearing for some years. Once, when she was about 100, her son asked if she wouldn't like to get a hearing aid. "No," she said. "I've heard enough."
His older sister died a few years ago at 104. She had been losing her hearing for some years. Once, when she was about 100, her son asked if she wouldn't like to get a hearing aid. "No," she said. "I've heard enough."
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
The Prom Date(s) Paradigm
There are two kinds of problems in the world, no prom date and too many prom dates. Now I know the more formal thinkers among you will say that this is just another way of talking about scarce resource issues but it isn't, really. Think about it. The no prom date problem is really a whole bunch of problems incorporating tribal customs, ambiguous rituals, perceived or actual lack of power (or agency) and the attendant desperation that evokes, the question of whether to make the requisite purchases and rentals ahead of time on the chance of a date or put it off until a date is secured, and the social performance of simultaneously seeking a date and pretending one isn't a total loser.
The too-many prom date problem involves a host of entirely different decisions to be made: weighing options in a social context, thinking long-term or short-, listening to heart or head, dealing with the messiness of letting someone down, obsessive self-questioning about ethics and "the right thing," and of course quietly crowing that indeed, you have more than one date to the prom.
Do you prefer one problem to the other? It's an interesting question. At this point in my life I find I am deaf to the siren song of most prom-like social customs. Absent this pull, who really cares if one gets to go or must hurt someone in order to go? Still, hurting a person doesn't get any easier over time (for me at least) while remaining content at home (with a book) does.
The too-many prom date problem involves a host of entirely different decisions to be made: weighing options in a social context, thinking long-term or short-, listening to heart or head, dealing with the messiness of letting someone down, obsessive self-questioning about ethics and "the right thing," and of course quietly crowing that indeed, you have more than one date to the prom.
Do you prefer one problem to the other? It's an interesting question. At this point in my life I find I am deaf to the siren song of most prom-like social customs. Absent this pull, who really cares if one gets to go or must hurt someone in order to go? Still, hurting a person doesn't get any easier over time (for me at least) while remaining content at home (with a book) does.
Questions to Ponder
What does it mean to "dine out on a story?" (People, primarily British, use this phrase all the time but without saying precisely what they mean. According to the OED, the phrase "dined out on" means to be given hospitality at dinner partly or chiefly for the sake of one's conversation or knowledge about [a specific incident or topic, etc.]. ) Does a person gain something from having a good story to tell? What are stories worth? Do those people with good stories to tell have some sort of social advantage over those who don't? Does this social advantage translate into economic gain? (Can one translate everything into economic terms -- or, rather, can such unquantifiables be quantified? It's a side question but I think a crucial one.)
For me the question was first raised in college or soon thereafter, when talking to friends about really horrible dating experiences. As bad as things ever got, we could always salvage what we called Anecdotal Value from the episode. The date with the cheap guy who frowned at me for ordering the blue cheese dressing after the waiter said it was an extra fifty cents? No second date but the first had positive Anecdotal Value. Did I dine out on the story? No, but my friends enjoy it and I enjoy telling it. It had some kind of value, but what? More than fifty cents certainly.....
For me the question was first raised in college or soon thereafter, when talking to friends about really horrible dating experiences. As bad as things ever got, we could always salvage what we called Anecdotal Value from the episode. The date with the cheap guy who frowned at me for ordering the blue cheese dressing after the waiter said it was an extra fifty cents? No second date but the first had positive Anecdotal Value. Did I dine out on the story? No, but my friends enjoy it and I enjoy telling it. It had some kind of value, but what? More than fifty cents certainly.....
Welcome to AnecdotalValue
You who know who I am know that I plan to win the Nobel Prize for Economics with this idea and this site. So welcome. It's the Ides of November and I welcome any and all readers to join me in examining -- and eventually quantifying -- this phenomenon. What is Anecdotal Value? Does it have value? How can it be assessed/weighed/quantified?
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