To be sure, the idea of democratizing knowledge is not exactly foreign to me: I did do my masters on that topic. Still, I agree with the panelist’s point because I feel its sting all the time, and not because anyone had meant any harm, but because stereotypes are so darn convenient. We live at a time when the wonders of yesterday become the norm of today. And to the average layperson, what I do (sit hunched in front of a keyboard all day, looking at what may as well be ancient Sanskrit) on a daily basis doesn’t look so different from the kid banging away towards supremacy in the latest shooter, or the other kid who’s learned to program in scratch and is producing cute stories that her parents could never have imagined, simply because they lacked the tools that encapsulate so much knowledge. For those who are not experts in the field (the so-called laypeople), it is nearly impossible to distinguish the difference. As a result, I am in fact devalued — the investment that I made is actually learning the lower level details, the ones that let me solve complex problems in more robust ways is valued the same as the knowledge of someone who can use the OSX interface editor to make a UI.

Note that this has nothing to do with the fact that that I can program “better.” In fact, the person I am being compared to may in fact do it better by many metrics. However, ability is not equivalent to experience, and experience can only be conveyed by thick description, while it is simple to convey ability. As such, when faced with a layperson, the quick description of what I can do (my ability) appears equivalent, which my capability is in fact different. In democratizing, we democratize ability, but do not necessarily democratize the gaining of experience. The transition from ability to experience is rather apparently logarithmic: the step from no programming to simple programming opens up an entire world, but from there, there remains a significant amount of boring, tiresome slogging to understand the intricacies of cache structures, balanced trees, goodness of hash functions, and the myriad other factors that allows me to write scalable and robust software. Since democratization so conveniently democratized away structure (”go do what you want to”), nothing forces the learning of these frankly boring minutiae. Moreover, communities based on democratization are based first and foremost on the internal sharing of information. These complex topics get discussed relatively more rarely under such circumstances, since there are many more beginner questions than advanced ones. Finally, such communities generally have no use for what production-quality systems require: the aforementioned scalability and robustness in hostile environments. The focus is on “you can do it,” not on “you can make it bulletproof.” So to me the panelist is correct in a very superficial way, but he’s missing the crucial nuance — democratization devalues experience and in-depth learning of a skill, not the skill itself.

In closing, a few words about trivialization and devaluation. The statement “democratization devalues experience and in-depth learning of a skill” can use devalue and trivialize synonymously, but only in this context, when the value of experience has been lowered by setting up an expectation that the experience is a trivial addition to ability. In a purely monetary sense, devaluation has occurred to the person (and to expertise in a skill), while trivialization is the vector for the devaluation. If the skill as a whole was trivialized, it would mean that the skill was so simple (like sweeping the floor, for example), that anyone could do it and thus there would be no merit to studying it. This, of course, is patently false. Even if I could learn something about everything (a goal that I strive to), it is obvious that in my limited lifespan, I would be only able to get to a few of those things. I could become experienced in some limited number of things, though I might become enabled in any number of things based on my patience and the willingness of others to share their expertise in understandable ways.

Experience, without fail, takes time. So I welcome democratization, but I do have concerns about the the ignorance of the masses. Democratization is akin to the act of Prometheus: it gives of fire of the knowledge to the people. But without understanding of what that fire is, and the limitations inherent to it, this fire will not only give light, but burn the very things that made the democratization possible by dissuading those who might seek expertise and the ability to pass on and grow the knowledge from seeking its depths.

Taken on April 8th, 2009. This is a panoramic image. Please use your mouse to move around.

There are two contradictory matters at play here. Behind us is always the past: that which makes us, in part or whole, what we are (or so it is said). At the same time, we cannot travel backwards. The inexorable flow of time requires motion, and we are carried, willingly or unwillingly, in some direction. As within any flow, we have a choice of lefts and rights, but unlike the city grid (excepting the devious thoroughfares of Boston), the avenues of time allow us no path to the past. This being the case, it is interesting to logically consider for a moment the available overarching navigational choices. But first, it is necessary to accept a basic axiom. It is a given there will be mistakes and misfortunes, things that we would prefer did not happen, or perhaps would prefer to have happen differently. Mistakes are a necessary side effect of the foggy vision of the future we have access to, and misfortunes are likewise derived from the shared nature of the world, or ultimately, due to the limitations of the mortal coil. It is natural to want to prevent these negative impacts. Faced with the memory that is sorrow, we come to the choice.

The simplest option is to attempt to stop. Of course, stopping itself is impossible, but it is within our purview to stop that which we do: we have the choice of not navigating. Without navigation we float to whatever destination the flow brings us to, while we look inward to the memory of that which no longer is. This is the choice of not making a choice: a choice that leads along a meandering path that ends with the end of our fleeting spark. It is ultimately useless to choose such a path, because space and time care not for our the childish tantrum of our making.

The next simplest option is to take two rights and find that the next right will not lead to the place from which we started, because the world has moved beneath our feet. It is, to some extent, a better choice. At the very least, it is activity rather than withdrawal. However, it is different because it involves choice, and it gives the traveler a view of the past through the lens of time. In seeing the past and attempting to return to it, it is possible to see the past itself not through the fickle lens of memory, but rather the telescope of experience, and perhaps the new view of the past has at least the hope of creating a new course, even if the traveler always travels this course with his back to the rays of the coming dawns.

When I began writing this entry, I thought that perhaps greater action was the answer, but I now find that this is not the case, for one may also choose to always chase the past: an activity without effect. There are those who bemoan a series of mishaps, and thus consider the inability to reach the past a mishap in itself. Unlike the previous lot, they do not come to stop, but instead chase in a circle the shadow of their past selves through their memory, circling forever while drifting aimlessly in the larger scheme of things. While this is choice, the choice is obscured by the veil of memory into a circular search for the past made ever more unattainable by the distortions of memory.

Lastly, there is the option of accepting the dichotomy between memory and past, between choices made and choices possible. It is in fact memory that shapes us, not the transitory and forever unreachable past. One need not look back to be touch with memory. Looking backwards gives insight and introspection, but it cannot change the present except insofar as it can help shape the future. The same is true of choices. Even if it were possible to consider the ramification of a choice, that is not the nature of choice, and thus the possibility itself is fallacious. Choice is layer on choice. An instance of choice rests on the past choices, and supports the future choices. It is no more possible to consider a choice as changeable in isolation than it is to consider a memory or idea in isolation. Ultimately, a change is a choice already past requires a change in the person making the choice, and the future person, built from that choice, can no more understand that change as he or she can exist in all the ramifications of that choices. As such, though it be an interesting thought exercise and fodder for many a story, it is only conceivable, but not achievable even in a thought exercise.

Accepting these dichotomies, a person following this path can shed the past and choose to live without regret. By this I do not mean lack of regret as in remorse, but lack of regret regarding the paths not taken. The process is, in some sense, sporadic. The past often does not slough off continuously. It must build up to where it has sufficient coherence for us to grab onto it, which can allows it to be pulled off and left by the wayside. The act is also not without risk. The past can both weigh down and protect. Without it, the world is capable of inflicting more heavily, both with possibilities and dangers. The moment is also one of irreversible transition as the past is shuttled into the domain of memory alone, and the person changes into a different being, unable to return the the self that was. This new self has its own strengths and shortcomings, and does not necessarily better the previous self. Regardless, this path gives the choice of choice, the possibility of always facing the coming dawn, whether it is with sadness or delight.

Perhaps, being human, it is impossible to choose a path and stick to it religiously. Perhaps all of the modes have different conditions under which they are necessary. And more than likely, the analysis is incomplete and there are many more possibilities. Nonetheless, I am enamored to the idea of making the next choices without regret. Often the path is not for one to choose but to accept. But I hope that when it is for me to choose, there is among the selection this one choice: the choice of going only forward…

With this in mind, let us get back to giving and taking. To give much, certainly, is highly regarded. But this begs the question: why is everyone not endlessly enthusiastic about giving? Why is it that something that is admirable is not something that we, at a deep level, do not wish to aspire to? Taking also has this duality, though it is perhaps harder to see. Taking too much, or perhaps more appropriately, “more than one’s share,” is of course frowned upon. But taking too little is just as bad. Take for example a person who chooses to accept no kindness or social token. This person would be perceived as distant, or worse, arrogant and standoffish. This may be interpreted as simply the counter-instantiation of a social norm, but it can also be seen as a negation of the efforts of one who is perceived as good (the impeccable giver), which of course, in the world of polar formulations, relegates to the non-taker the role of “villain.”

Also interesting is the idea of “one’s share,” which ties directly into the concept of normalcy or centrality, and thus requires polarity (negative polarity, one may suppose, except for in the mind of the extreme capitalist). To add further twists, we must of course have exceptions to the so-called rules. In the case of dire need, to take excessively is not as bad. We never call a person being rescuee of a dangerous fire a villain for taking selfishly of the fireman’s self-sacrifice. In fact, we have invented a word for the authorized over-taker: the victim. At the same time, it is not as unacceptable to give little as it should be, because presumably effort went into the excesses being enjoyed. We variously label this capitalism, free market economy, or enlightened self-interest. Toss it all together, shake well, and it’s pretty much literally all good!

So now that we have danced around a bit, we can discard the prybar of giving and taking and cut to the meat. The difficulties with the pseudo-morality of giving and taking show us two things: a) the difference between ideals, moral/social evaluations, and practice and b) the difference between correctness and goodness. The definitional polarity of the terms are residues of social ideals. They are meant neither to be evaluated realistically nor to be practiced. In reality, the design of society does not allow for anyone to be that giving without going penniless and having to take (and thus reduce goodness), and the counterbalance prevents anyone from taking from everyone limitlessly. I do expect some resistance to the latter idea, but in the end, even the most heinous of takers must give something to survive, or be hunted down. Since the polarity of the words do not help us in any practical situation, we must thus have a separate metric for evaluation. This metric can be described loosely as deviation from the virtual centroid of the give/take space relative to the person or to society in general. The metric is made uneven because we have found ways to cheat with the metric in order to not feel too negatively. However, they are a metric nonetheless.

If the metric is the distance, then the practice is effectively centralism, or attempted congruence with the accepted centroid of the space. The upshot is that the “ok” state is in fact not the “good” state, but the “not too good and not too bad state,” which allows us to keep the relativistic model in play. It’s a longish discussion as to fully explore why we cannot accept outliers into the set while using a relative moral model, but to sum, sufficient numbers of outliers would either constantly redefine the centroid (making it definitionally unusable) or causes fracture of the common definition of the center. This provides segue into point (b), as well as the crux of this exercise. I will take as given that the give/take (or any other) terminological polarization is a social phenomenon. I will presume as safe the assumption that “society” is some set of individuals who subscribe to the same set of terminologies and definitions (ie, they can communication and make sense to each other). If the polarization is a social phenomenon (ie, everyone agreed on it, however tacitly), then we cannot have any extreme outliers in the set given the way things stand. In short, we can have neither heroes nor villains among the “us.”

That said, the idea of heroes and villains, their roles, and their otherness is fascinating as a tool for social inspection. Perhaps the change in the aspect of the hero, and some thoughts on what this means to the “us,” would make a good topic for a part II to this posting.