“Hippias Minor” by Plato (translated by Nicholas D. Smith)

In this dialogue Socrates asks questions of Hippias, a sophist visiting Athens. The discussion is ostensibly about the moral differences between Achilles and Odysseus, but the argument turns to much larger themes of truthfulness in the context of voluntary action, degrees of knowledge, and the wholeness of man.

Socrates begins by stating something of his method, “But it is always my custom to pay attention when someone is saying something, especially when the speaker seems to me to be wise. And because I desire to learn what he means, I question him thoroughly and examine and place side-by-side the things he says, so I can learn. If the speaker seems to me to be some worthless person, I neither ask questions nor do I care what he says. This is how you’ll recognize whom I consider wise. You’ll find me being persistent about what’s said by this sort of person, questioning him so that I can benefit by learning.” Socrates is both stating the modesty in his method of interrogating others for the truth, while he is praising the worthiness of Hippias, even as he contradicts him at the same time. Throughout this dialogue, one gets the feel that Socrates’ praise for Hippias is faint indeed.

However, Socrates is nothing if not always modest. Later he states, “But I have one wonderfully good trait, which saves me: I’m not ashamed to learn. I inquire and ask questions and I’m very grateful to the one who answers…. I’ve never denied it when I’ve learned anything, pretending what I learned was my own discovery.” Finally, Socrates admits that philosophy is hard and one should be expected to waver, to struggle, and to change one’s mind. Speaking directly to Hippias (and more generally about sophists), Socrates says, “On these matters I waver back and forth and never believe the same thing. And it’s not surprising at all that I or any ordinary person should waver. But if you wise men are going to do it too—that means something terrible for us, if we can’t stop our wavering even after we’ve put ourselves in your company.”

“The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas” by Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis (translated by Gregory Rabassa)

This is a fictional memoir written by a corpse. That should make this novel weird enough. The eponymous hero, Cubas, also has a flippant way of recapitulating the details of his life. He writes of his undertaking, “this book is written with apathy, with the apathy of a man now freed of the brevity of the century, a supinely philosophical work, of an unequal philosophy, now austere, now playful, something that neither builds nor destroys, neither inflames nor cools, and, yet, it is more than a pastime and less than an apostolate.” Cubas was a life-long bachelor and an aristocratic layabout in 19th century Rio de Janeiro. He does not claim to be anything more or less. He gives an idea of his philosophy of life when he writes, “tight boots are one of the best bits of good fortune on earth, because making one’s feet hurt they give occasion to the pleasure of taking them off. Punish your feet, wretch, then unpunish them and there you have cheap happiness, at the mercy of shoemakers and worthy of Epicurus.” He is marvelously self-centered. He is not overly proud, but unrepentant. He often expounds on (in order to relieve?) his own conscience, “Ventilate your conscience! That’s all I can tell you…. So I, Bras Cubas, discovered a sublime law, the law of equivalencies of windows, and I established the fact that the method of compensating for a closed window is to open another, so that morality can continuously aerate one’s conscience.” Later, when reflecting on the religious compunctions of a poor old maid he has put up in a house as cover for his liaisons with his married lover Cubas again reflects, “vice many times is manure for virtue. And that doesn’t prevent virtue from being a fragrant and healthy bloom. My conscience agreed and I went to open the door for Virgilia.”

Much of his memoir focuses on his intimate escapades with this one true love of his life, the one who got away, Virgilia. Initially, after he was spurned as her suitor, he writes, “I’d stayed awake a good part of the night. Because of love? Impossible. One doesn’t love the same woman twice, and I, who would love that one some time later, wasn’t held at that time by any other bond than a passing fantasy.” Cubas often talked about how little he liked to talk about money. Reflecting on an incident with a beggar, “I took out my wallet, picked a five mil-reis note—the least clean one—and gave it to him.” Throughout much of his memoir Cubas digresses into his method of writing it. “I went on my way, unraveling an infinite number of reflections that I think I’ve lost completely. They would have been material for a good and maybe happy chapter. I like happy chapters, they’re my weakness.” Later on in his memoir, he self-edits, justifying his previous word choice, “If the reader remembers Chapter XXIII he will observe that this is the second time I’ve compared life to an overflow, but he must also notice that this time I add an adjective: perpetual. And God knows the strength of an adjective, above all in young, hot countries.”

“Man Tiger” by Eka Kurniawan

Normally murder mysteries do not reveal the names of the corpse and the murderer in their first sentence. This novel has elements of pure fantasy mixed with a realistic window of modern day Indonesia. The scenes of rural life, the natural beauty of the countryside, and the vibrancy of the ordinary villagers all keep you enthralled the whole way through. And the plot still does manage to keep you guessing. 

“Existentialism is a Humanism” by Jean-Paul Sartre

This short lecture really sums up Sartre’s version of existentialism. It starts with the fact that existence precedes essence foremost in man. Man chooses. Life is all about choices made and choices abandoned, but in all that man is the chooser. “Reality exists only in action…. Reality alone counts.” Furthermore, in choice there is responsibility: a responsibility for one’s own actions affecting the self, but also a responsibility affecting mankind. In one’s conception of the self, in one’s morals, in one’s subjectivity one is also affecting humanity at large. There is a commitment to live authentically in the world and primarily not to live in bad faith with oneself.

“A Million Windows” by Gerald Murnane

As is the case with many of Murnane’s works of fiction, this novel has layers of story built upon layers. The stories are embedded within stories. “For the sake of the undiscerning reader, I shall repeat the simple fact that I am the narrator of this work and not the author.” Also similar to some of his previous work, this novel is more about the craft of writing than any so-called plot. In fact, Murnane repeatedly mines the same basic facts about his family and his past, all completely fictionalized, of course. “I recall no reviewer or critic who insisted that fictional characters ought not to be discussed as though they are persons living in the world where books of fiction are written and read.” The beauty of Murnane is that the reader gets so wrapped up in the asides and tangents that if one is not careful one can lose track of who exactly is speaking and what is story and what is commentary. “For him, the personages who had first appeared while he was reading some or another fictional text were no less alive after the text itself had come to an end than while he pored over it.” Of course, nothing is real. It is all fiction. “Fiction, even what I call true fiction, is fiction. An author demeans fiction if he or she requires the reader to believe that what happens in his or her mind while reading is no different from what happens over his or her shoulder or outside his or her window.” Murnane spends the most time in this novel ruminating on the art of narration. “The narrator of the this present work of fiction is one who strives to keep between the actual self and his seeming self and his seeming reader such seeming-distances as will maintain between all three personages a lasting trust.” He reveals on the very first page of this novel, “one of the commonest devices used by writers of fiction is the withholding of essential information.” This is sort of like a magician revealing his trick right before he goes ahead and deceives you. “Even the discerning reader who is also a student of narration — even he or she might struggle so far to classify the narrator of this present work and might struggle further as the work becomes more complicated in later pages. It is not for me to define myself, as it were.” The mystery should satisfy the reader even to the very last page. “But what could I have been hoping to learn about the flesh-and-blood author, the breathing author of these and who knows how many other pages of true fiction?”

“The Book of Why- the New Science of Cause and Effect” by Judea Pearl and Dana Mackenzie

Judea Pearl is a professor of computer science at UCLA,  who has been working at the frontiers of machine learning and artificial intelligence for decades. Through this lens, he has become a leader in the new science of causation. Unbeknownst to many even in the disciplines that heavily rely on statistics, Pearl now believes that there has been a revolution in the techniques of teasing out cause from effect. In 2000, he proclaimed, “Causality has undergone a major transformation from a concept shrouded in mystery into a mathematical object with well-defined semantics and well-founded logic. Paradoxes and controversies have been resolved, slippery concepts have been explicated, and practical problems relying on causal information that long were regarded as either metaphysical or unmanageable can now be solved using elementary mathematics. Put simply, causality has been mathematized.” This book is Pearl’s effort to explain the science of causality in layman’s terms. He states that “the calculus of causation consists of two languages: causal diagrams, to express what we know, and a symbolic language, resembling algebra, to express what we want to know.” In this model, the data comes last because data is dumb to causal relationships.

The science of causation is so important because for humans “causal explanations, not dry facts, make up the bulk of our knowledge, and should be the cornerstone of machine intelligence…. Our transition from processors of data to makers of explanations was not gradual; it was a leap that required an external push…. Our ancestors’ capacity to imagine nonexistent things was the key to everything…. The connection between imagining and causal relations is almost self-evident.” The three levels of causation are “seeing or observing, [which] entails detection of regularities…. doing [which] entails predicting the effect(s) of deliberate alterations of the environment and choosing among these alterations to produce a desired outcome…. [and] understanding that permits imagining.” Therefore, Pearl has invented the metaphor of a Ladder of Causation, which consists of three rungs: association, intervention, and counterfactuals. Only the top two rungs involve causation. However, almost all animals and all current learning machines are stuck on the bottom rung. Intervention asks the question, “What if we do…? What Will happen if we change the environment?” Counterfactuals go back into time and require imagination. They ask, “what if things had been different?” This is skill, more than likely, unique to humans.

The bulk of Pearl’s book mixes the history of statistics with the history of a small set of outlaws, who dared to ask “why” questions, instead of just being content with correlations. Sewall Wright “was the first person to develop a mathematical method for answering causal questions from data, known as path diagrams…. [The path diagram] was the first bridge ever built between causality and probability, the first crossing of the barrier between rung two and rung one on the Ladder of Causation. Having built this bridge, Wright could travel backward over it, from the correlations measured in the data (rung one) to the hidden causal quantities.” As Wright himself wrote, defending his method from hostile attacks by the statistical establishment, “the combination of knowledge of correlations with knowledge of causal relations to obtain certain results, is a different thing from the deduction of causal relations from correlations.”

Pearl fully admits that causal diagrams require scientists to step out of their comfort zone of objectivity, explicitly. He states that “drawing a path diagram is not a statistical exercise; it is an exercise in genetics, economics, psychology, or whatever the scientist’s own field of expertise…. Causal analysis requires the user to make a subjective commitment. She must draw a causal diagram that reflects her qualitative belief—or, better yet, the consensus belief of researchers in her field of expertise—about the topology of the causal processes at work.” That is why Pearl came to causal science first through his work on Bayesian networks. “The prototype of Bayesian analysis goes like this: Prior Belief + New Evidence —> Revised Belief…. Bayesian statistics gives us an objective way of combining the observed evidence with our prior knowledge (or subjective belief) to obtain a revised belief and hence a revised prediction of the outcome…. To articulate subjective assumptions, Bayesian statisticians still use the language of probability…. The assumptions entering causal inference, on the other hand, require a richer language.” In causal diagrams, “each arrow can be thought of as a statement about the outcome of a hypothetical experiment…. Whereas a Bayesian network can only tell us how likely one event is, given that we observed another (rung-one information), causal diagrams can answer interventional and counterfactual questions.” The use of such diagrams allows the scientist ““provisional causality,” that is, causality contingent upon the set of assumptions that our causal diagram advertises…. They have the advantage of being conducted in the natural habitat of the target population, not in the artificial setting of a laboratory, and they can be “pure” in the sense of not being contaminated by issues of ethics and feasibility…. One of the major accomplishments of causal diagrams is to make the assumptions transparent so that they can be discussed and debated by experts and policy makers…. The diagram encodes the causal story behind the data.”

Pearl ends his book by circling back around to his expertise of machine learning and the state of the field today. He states, “With Bayesian networks, we had taught machines to think in shades of gray, and this was an important step toward humanlike thinking. But we still couldn’t teach machines to understand causes and effects…. Without the ability to envision alternate realities and contrast them with the currently existing reality, a machine cannot pass the mini-Turing test; it cannot answer the most basic question that makes us human: “Why?”” Machine learning will have to go beyond deep learning and gathering big data sets to get there. “In technical terms, machine-learning methods today provide us with an efficient way of going from finite sample estimates to probability distributions, and we still need to get from distributions to cause-effect relations…. A strong AI should be a machine that can reflect on its actions and learn from past mistakes. It should be able to understand the statement “I should have acted differently”…. Intent is a very important part of personal decision making…. The ability to conceive of one’s own intent and then use it as a piece of evidence in casual reasoning is a level of self-awareness (if not consciousness) that no machine I know of has achieved…. Thinking in terms of intents, therefore, offers us a shorthand to convert complicated causal instructions into simple ones…. The algorithmization of counterfactuals is a major step toward understanding these questions and making consciousness and agency a computational reality…. I believe that the software package that can give a thinking machine the benefits of agency would consist of at least three parts: a causal model of the world; a causal model of its own software, however superficial; and a memory that records how intents in its mind correspond to events in the outside world.”

“Conversations- Volume 3” with Jorge Luis Borges and Osvaldo Ferrari (translated by Anthony Edkins)

Borges never wrote a piece of fiction or poetry beyond twenty pages. These transcribed radio conversations show that he could pack a lot of weight into just a few words. The topics range from his own stories and poems, to gossip about his literary friends, to what it meant to be Argentinian, to Oscar Wilde and sodomy, to James Joyce dissecting the genre of the novel, to the defects of sociology, to Stoic philosophy, to Walt Whitman’s quintessentially American poetry, to the nature of time, and much beyond. Each self-contained broadcast is a joy in and of itself, but the collection shows the width and depth of Borges’ knowledge, while being relayed in his unique brand of ironic humor. Ferrari more than holds his own in the exchange of banter and pushes Borges both where he does and where he does not want to go. Although recorded in the 1980s, the themes and commentaries still ring relevant in today’s literary scene and geopolitical climate.

“The Story of the Lost Child” by Elena Ferrante (translated by Ann Goldstein)

This is the final novel of Ferrante’s Neapolitan quartet. Ferrante is a master of writing about the details of human relationships. At the heart of these four books is the enduring friendship and competition of two neighborhood girls, Elena and Lila. “I told myself again that she would no longer exercise any authority over me, that that long phase was over.” The quartet began when they were six years old, playing with dolls on the streets of Naples, and finally concludes with the narrator, Elena, as a grandmother living in Turin, but still tied to Naples, both to the city and to her childhood memories there. “A woman without love for her origins is lost.” The breath of this story deals with the mimetic rivalry between the two friends, where the hopes and dreams of the one become entwined with the other, whether in the realm of toys, school grades, the affection of lovers, their sense of purpose in the world, or the love of their families.  “She had dragged me into the swelling sea of her desires.” The two women, even with grown children of their own, constantly measure their own lives based on the success of the other. “From childhood I had given her too much importance, and now I felt as if unburdened. Finally it was clear that what I was wasn’t her, and vice versa. Her authority was no longer necessary to me, I had my own.” They compete for the praise of the same teacher. They fight for the charms of the same man. And by the time of this fourth novel, as both have matured into adults, each successful in their own way, they compete for the respect and admiration of their old neighborhood. “I had no doubts about how I would react if I discovered that she really had irrupted into my professional identity, emptying it.” This tight-knit lower class community has followed both of their lives and judged their successes and failures to its own idiosyncratic standards. “I loved my city, but I uprooted from myself any dutiful defense of it.”

“The Screwtape Letters” by C.S. Lewis

Lewis may be best known for his fantasy epic “The Chronicles of Narnia,” but he was also a devout Christian whose theological works such as “Mere Christianity” and “Reflections on the Psalms” dealt with his personal relationship with divinity and organized religion. In “The Screwtape Letters,” Lewis mixes fiction with his religious interpretations, writing as if an agent of the Devil who is giving guidance to a young co-conspirator trying to co-opt a man’s soul to the depths of Hell. The book is short, but densely packed and I found myself rereading many of the fictional letters over and over again. Strangely perhaps, it reminded me of Marcus Aurelius’ “Meditations” in that this book also tries to set down a guide to living a moral life, albeit a Christian, rather than a Stoic, one. The form of the book is entertaining and catching in the sense that one has to remember that it is the Devil’s agent giving the advice so one has to do the opposite to avoid being ensnared by the Devil’s traps. Lewis makes the case for an uncomplicated and personal piety away from the trappings of religiosity, while never outrightly condemning the established Church.

“Technocracy in America: Rise of the Info-State” by Parag Khanna

Khanna hammers away at a few simple points in this short book. Democracy is not the finality of all political progress. It is only a means, not an end in itself. The American system has a lot to learn from best practices in governance abroad. It needs to rely less on democracy and more on technocracy. Technocracy needs to be founded on a system of meritocracy. I do not agree with all of his diagnoses of the problems with American governance, not to mention his solutions, but Khanna has written a thoughtful book whose primary attributes are his boldness and fearlessness in solutions. No one can accuse him of not thinking outside the box. Still, the best parts of the book are where he dissects the best practices of other countries, rather than drawing up systems for America ex novo.

Khanna's two main models are Switzerland and Singapore. They both combine what he finds most appealing in direct democracy and technocratic management. Since 1848 Switzerland has held over half of all the world’s plebiscites. “With only 100,000 signatures, Swiss citizens can…. instigate national initiatives to propose new laws and even constitutional amendments, or referenda to challenge them.” Singapore has “scenario planners embedded in every ministry covering both domestic and international issues. These “foresight officers” organize and impartially frame scenarios for leaders to consider on an ongoing basis…. Scenarios are neither predictions nor straight-line projections, but are composites of emergent patterns that could combine into an integrated picture…. [Government] sets reasonable key performance indicators (“KPIs”) that are tracked at regular intervals to assess progress.” Khanna approves of the fact that the executive duties in Switzerland, Singapore, and China are shared, to some degree, by a committee rather than a single president. This divides oversight, responsibilities, and spreads out the leadership agenda. He also praises the Singaporean system where “all cabinet ministers are matched to permanent secretaries from the civil service who know the beat inside out. Singapore’s civil service is a spiral staircase: With each rung you learn to manage a different portfolio, building a broad knowledge base and first-hand experience…. Along the way, generalists become specialists and vice-versa, and cross-pollination leads to innovative problem-solving.” Singapore’s civil servants are also compensated well, among the best paid and most revered of its citizens.

Khanna favors changing America to a parliamentary system with no fixed election cycle and an executive chosen from among these MPs. This would be an executive committee of seven people. He also favors abolishing the Senate for dual-governorships, rotating between the state capital and Washington. This is all pie in the sky stuff, but Khanna exhibits a continual emphasis on administration, accountability, big data, empirics, trial and error, all mixed with plebiscites. He views the city-state as the unit of governance of the future. “The virtue of devolution is not only that distributing authority is as powerful a check on tyranny as democracy, but that it allows for local experiments and rapid citizen feedback, resulting in models that the federal government can further study and scale to other states.” His vision of America is an urban one, where cities connect with other cities, be they American or foreign, and in many ways bypass the gridlock of Washington. Meanwhile the federal government combines an administrative executive with a permanent technocratic bureaucracy, all checked by public referenda. That his America of the future will never actually become a reality doesn’t mean the Khanna doesn’t have some fresh ideas to debate.