Entropy; Timshel; Life

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The rest is the explanation; go and learn. -- Hillel the Elder

Big Al quipped, "Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler." He also posited that, "One seeks the most general ideas of operation which will bring together in simple, logical and unified form the largest possible circle of formal relationships." These two statements, one jocular one not, both prescribe the guiding attributes of a generalized truth.

In seeking a simple (i.e., concise) general physical description for life, it seems plausible to me that I must ascribe to it a compatibility with basic natural law, as well as some spark of the sublime, so as to differentiate the essence of what is animate from the inanimate. In so doing, I propose to define life such that it does not violate the Second Law of Thermodynamics, and also incorporates the concept of free will, in the sense of an innate ability for making willful and, potentially, creative choices. The former aspect of my definition incorporates natural science, acknowledging that life exists within the 4-dimensional fabric of spacetime. The latter introduces the divine or, if you prefer it, sublime ingredient — that which differentiates living from inanimate objects.

The Second Law specifies that entropy, the measure of randomness in a closed physical system, increases with time. Entropy is that physical phenomenon responsible for the inexorable expansion of the universe toward a state of complete dissipation of useful, creative if you will it, energy. This, crucially, does not obviate the possibility of temporary localized reductions in entropy, however.

Consider the possibility of a temporary and localized reduction in entropy. Such a physical possibility is ordinarily designated a physical potential. Thus, let us consider the physical potential that serves to quantify a realizable (but as yet unrealized) reduction in entropy. Bearing in mind that a realized reduction in entropy implies a realized reduction in dissipated or useless energy, it, correspondingly, implies a realized increase in available or useful energy. At this point we have a plausible candidate for a physical description of what we know to be life, when we see it: a potential reduction in entropy. I will now address the need to incorporate a qualification that imputes a certain something, which will give the definition a spark of the sublime.

Timshel is a transliteration of the Hebrew word that means "thou mayest." It is a succinct exposition of the philosophical concept of Free Will. 'Timshel' memorably appears as the last quote in Steinbeck's East of Eden, and is, arguably, the principal theme of that novel. 'Thou mayest' suggests a divine (or from an as yet unknowable source) grant of potential. If we define an adjective "timshel" as a contextual extension to mean 'Thou mayest cause', it gives us the means to express, in local spacetime (i.e., in local 3-dimensional space and also temporarily), that aspect of potential for a reduction in entropy, which offers a possibility for an increase in useful, and conditionally creative, energy.

Thus, entropy and timshel give birth to a definition for life that incorporates both a natural potential and the philosophical concept of Free Will:

Life is timshel entropy reduction.

The rest, as they say, is left as an exercise for the student.

Survival; Indifference; Postponement

If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when? -- Hillel

This sage tripartite principle, together with the Golden Rule, comprises the essence of ethical living. And the first part of this essential tripleton may be redacted to a colloquial version of the Patriarch's allegorical precept for survival: 'Get a life. Strive for more.'

In a recent post I referenced the foremost among the human-relationship moral imperatives of the Decalogue, as I believe it to be a reliable prescription for living a good life. What I termed, facetiously, to be a modest prescription is only modest by virtue of its brevity. It is at least as consequential as the ethic of reciprocity. My purpose in this post is to elaborate what I believe to be some implications of such a prescription.

If one takes the Commandment to 'Honor your father and your mother' to its natural finality, it implies compassion for a dying parent. Sometimes, however, a parent dies suddenly, and one might think that such compassion can not be universally experienced. Certainly not if, perish the thought, a child predeceases a parent? But everyone is dying. Having compassion for a dying parent, therefore, is an appropriate expression of honor, always.

If a parent has a fatal illness, the subordination of one's compassionate feelings to common self absorption is the province of narcissism. And taken to its limit, such subordination constitutes indifference. To my mind, indifference to a loved one is the ultimate prescription for an unhappy life, for everyone but a sociopath; though even Stalin understood this, as he famously remarked, "A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic."

Finally then, 'if not now, when?' For as sure as God made little green apples, postponement is a one-way street to the house of regrets, with incomplete refuge through Atonement.

A Modest Prescription For A Life That Is Good

As the saying goes, 'Life is just a bowl of cherries.' But what about those pits?

In any case, I want to discuss a prescription that is available to everyone, and sadly not everyone can have a bowl of cherries. Which immediately also eliminates from consideration fame, fortune, beauty, health, etc., which everyone may hope and wish for, but none of which is entirely within every person's control or reach.

How about a heroic death? That certainly qualifies for a death that is good, but not necessarily a life that is good.

What then would qualify for life that is good? A life of pleasure? Comfort? All such relative and variable conditions? Must one have access to them always? Clearly none of these are available to all. Not in this world.

Perhaps the qualification comprises an absence of a negative condition? Something everyone has a chance to avoid? At least a fighting chance? There are lots of things people can try to avoid, but can not always succeed in doing. Can't always avoid making a bad choice without hindsight.

Well then, what about regrets? Can one always avoid them? I suppose not. Sometimes, like bad choices, they are not avoidable, except in hindsight. But, I believe regrets can serve as guidance for the avoidance of bad choices and lamentable behavior. We can strive to avoid having regrets when all is said and done. And the ideal to strive for is to have no regrets at the end of a life that is good.

Which brings me to the prescription, presented to humanity by the great prophet Moses: Honor your father and your mother.

If you do not, you will have regrets.

They Did Survive

They were newlyweds when driven from their home by the plague. For two and a half years they struggled for more life. Their struggle bore fruit in an unexpected way, and became more difficult after their son was born. Youthful naiveté, nature's gift of optimism, gave them the will to follow the example of their ancient Patriarch. They struggled for more life.

Their struggle lasted a decade. Though the plague had been eradicated four years before, the last weeks of their struggle were particularly harsh. And now they knew their personal Diaspora would last forever. They were heading for a new home.

At last, a miraculous pill, a gift from one of the American ship's officers, lifted their queasiness. And as the morning mist lifted in empathy, their miraculous day continued. The ship steamed into the harbor, welcomed by the grandest lady of all. It was the first of fifty celebrations of their personal Day of Liberty: October 24, 1949.

{A personal remembrance dedicated to Mary}

Remembrance in Spacetime: Awakening

On January 13, 1986 I woke up in my new apartment in Los Alamos, New Mexico. It was a new day, in a new town, in a new part of this great big country of ours. The next day I was to begin my new position as Staff Physicist in the Applied Theoretical Physics Division at the Los Alamos National Laboratory. On this day my plan was to take stock. Of my life.

In a little over a month I would be 44 years old; definitely middle aged. From age seven on, I had been a New Yorker. I had a Bachelor's degree from Cornell, and a Master's and Doctorate from Columbia. I had been married and divorced. I had two young sons back in New York who, along with their mother, relied on my alimony and child support. The alimony would continue until my ex wife remarried. The child support would be required until both sons finished college. That was our separation agreement and that was my personal obligation to my sons as I viewed it.

My first job out of graduate school was like a post doc position. Although I had been a staff scientist at a private corporation in New York, the salary lagged that of my colleagues' who had accepted positions at national labs or similarly established organizations. But what concerned me most at this stage of my career (and life) was that that first significant position of my professional career had provided no retirement benefits. And, that I had a 4-figure net worth.

Although I had been a full-time student for a quarter century, I now realized that my student days were not over yet. I was sorely lacking in personal financial savvy, and, unbeknownst to me, had previously been enrolled in the school of hard knocks. On this particular first day of the rest of my life, I decided on a long-term personal mission: I would educate myself in the basics of personal finance and investing; I would continue to make good on all my financial obligations to others; and I would begin addressing my personal financial obligation to myself, namely, preparing for retirement. Clearly, there were lots of pizzas and peanut butter sandwiches in my future. In effect, I had enrolled in The Peanut Butter School of Life University.

Remembrance in Spacetime: Like a New Birth of Freedom

Oddly enough, one of the most important events of my life occurred on a day that I don't remember, just as no one remembers their own birth. I do remember that my parents had been studying, with my help, for their citizenship examination. The examination turned out to be very easy (with questions such as, "Who is the President of the United States," President Eisenhower having been the correct answer then). My parents had no trouble satisfying the requirements, and they became naturalized American citizens.

Being 13 years old at the time, however, I was more interested in the fortunes of my beloved Brooklyn Dodgers, who, as luck would have it, won the World Series later that year for the very first and, sadly, only time. As I recall, the Dodgers won the first two games against their arch rival New York Yankees, then lost the next three. But, incredibly, they managed to come back from the 3-2 deficit (never before accomplished in a World Series) to win the last two games of the seven game series. The New York Daily News hailed their accomplishment on their front page with a full-page cartoon of a bum and the headline, "WHO'S A BUM!" My full year of happiness, however, was terminated the very next year, when the Yankees took their revenge on the Dodgers in only the second time that a series was decided by a team winning the first two games; losing the next three; and winning the final two.

I became a naturalized citizen of the United States by derivation from my parents' own naturalization on May 13, 1955. Being a minor, American Citizenship was granted to me through the action of my parents --- like "a new birth of freedom."

Remembrance in Spacetime: Liberty

The displaced persons had boarded the General J. H. McRae (AP-149), an American Army transport, in early October 1949 at Bremerhaven on the north coast of General Eisenhower's American Occupation Zone. The North Atlantic was stormy that October, and its crossing took about two weeks. It was a nightmare.

At the end of the second week of the hellish crossing, the mother scored a jackpot. Though she was a seasick, kerchief-wearing refugee she was, nevertheless, a pretty young woman, and she charmed a ship's officer into giving her a single tablet of Dramamine. She shared it with her son on the deck of the General McRae. The father, as usual, bore his misery stoically. After swallowing the half-tablet, the child's queasiness lifted, as did the morning haze.

And there she was. With torch held high, she beckoned to the ship's human cargo as the General McRae steamed into New York Harbor. She was beautiful, just as they had imagined she would be.

It was United Nations Day in America: October 24, 1949. But it might as well have been the Fourth of July. For the immigrant survivors, it was, as we continued to celebrate it annually, our Day of Liberty.

Remembrance in Spacetime: Vanquished

It was a typical winter day --- safe but very cold. Temperatures occasionally reached the point at which Fahrenheit and Celsius become indistinguishable. On the other side of the mountains, the invincible horde had been met by an indomitable will. At the end of the monumental battle, a quarter million invincibles surrendered. It marked the end of the pathogenic explosion. Its implosive eradication had begun.

A mother was rushing, with toddler in tow, to the wartime mall, the black market, where the people bartered for necessities. She had dressed her son warmly: long woolly underwear; pants; shirt and sweater; an overcoat with mittens; a hat with ear flaps; and little boots made of felt. The felt was effective because it was too cold for snow to melt and wet it. His father had recently demonstrated the fascinating way in which saliva turned to ice before it reached the ground with a clink.

The little boy stopped walking to complain about some minor discomfort. The mother's hasty effort in dressing him for her important errand had been less than his fastidiousness required. In her agitation, she started spanking him, an unusual response from her. But suddenly she stopped.

Advancing towards them was a disorganized column of misery guarded by army troops. The prisoners-of-war were shivering in the remnants of their warm-weather uniforms. Their heads down, icicles hung from the nostrils of the vanquished invaders. Mother stared at the despised detritus shuffling past.

"That nation of swine" she exclaimed, as frozen spit punctuated the ground.