blimix: Joe on mountain ridge with sunbeam (Huckleberry Mountain)
There is an indirect but real harm that I will call "failure to ostracize". Last year, I realized something peculiar about this harm: It cannot, in and of itself, be a harm worthy of ostracizing. I don't mean anything about how bad this particular harm is or isn't: I mean that logically, that consequence would break the world.

Call it a transitive property, or proof by induction, or whatever you like. Assume that it is appropriate to ostracize someone for failing to ostracize someone else. One person, Perry Problematic, does something bad, in such circumstances that the best course of action is to ostracize them for it. A handful of people continue their association with Perry. Those people need to be ostracized. Then, everyone who associates with those people need to be ostracized. This "guilt by association" continues to spread out, and soon encompasses everyone in the world aside from a few isolated populations and hermits.

There are plenty of other ways that a person might address a failure to ostracize: Calling in, calling out, orbital lasers, etc. But if you think it's right to ostracize someone for it, you must ostracize everyone you know, even your most upright heroes, or you must be inconsistent in applying your rules.

There's an awful lot more to say on the subject, and it's the sort of high-selmer, deep dive post that I would like to spend ten hours writing while I forget to eat. (A selmer is a unit equal to tangents per second. If you know, you know.) The discussion of whether to ostracize someone, and the consequences, costs, and viability thereof, touches on:

  • Geek Social Fallacies
  • Childhood trauma
  • Conscious versus subconscious reasoning
  • Social proof
  • Missing stairs
  • Social capital/privilege
  • Pandemic behaviors
  • Bullying
  • PAX
  • Daryl Davis
  • Other stuff that will occur to me while writing, beyond the ten minutes spent composing the post in my head before getting up this morning.
blimix: Joe by a creek in the woods (Default)
I've had an interesting encounter with a logic puzzle.

Raymond Smullyan's book What is the Name of This Book? includes many puzzles with the premise of an island populated by knights, knaves, and normals. Knights always speak the truth, knaves always speak falsely, and normals sometimes do either.

A typical (if easy) example is problem 103: At a trial, you (an inhabitant of this island) must make a statement proving that you are a normal.

There are many possible solutions, but a clear and elegant one is, "I am a knave." Neither a knight nor a knave could say this, so you must be a normal.

Unstated but critical in the solution is the idea of "proof by contradiction" employed by the jury. They consider the possibility that you are a knight, but this quickly leads to the conclusions "You always speak the truth" and "Your statement is a lie." This is a contradiction; therefore, its premise (you are a knight) must be discarded as false. Similarly, the premise that you are a knave leads to a contradiction: You always speak falsely, but you just made a true statement. So they know you're not a knave. The premise that you are a normal is the only one that does not lead to a contradiction. Therefore, they know that you must be a normal. (I apologize if this is obvious. It'll be important shortly.)

Problem 106 inverts this: How many statements would it take to convince the king that you are not a normal? (Answer for both a knight and a knave.)

In case you want to think about that for a while, I'll leave some spoiler space.

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Smullyan helpfully provides answers to his riddles, and for this one, he simply says: It can't be done. Even if you're truly not a normal, any statements you make to try to prove this could just as easily be uttered by a normal (who after all can say whatever they please). You can't prove you're not a normal.

That was not my solution.

My solution for the knight was a single statement, "I am a knight or this sentence is false."
A knave could instead state, "I am not a knave and this sentence is false."

In both cases, the premise that the speaker of this statement is a normal leads to a contradiction, regardless of whether the statement is assumed to be true or false.

Could a normal utter it anyway? Maybe. It is unclear in the book whether normals are free to tell only truths and falsehoods, or whether they are empowered to string together any words they wish, including self-contradictory statements. (Normals "sometimes lie and sometimes tell the truth". Can they also do other things? (Everyone, please no nitpicking about "lies" versus "falsehoods". It's beside the point.)) However, even if we generously grant that normals can say anything at all, I will note that the challenge was not to make a statement that a normal could not make, but rather to convince the king that you are not a normal.

The king, like the jury, employs logic with ruthless efficiency. Nowhere is it implied that we might count on the king to make a logical blunder, such as entertaining a premise that leads to a contradiction. That would undermine the entire challenge. Since you have just made a statement which results in a contradiction if you are anything but a knight, he must conclude that you are a knight, or he must abandon logic. (The knave's answer is just as powerful.)

Mr. Smullyan, I am prepared to claim from your ghost the five and a third Internet Points which I have just won in fair combat. (Also, I loved your book.)

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p.s. On the same piece of paper where I had written my solution in a dentist's waiting room last year, I had also noted, with amusement, the following:

"This sentence is false" is contradictory. But "I am a knave" is not!
blimix: Joe by a creek in the woods (creek)
I wrote a puzzle today, and in correcting it, I discovered that it lends itself to a series of similar puzzles with intriguing variations. Have a crack at them yourself, and expect to see some spoilers if you view comments. I know that some of you won't be able to resist this.

Puzzle 1:

The sphinx crossed a secret chamber deep in the castle's basement, trying to keep a level head and ignore the sounds of battle coming from outside. Her friends would survive only if she could quickly find and disable their enemy's source of power. There was, she had been informed, only one path to that source. As she approached the three doors, each one in turn formed a mouth and spoke, then went silent and became again a plain, wooden door with a number on it.

The first door said, "Door two speaks truly and leads to doom."
The second door said, "Door three speaks truly and leads to power."
The third door said, "Door one lies and leads to power."

An inscription above them read, "At least one door speaks the truth."

Puzzles two through four are behind the cut. )
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