“With enough data all things become predictable.” < says today’s algorithmic hubris
Just listened to an NPR / Invisibilia exerpt piece on this. Though B’s mood was starting its pre-nap deterioration spiral, so admittedly I only got maybe 60%. But that’s ok, I’ve gotten used to living in a world of fractions, learned to be grateful for pieces where I used to enjoy wholes.
And I say that not with an exasperated mom-martyr voice (“look at me, look at my sacrifices”), the voice of resistance, but rather simply documenting it as the next stage in a progression of consciousness. It makes more sense to me to view it this way, rather than fighting it. Scientific studies have shown that the brain undergoes changes during pregnancy. Permanent changes.
And now, memory and intellect seemingly still shrouded, partially obscured by the hormone cocktail which enables breastfeeding, I feel at times I’m still delicately probing an unfamiliar house, but one that holds all my possessions. Some unpacked and in use, though strewn in counterintuitive locations, others still in boxes with too-general or even enigmatic labels, others in foreboding black trash bags.
There’s a strong urge to put my mind-house in order. And an urge to heft a large portion of this accumulated junk out the door and onto the curb. The task is daunting. There’s so much. Maybe I’ll waste my whole life sifting through it. Maybe I just need to open a window, get some light, get some air, get some perspective. Better yet, go outside, go for a walk …
All that to say I often feel like a new organism, or one which has been through (is still going through) a metamorphosis, rather. Admittedly sometimes more Kafkaesque than butterfly. I’m still taking stock.
In any case, back to Invisibilia and algorithmic prediction—
—I don’t remember what I wanted to say, except in vagueries as my many-colored caffeine high fizzles off into grey.
Something about algorithms being synthetic organisms which perform within perfect geometric shapes, whereas organic creatures, humans, are craggy, irregular, MESSY, that mess akin to mystery in its rawest form, fueled by complex, sometimes inefficient processes.
How do you teach an algorithm that?
The idea of mutation(/inspiration), often manifesting as cancer, but sometimes something NEW. And this interpreted through the veil of human morality, the need to label good/bad, when it’s actually about trajectories too long.
Meanwhile algorithm suggests, based on my interests, I might also enjoy …