Friday, January 15, 2010

Charity Stops at Home

Charity Stops at Home

Anyone who has ever donated to a charity knows that the punishment is swift and sure: The charity begins to dun you constantly for more money. It's a reasonable strategy for them, because people who have given money before are the most likely to give again. Maybe not right away, but with a few more dunning messages, reminding the soft-hearted target that there is suffering and injustice in the world, the target will surely give in.

The question is, How do we cope with this? The pile of paper mail from charities in our front hall grows at the rate of half a centimeter a day. If e-mail had thickness, the pile of trashy e-communications from charities would be sticking out the side of my laptop. They arrive faster than I can delete them. Then there are the phone calls. Fortunately, we can now usually identify them because our phone displays the originating number, and it's usually a toll-free call. Of course, we have to run for the phone to verify this.

Fortunately, we can make a particular caller stop by asking them to stop calling us. They usually respect that. (You do have to answer the phone once.) You can make a respectable charity stop sending you e-mail. But I know of no way to make the flood of paper mail stop. Actually, I don't really want it to stop. I just want it to slow down.

I have thought about various approaches, and here is one that might work:

The next time you get a piece of mail from a charity, use the postage-paid envelope to send the following letter back:

Dear Committee for Saving Everyone Everywhere,

Thank you for your mail alerting me to the plight of the penguin people of Patagonia. I shall certainly be able to spare $100 for their cause. I am, in fact, willing to give you $200 a year for such causes. I think it's reasonable for you to contact me twice a year. So here's the deal. In six months I will send you the $100, provided I do not hear from you before then. With every communication I receive from you, I agree to pay you $100, but if I get N pieces of e-mail before I send you anything, then I will wait N/2 years before sending you the $100N dollars. Got that? If you send me 1 piece of mail in the next six months, that will make 2 (given the one I just received). So you have to wait 1 year to get your $200. But if I receive another piece of mail before the year is out, you will have to wait 18 months to get your $300. And so forth.

I am looking forward to a long and productive relationship, where just as I send you your $100, I receive the next piece of mail alerting me to the need for the following six months. All it takes is a little will power on your part, holding off on sending me a request until I have had time to react to the previous one.

If you exceed your quota, I will respond with a reminder of what the policy is and how long you will have to wait to receive your next payment. I hope this information will help you control yourselves.

Sincerely, etc.

You should feel free to change the amounts and time intervals. You might send $1000 a year provided they contact you once a year, or $50 a month if they contact you once a month, and so forth.

Now, of course, I doubt that any one person's adopting this strategy will have much effect. They won't change their practices until there is a mass movement of charitable donors determined to force them to change. The idea is simple. Spread the word! Eventually we can reduce the flood of incessant, annoying, tree-destroying, guilt-inducing, space-devouring mail.

Monday, August 03, 2009

A Tour of Newhallville

A Tour of Newhallville

The following is adapted from a letter to the president of the New Haven Preservation Trust in response to an invitation to join his organization.

Dear Mr. S_______,

The receipt of your letter of July 13 reminds me of my intention to write to you about one of your walking tours, conducted during the Festival of Arts and Ideas in June.

I went on the Newhallville tour. I was very curious about this part of the town, because I live in East Rock, which is part of the Newhallville Police District. East Rock has had problems with crime in recent years, but they pale when compared to those of Newhallville.

Our tour guide was a white man, somewhat older, or at least more wrinkled, than I (I am almost 60), who had the misfortune of having to conduct the tour in the rain. I had been wondering if I would be the whitest person there, given the ancestry of much of the population of Newhallville, but in fact there was only one person with obvious African ancestors. All us curious whitish people stood under the overhang of an office building attending to our guide. We were blocking the entrance to the building, so, soon after I arrived, the guide shepherded us down Munson Street. Given the rain, the gas-powered edgers mowing a very wet park lawn, and the traffic on Munson, which increased in volume as the afternoon progressed, it was hard to hear the man. But I caught most of what he said.

All he wanted to talk about was the rise and fall of the industrial base. Having gotten us a block from our starting point, he waved in the direction of the actual residential area of Newhallville and told us those were the houses built for the workers who worked in the factories that were later boarded up. Then he trundled us right back the way we had come, back under the office-building porch, where we stayed for the rest of the "tour," oblivious thereafter to the rush-hour traffic noise and the people entering and exiting the building. We looked out over the edge of the abandoned industrial area. There was a construction site directly in front of us, and diagonally to our right a block of factory-and-warehouse space now partly converted to apartments, all part of the "Science Park" project, an attempt to revive the economy of the abandoned area. (I don't know if the label "Science Park" is technically correct when applied to all the redevelopment projects, but it seems to be the name in general use.) Our hose rambled on about Yale's attempt to invest in the area, its constant changing of course, the constant shifting of who owned what, and who cared about what. The bottom line is that, in spite of the construction activity in front of us, and the bustling traffic we were blocking going in and out of the office building sheltering us, Science Park was barely limping along.

I had not come to hear any of this. Most of it I already knew, but when he dropped references to the current companies invested in the area, he assumed we knew who they were and what nefarious motives they might have. This stuff was lost on me.

My daughter used to come for drum lessons at the home of a famous musician who lived just about a block beyond the houses the guide had waved at. I would have liked to have known more about that area, if there was anything to know — anything written down in places available to us old white people. I also would have liked, in spite of the rain, to have actually walked somewhere. Many of the people in the crowd had umbrellas, and had come to do some walking. It would also be useful to have the tour conducted by someone who lives in the Whalley Avenue area, which was easily reachable on foot from where we stood. I shop there, but the tour made it seem like faraway, alien territory, which may be the impression some suburbanites in our group may have come away with.

The only thing I learned was where the name "Newhallville" comes from. Oh, and the fact that the failure of the Farmington Canal to make it through the district was the historical and symbolic beginning of its bad luck. Other than that, it seems that Science Park was the only important thing that ever happened there.

Sincerely,

Airlie Foyle

Saturday, January 24, 2009

On First Looking into Stambaugh's Heidegger

On First Looking into Stambaugh's0 Heidegger

Sometimes a purely intellectual work calls forth an aesthetic response. One has only to think of Escher's lithograph Relativity, a deep visual representation of the celebrated artist's superficial understanding of Einstein's equally celebrated theory. Recently, I have been reading Martin Heidegger's Being and Time, a weighty philosophical work, hugely influential on the German and French intelligentsia since it was first published in 1926, and gallicized by Jean-Paul Sartre in 1943. However, I have found it difficult to finish Being and Time, let alone formulate an adequate intellectual response to it.

Thus I have fallen back on poetry, and was inspired to compose the two poems that appear below. I realize that most of my readers are educated enough not to require an explanation of the philosophical and historical references, but for the benefit of the minority, I've included endnotes to explain some of the more obscure allusions. Besides, in the opinion of many experts the endnotes in such works as Eliot's The Waste Land, Nabokov's Pale Fire, and Roget's Thesaurus are vital to their artistic integrity.

Without further ado, my poems:

Ode to Being
Though he'd agreed to a Sein und Zeit1 edit,
Herr Heidegger'd known he'd regret it,
For someone in Mainz,
Consumed with Da-seinz2
Is rumored to've actually read it.
 
Ode to Time3
"The Führer stopped returning my calls,"4
Mused Heidegger, "How it appalls!
If he'd dropped Being and Time
Behind enemy lines,
The Will would have triumphed5 über alles!"6
 

Notes

Note 0 Joan Stambaugh's 1996 translation of Being and Time (State University of New York Press) is a big improvement on the classic Macquarrie and Robinson translation (1962).
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Note 1 The German title of Being and Time, which may be loosely translated as "Being and Time."
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Note 2 Literally, "there-being," one of 205 kinds of Being introduced on page 1 of Being and Time. Da-sein is special, in that it is the mode of Being that people exhibit in the course of … you know, being. I added the "z" so it would rhyme better.
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Note 3 The intended sense of "time" is not so much Heidegger's time-as-horizon-of-Da-sein, but world-historical, or welthistorisch, time.
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Note 4 Martin Heidegerr became Rector of Freiburg University in 1933, about the same time as Hitler became Chancellor of Germany, and joined the Nazi party a few months later. He participated in the dismissal of many Jews from the faculty. He resigned from his position in 1934 when it began to dawn on him that Hitler had not read anything he had written.
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Note 5 Reference to The Triumph of the Will, the film about the Nazi Party Party Congress of 1934 made by beautiful German filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl. Really, she was very good-looking, in an Aryan sort of way.
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Note 6 The German national anthem is titled "Deutschland über alles." Actually, it isn't, but that's what many people call it. Contrary to popular opinion, in the song, "über alles" does not mean "over everyone," as in "crushing everyone under the weight of our might," but "above all," i.e., "Germany above all," or "Germany first in our hearts." In my Ode, I mean more the thing about crushing. And, you've got to admit the rhyme is clever, or would be if "alles" had one syllable.
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Saturday, January 03, 2009

Why, As For Me, Do I Dislike It So Masterfully ...?

I must apologize to my blogger readers for the dreadful formatting errors that plague my posts.
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Actually, I'm not really apologizing, but cursing blogger for many of its infuriating mannerisms and its interfering "templates."
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I prepare my contributions with care, then run them through some transformations to make Blogger happy, mainly converting all "left-bracket-p-right-brackets" and "left-bracket-/p-right-brackets" to newlines. That's where the trouble appears. These appear in four different ways: As newlines in the "edit html" portion of the blogger editor; as paragraph boundaries in "Compose"; as paragraph boundaries in "Preview"; and as nothing at all in the actual blog, which comes out as one gigantic paragraph.
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My latest theory is that this has something to do with the many different newline formats in the world, but my attempts to toss extra control-Ms and control-Js into what I paste into Blogger have led nowhere.
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If anyone has any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them. Perhaps if I find a cure I can go back and make all my previous postings look readable.
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P.S. The plot has thickened. This post looked just fine until I put in some explicit html character entities (you know, the things with ampersands, like the thing you have to type to get an ampersand; I can't actually type one at this point for fear my computer will melt down). Even when I removed the entities, yielding the "left-bracket-right-bracket" crap a few paragraphs back, blogger remembered and refused to forgive me. So now this post has double-vertical-bars wherever a paragraph boundary should be. But in "Compose" and "Preview" the boundaries are right where they should be.

Ludwig the Thick-Headed Logician

Ludwig the Thick-Headed Logicianseuss

The problem with geniuses is that there's always the possibility that they're having a joke at our expense; or that their seemingly profound sayings are actually the gropings of a dimwit upon which we project our conceptions of what a genius would say. More than occasionally it has seemed to me that Ludwig Wittgenstein, one of the most respected, or at least discussed, philosophers of the twentieth century, may fall into the latter category.

Wittgenstein was canonized early for his work Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. The Vienna Circle worshiped him, even though he refused to meet with them or acknowledge their existence. He was a protegé of Bertrand Russell, who brought him to Cambridge, where he reigned as the respected Delphic Oracle for the rest of his life, even though he published nothing. Many of his notebooks were published after his death, the most notable being Philosophical Investigations.

The Tractatusbib is mainly renowned for its oracular (the word is inescapable) pronouncements, such as

6.52

We feel that when all possible scientific questions have been answered, the problems of life remain completely untouched. Of course then there are no questions left, and this itself is the answer.

Oooh. Actually, I rather like that one.

And of course, the immortal

7

What we cannot speak about we must consign to silence.

Although a better translation might be, "About that whereof you cannot speak you must remain silent." Yes, all the paragraphs are numbered, to make them easier to quote and/or seem more profound. There's a Dewey Decimal-kind of system, so that 6.52 is a "comment" on 6.5. So we have

5.6

The limits of my language mean the limits of my world

5.63

I am my world. (The microcosm)

5.631

There is no such thing as the subject that thinks or entertains ideas

If I wrote a book called The World as I found it, I should have to include a report on my body, and should have to say which parts were subordinate to my will, and which were not, etc., this being a method of isolating the subject, or rather of showing that in an important sense there is no subject; for it alone could not be mentioned in that book.

Whaddya think?

The parts of the Tractatus that aren't quoted so much are about logic. These parts form most of the Tractatus, and what they have to say about logic is mostly wrong, which raises the question why we should attach much significance to the profundities that supposedly follow from the logic.

Wittgenstein supposedly introduced truth tables in this work, so he gets credit for that, although the uses he puts them to are now generally forgotten. (He had an argument with Frege about whether T and F were objects (Frege) or just entries in truth tables (Wittgenstein). Nowadays we let them play both roles, so Frege won that one.)

But here are some of the mistakes he made: He repeatedly asserts things like, "When the truth of one proposition follows from the truth of others, we can see this from the structure of the propositions. [5.13] … 'Laws of inference,' which are supposed to justify inferences, as in the works of Frege and Russell, have no sense and would be superfluous. [5.132]" His alternative to rules of inference is to imagine all the elementary propositions about the world being lined up, after which all formulas about them could be constructed in advance. Even without complexity theory, this is a hard idea to swallow.semantics

How about (5.1): "Truth-functions [truth tables] can be arranged in series. That is the foundation of the theory of probability." I don't think anyone ever followed up on this bizarre suggestion.

Then there's the convoluted technique of 6.1203 for checking whether a formula is a tautology. It involves drawing lines between formulas and truth values, but I couldn't get it to work; for any nontrivial formula the links rapidly congeal into an unreadable mess. Now, it is probable that this paragraph has been hailed as the seed from which has sprung tableau-based methods for theorem proving, but it is a flimsy foundation for the later announcements that "… in a suitable notation we can in fact recognize the formal properties of propositions by the mere inspection of the propositions themselves [6.122].… there can never be surprises in logic [6.1251]. … Proof in logic is merely a mechanical expedient to facilitate the recognition of tautologies in complicated cases [6.1262]."

It's odd that someone so aware of Russell and Whitehead's work in Principia Mathematica would think that proving theorems in logic was so straightforward (granted that there is a lot more to PM than proving logic theorems), especially considering that Wittgenstein includes first-order logic in his claims. He explicitly grants at one point that there might well be an infinity of elementary propositions, as well as of the "names" of objects that the propositions are about. So: "Mathematics is a method of logic [6.234]. … Indeed, it is a consequence of this method [equation solving] that every proposition of mathematics must be obviously true [6.2341]."

But the biggest blunder in the Tractatus is its treatment of equality.

4.241

When I use two signs with one and the same meaning, I express this by putting the sign '=' between them.

So 'a=b' means that the sign 'b' can be substituted for the sign 'a'.

4.242

Expressions of the form 'a=b' are, therefore, mere representational devices. They state nothing about the meaning of the signs 'a' and 'b'.

The problem with this superficially plausible idea appears as soon as you consider a formula such as ∀x(f(x) ⊃x=a), which Wittgenstein does in paragraph 5.5301. For here x is not a "sign" whose "meaning" is the same as that of a, but just a placeholder for some arbitrary object, which or might not happen to be a. The formula says that all objects that have property f "are a," i.e., equal to a. Or, in his words: "What this proposition says is simply that only a satisfies the function f, and not that only things that have a certain relation to a satisfy the function f." But the clause after the comma in the quoted sentence is simply wrong. As Kripke says somewhere, the "certain relation" in question is merely the smallest reflexive relation, a perfectly well defined entity. It may sound useless, but Wittgenstein has provided the perfect example of its usefulness. We're all familiar with others, such as specifying of a sequence S that Si=Sj ⊃ i=j, which is the standard way to say that the elements of the sequence are distinct.

(One way to see the point is to invert the implications, so that we get formulas like ∀x(x≠a ⊃¬f(x)). Now "≠" seems like a perfectly good relation, or at least it's not obvious what's wrong with it. This formula says the same thing as before, only in the form, "Anything but a does not have property f." Wittgenstein's comeback would probably be that all such syntactic transformations do not change the underlying proposition, which is "obviously" always the same.)

The reductio ad absurdum of Wittgenstein's position on equality is where it gets him with existential quantifiers. In what follows I use a more modern notation than his for the formulas:

5.532

… I do not write '∃x,y(f(x,y)∧x=y)', but '∃x(f(x,x))'; and not '∃x,y(f(x,y)∧¬(x=y))', but '∃x,y(f(x,y))'.

(So Russell's '∃x,y(f(x,y))' becomes

'(∃x,y(f(x,y))) ∨ (∃x(f(x,x)))'.)

5.5321

Thus, for example, instead of '∀x(f(x) ⊃ x=a)' we write '((∃x(f(x))) ⊃ f(a)) ∧ (¬∃x,y(f(x)∧f(y)))'.

And the proposition, 'Only one x satisifies f( )', will read '(∃x(f(x))) ∧ (¬∃x,y(f(x)∧f(y)))'.

Like many of Wittgenstein's proposals in the Tractatus, this one sounds superficially plausible, but is completely unworkable. The problem is that it makes substitution into contexts with bound variables almost impossible. There is a useful little lemma in formal logic that states that if Q does not contain a free occurrence of x, then '∃x(PQ)' is equivalent to '(∃xP) ∨ Q'. But this is not true in Wittgenstein's world. Suppose P is just 'P(x)' and Q is 'N(a) ⊃ ∃y(R(a,y)'. In the version with wide quantification over x, the second quantifier is inside the first, and therefore (I guess, who really knows) it must become

x(P(x) ∨ (N(a) ⊃ (R(a,x) ∨ ∃y(R(a,y)))))

if it is to be equivalent to the version where the first quantifier has narrow scope.

There's a less obvious philosophical problem, too. We've gone to all this trouble to avoid having to mention the harmless little predicate '=', but we end up having to think about equality constantly. In fact, basic predicate calculus does not treat equality as a built-in constant. You must define it by adding axioms. That raises the question whether equality can be defined by axioms. That is, in all models of these axioms does '=' refer to a predicate recognizable as equality? If you do want to think of '=' as a logical symbol (akin to '∀' or '∨'), then you can use "first-order logic with equality," and simply stipulate that '=' refers to the relation {⟨ο,ο⟩ | for any ο}. Wittgenstein's approach makes all these issues impossible to avoid, or to deal with explicitly.

In his defense, when he wrote Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, nobody really understood these issues very well. Tarski's theory of truth was still ten years in the future, although Skolem had already published what is now known as the Skolem-Lowenheim Theorem.

But Wittgenstein fled from formal logic. He repudiated the whole idea that if you expressed everything in a perfect language you could avoid mistakes. Well, who can blame him for that insight, whether or not you find his later philosophy as profound as most philosophers think. Perhaps, though, he took a look at how technical formal logic was getting and decided he just couldn't deal with it. He decamped so speedily and completely that no one seems to think of his early work in the context of logic at all.

Notes

Note seuss With apologies to Dr. Seuss. If this note is puzzling, you are among the benighted many who believe that his work began with The Cat in the Hat, which was actually about where it came to an end.
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Note bib All quotes from the translation by D.F. Pears and B.F. McGuinness, 1961, Routledge and Kegan Paul. The original German version was published in 1921, and had a perfectly ordinary German title, which could be translated, "A Logico-Philosophical Treatise." The Latin translation must have been inspired by the feeling that we had another Newton or Russell on our hands.
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Note semantics Okay, I guess you could say that Wittgenstein was groping toward a semantic, as oppose to proof-theoretic, approach to logic, which makes him, again, a pioneer. It's his insistence that there's only one, obvious approach that seems so strange.
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Tuesday, September 23, 2008

The 43% Solution

Humans have a taste for meat, which means that as countries develop economically a larger and larger fraction of their diet is meat. Unfortunately, it takes a lot of grain to feed a cow, grain that could be used to feed people who are not lucky enough to be on the income elevator. Growing and processing that grain takes energy, and hence increases the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, thus making global warming worse. Instead of feeding people, we then feed a cow, and give the cow to people. So if you eat a cow, you are depriving people of food and polar bears of habitat. (Not to mention aggravating the cow-fart problem.) The world's population is expected to stabilize in a few decades, but by then it will have doubled. It's hard to imagine that all of those people will be able to eat as we do.


If enough people stop eating meat, the problem will go away. The demand for meat will fall, and so will the price of grain. As poorer nations develop, they will perhaps not find the eating of meat so attractive. Being vegetarian to make all these good things happen, rather than for health reasons or to avoid killing animals, is called economic vegetarianism. Now, what are the odds of a lot of people becoming vegetarians? Pretty slim.

Nonetheless, every time I bite into a burger or a steak, I cringe at the thought of all the grain that went into the cow that I'm eating. So I have decided to become a 3/7 vegetarian. That is, I will eat meat four days a week. I have a simple system: I eat meat on Wednesdays and weekends, counting Friday as a weekend day. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday I abstain, or, more positively, I eat yummy, yummy vegetables.

What about cheese and eggs? They're produced by animals. Don't worry! They're okay! For one thing, becoming a vegan is a lot harder that becoming a vegetarian, even fractionally. But it just seems reasonable to me that it takes less grain to produce 1000 kcal of cheese than 1000 kcal of meat because you get to use the same cow again; you don't have to build one from scratch.

Perhaps this will be the start of a movement. It's not hard, people! You don't have to eat tofu and TVP; you can maintain your unhealthy lifestyle with ice cream and pastry if you want. And if you do eat tofu on Monday, you have just 48 hours until meat is on your plate again.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Pedestrian Ethical Quandary

I sent the following letter to the "Ethicist" column of the New York Times Magazine. He didn't deem it worthy of publication; and who can blame him? So into the blog it goes …

My son and I are engaged in a seemingly trivial ethical argument about the etiquette of pushing the "pedestrian walk" button at an intersection. In some parts of the country, notably New England, where we've spent most of our lives, the "Walk" light will never come on unless some pedestrian pushes a button, usually big, round, and somewhat tarnished, but, with luck, functional. One then has to wait for the correct point in the cycle: If you're trying to cross at the corner of Broad Ave and Main Street, the pedestrians might get to go only after the cars on Broad have had their green.

Here's the ethical question: Is it okay to cross after pushing the button if there are no cars coming but the Walk light hasn't come on yet? I say No: By pushing the button you've made a back-up reservation for a time period when you can walk, just in case you don't get a chance earlier. It happens rather often that the opportunity arises to get across the street without the need for the Walk light, because there's a lull in the flow of cars. By pushing the button and then not using the time slot you've reserved, you've made someone else, the motorists who have to sit there watching a deserted intersection with brightly lit Walk lights, pay for your guarantee that you'll get a chance to walk.

My son says, Go ahead and walk! Once you've pushed the button, the motorists are going to have to wait, so what good does it do anyone for the pedestrian to be delayed? To add to the plausibility, suppose it's raining. How does it help the drivers for the pedestrian to get wetter?

Of course, the obvious answer is that one shouldn't push the button if the odds are that it's unnecessary. At some streets and times of day you know perfectly well that nine times out of ten you won't need the button. But sometimes one pushes it by habit or miscalculation, and then this ethical conundrum looms.

We realize that this question involves a trivial amount of inconvenience to the people involved, but if you multiply it by the many thousands of intersections blessed with these buttons, perhaps the issue may seem more pressing.

Sincerely,

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Warning: Making Ice

There are a few people who still use old-fashioned ice-cube trays — including me. I mean the plastic kind that you fill yourself and then twist to get the ice cubes out. (I suppose the even older kind with a complex system of metal levers and partitions are still around.) I think the reason people prefer the hi-tech version connected directly to the plumbing is their nervousness at the prospect of water expanding out of control.

When people fill ice-cube trays, they often put little more than a little puddle in each plastic cup. The reason is that they have heard that water, unlike most materials, expands when frozen. I hate to be anticlimactic, but the amount of expansion in volume is about 10%. Two cubes that differ in this volume are impossible to distinguish unless placed side by side, because the linear dimensions of the big one are only 3% larger. However, in a cup of an ice-cube tray, because the sides are almost vertical, except at the bottom and top, the height will in fact increase by about 10%. This still isn't very much, especially considering that there is a bit of space at the top for it to expand sideways into.

But as I was watching my daughter refilling an ice-cube tray the other day, moistening the bottom of each cup, it occurred to me that what people visualize, if they haven't done the math, is ice exploding out of control, sort of like the Incredible Hulk. From each little plastic cup in the tray, an iceberg will emerge capable of sinking the freezer as though it were the Titanic. "More," I said to my daughter. She splashed a bit more water in. "More," I said, wrestling it from her and proceeding to fill each cup almost to the rim.

Poor child; she grew up in a house with an automatic ice maker, and is ill-equipped for the real world. But it's a parent's duty to train each child to deal with the myriad threats the world poses, and I do not shrink from my duty. There are many things I cannot shelter her from out there, but one of them is a tray full of those dinky ice cubes of every size except "large."