It’s guest week at XKCD, as Randall Munroe deals with a family illness. (Fortunately for the guest artists, it’s relatively easy to mimic his style.) Today’s contribution came from Bill Amend of Foxtrot fame, who gives us what might be the best Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle joke I’ve seen.

There are more.

Here is a fantastic TED talk by JJ Abrams, the guy behind many of the most interesting genre movies and TV shows in recent years (Alias, Lost, Star Trek, Cloverfield, Fringe). It’s about the fundamental role played by mystery and the unknown in storytelling.

I’m posting it here because, as wonderful as the talk is, I disagree with it at a deep level. Yes, indeed, the concept of “mystery” is absolutely crucial to what makes a story compelling. But I think Abrams takes the idea too far, valorizing mystery for its own sake, rather than as motivation for the characters and the audience to try to solve the mystery. The reason why mysteries are interesting is because we want to figure them out! If they are simply irreducibly mysterious — if there is no sensible explanation that ultimately makes sense of all the clues — then it’s simply frustrating, not magical.

This isn’t just jousting with words — it has consequences for how stories are told. That’s why I chose Star Trek as my one movie to complain about in our Comic-Con panel last summer (as much as I enjoyed the movie overall). The dangerous planet-killing substance in that case was “red matter.” Shiny, red, and ominous-looking, red matter is not anything known to modern science. Which is fine; modern science doesn’t know about warp drive or Vulcans, either, but they work well in this particular fictional context. The problem is that red matter wasn’t associated with any sensible properties even within this fictional world. We never knew where it came from, why it did what it did, how it would react to different circumstances, etc. (Why did it have to be deposited in the exact middle of a planet, rather than just splashed on the surface?) It was simply “mysterious.” But this particular bit of mystery didn’t make it more compelling — it prevented the audience from engaging with the menace that the red matter presented. If we knew something about it, we wouldn’t just be going “okay, that’s the bad stuff, gotcha”; we’d be following along as Kirk and Spock tried to defuse the danger, understanding what might and might not do the trick. Not all mystery is good storytelling — sometimes a bit of understanding helps grab the attention.

Just to draw the distinctions even more carefully, let me come out in favor of ambiguity as opposed to mystery. The end of Inception is quite famously amenable to more than one interpretation. (To go back further, ask whether Deckard was a replicant.) This drives people crazy, trying to figure out which one is “right,” an impulse I think is misguided. It’s okay to accept that we don’t know all the answers! But in theses cases we understand quite well the space of all possible answers. There is no black box whose operation is simply mysterious. We don’t need to know all the final answers once and for all; but it’s better storytelling if we understand what the answers could be, and that they make sense to us.

Hopefully it’s not too hard to read between the lines here, and see the consequences for science as well as for movies. There are those who argue that science destroys the magic of the world by figuring things out. That’s exactly backwards — the scientific quest to solve the world’s puzzles is one of the things that makes the story of our lives so interesting.

Those of you who haven’t already seen it should check out the November issue of Discover, which features an article by a well-known science writer about physicists playing poker. This is not completely egregious, as big moneywinners like Michael Binger and Marcel Vonk are card-carrying (as it were) Ph.D. physicists. Vonk on the relative merits of hypothetically winning the Nobel Prize or the World Series of Poker: “I would choose to win the Nobel Prize. But, it’s close.”

Of course there’s always much more to a good story than can be squeezed into a print magazine. So if you want the background scoop, see Cocktail Party Physics. Where, unfortunately, I’m (accurately) quoted as saying something in an old blog post that really isn’t true:

“Texas Hold ‘Em is so popular because it manages to accurately hit the mark between ‘enough information to devise a consistently winning strategy’ and ‘not enough information to do much more than guess.’ The charm in such games is that there is no perfect strategy, in the sense that there is no algorithm guaranteed to win in the long run against any other algorithm. The best poker players are able to use different algorithms against different opponents as the situation warrants.”

Two out of three sentences there are correct (which wouldn’t be such a bad average at a poker table, but is pretty lame in writing). The first sentence is right; what makes Hold ‘Em such a popular poker variant is that you know enough to do more than guess, but not enough to easily reduce the problem to a simple algorithm. But the second sentence is wrong, as written, at least under the perfectly reasonable reading that “win” includes “or tie.” One of John Nash’s major contributions to game theory was to prove, under reasonable assumptions, the existence of dominant strategies. Here, it’s not the opponents that are being dominated — it’s the other strategies a player might contemplate using. And “dominate” doesn’t mean “beat under any circumstances”; it just means “there is no alternative strategy that does better against every possible opponent strategy.” Since the rules of poker (integrated over all seats at the table etc.) are the same for every player, every player has the same dominant strategy — which means that there exists a strategy such that, if everyone used it, their expected returns would all be equal, and none of them could unilaterally change their strategy to improve on that expectation. Texas Hold ‘Em is sufficiently complex that the dominant strategy certainly isn’t known in closed form, but it does exist.

What I was clumsily aiming for in that sentence was the correct sentiment expressed in the last sentence. While a dominant strategy is in some sense “least bad” against the complete set of possible opponent’s strategies, it’s certainly not guaranteed to be the best against every specific opponent. If you know that your opponent deviates from dominant strategy in some particular way (not folding enough to re-raises pre-flop, for example), you will make the most money by choosing to deviate from dominant strategy yourself, in such a way as to take advantage of your opponent’s weakness. That’s the idea behind exploitative strategies, as advocated by Chris Ferguson in Jennifer’s blog post. Good poker is all about being exploitative. Any surprise that it’s a popular game among politicians?

“Greatness comes with a price. It always has.”

Premiering tonight on SyFy. I trust no more needs be said.

Imagine, if you will, 40,000 people whipped into a mad frenzy. The chants of “burn him” are deafening. They surround a 50 foot high marionette (the world’s largest), which is moaning and struggling and crying. The giant puppet, named “Old Man Gloom”, represents all of the troubles of the past year. Through fire the gathered masses seek deliverance. There are dancers with torches. The old man screams out in despair. Suddenly he is aflame, his eyes glowing from within. Soon there is a five story pillar of fire; the heat washes over the thousands of people gathered around. And then, in a blizzard of fireworks, the marionette vaporizes to nothing but a pile of embers. This is Zozobra. He burned two hours ago. A Santa Fe tradition for the past 85 years, the event marks the beginning of Fiestas de Santa Fe, which has run continuously since 1712.

There is something communal and primal about Zozobra. It feels purifying and freeing; the sorrows of the city have been dispelled. And I can bike to it from my house, which is a lot more convenient than Black Rock City. It is uniquely Santa Fe.

Spent a day last week at the bacchanalia of imagination that is San Diego Comic-Con. Really an amazing experience, anyone who gets a chance should go at some point. My own excuse was appearing on a panel sponsored by Discover and the Science and Entertainment Exchange, on Abusing the Sci of Sci-Fi. I was joined by Jaime Paglia, TV writer and creator of the very charming show Eureka; Kevin Grazier, JPL scientist, blogger, and science advisor to both Eureka and Battlestar Galactica; and Zack Stentz, writer for Fringe and the upcoming Thor movie. We were ably moderated by Phil Plait, and Tricia Mackey provided technical wizardry behind the scenes. We packed the room to bursting, with a long line of people who unfortunately weren’t able to fit inside. There’s a huge demand for this kind of discussion. See also reports here, here, here, here, here.

And yes there is a video record of the whole event! (And other Discover videos.)

The rough idea was to point out examples of good and bad science in science fiction on movies and TV. Phil scored the best example of bad science, finding a brief clip from Armageddon where Bruce Willis is doing delicate work on the surface of an asteroid — in the rain. Jaime and Zack, who actually work in Hollywood, wisely foresaw the pitfalls of holding up someone else’s stuff as an example of badness, and graciously both chose examples from their own work. Sometimes the science must take a backseat to the story.

But not usually. In my own presentation I tried to move beyond the model of scientist as copy-editor, running through stories and films looking for violations of the laws of physics, wagging the finger of shame with ill-concealed glee. I think scientists should take a more creative role, helping fiction writers to develop consistent rules for their fictional worlds and extrapolating the consequences of those worlds, even if those rules are not the rules of our real universe. We should be more than scolds.

Update: since the two clips I showed were apparently missing from the video, I’m linking to them here. The first was a forward-looking philosophy of the proper relationship between science and narrative, and the second was an example of carefully exploring the logical consequences of an imaginary world.

The final book club installment is still percolating, don’t worry. I’ve been traveling like a crazy person, which has pushed blogging into the background. In the meantime, here are a couple of interviews elsewhere in the infosphere.

First is a New York Times interview with me. It’s very short, but we cover a lot of ground — science education, time travel, entropy, the movies, and my love life. Such plenitude of topics in a tiny piece will necessarily lead to compression, and Jerry Coyne is already complaining that I give short shrift to the complicated reality of aging — and he’s right!

Second and more fun, in Wired I am on the other side of the interviewer’s table, talking to Lost creators Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse. How cool is that? That was a great time, as we chatted excitedly about time, narrative, wormholes, fate and determinism, the role of science in television, and so on. These guys have given an incredible amount of thought into their show at every level — the characters, the mythology, and what it all means. And they wanted to ask me questions about cosmology and how scientists think, which I’m always happy to talk about. I got hooked on the show only after participating in Lost University, but now Tuesdays at 9:00 p.m. is the high point of my week. Only a few more episodes to go — which means that people who haven’t seen it can finally order the complete DVD selection, which is really the way to see it. (Just note that Season Three drags a bit, especially near the beginning.)

The LOST Slapdown videos are an excuse for Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, head writers on the show, to have some fun with the mythology and the fans. And occasionally the actors. Here we have Michael Emerson thinking about a spinoff for his character, Ben Linus.

And even if today weren’t April Fool’s, anyone who thinks there are real spoilers in this clip is looking for a slapdown of their own.

Jane McGonigal thinks they can help. She’s a game designer who gave a talk at the TED conference this year (although her talk isn’t up yet).

McGonigal makes some good points in this short video, especially about how dealing with things in a video-game environment — like failure, or social interactions — can be greatly helpful when one eventually has to deal with them in the real world. She also helped put together Urgent Evoke, a large-scale multiperson game where you collect achievements by performing world-saving tasks.

The kids these days, they love their gaming. So it makes sense to ask how that passion can be put to good use. Personally I’m fascinated by the prospects of using games to teach people science. Not just facts and features of the real world — although those are important — but the scientific method of hypothesis-testing and experiment. Games already feature exactly those features, of course; everyone who figures out the “laws of nature” in the game world is secretly doing science. It wouldn’t be that hard to tweak things here and there so that the techniques they were practicing connected more directly with science in the non-virtual reality.

Fans of the hit TV series Lost are awaiting the big event next week: the premiere of Season Six on Tuesday night. The show is famous for its mysteries and plot twists, so this year has a special status: it’s the final season, where everything that’s going to be revealed will be revealed. That might not be absolutely everything, but it should be a lot.

Lost has always played with time and narrative — characters’ backstories were told through elaborate flashbacks, lending a richness of nuance to their behavior in the main story. But time travel as a plot device was established as a central theme during Season Five. One happy consequence was the invention of Lost University, through which fans could learn a little about physics and other real-world subjects underlying events in the show.

Naturally, scientifically-minded folks want to know: how respectable is the treatment of time travel, anyway? We are, as always, here to help. My short take: Lost is a TV fantasy, not a documentary, and it doesn’t try all that hard to conform to general relativity or the other known laws of physics. But happily, the most important of the Rules for Time Travelers is very much obeyed: there are no paradoxes. And more interestingly, the spirit of the rules is obeyed, and indeed put to good narrative effect. The potential for time-travel paradoxes helps illuminate issues of free will vs. predestination, a central theme of the show. And what more can you ask for in a time-travel story than that?

Details below the fold, full of spoilers. (Not for the upcoming season, of course.) See also discussions from io9, Popular Mechanics, and Sheril.

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