Regretting regretful decisions - and how you can't avoid it

There are two different ways in which one can be unhappy about a decision one made, and they should be distinguished: you can be unhappy about the decision and think that, all things considered, you made the best choice possible; or you can be unhappy about it and think to yourself, ‘I should have known better, I should have made a different choice’. Now this latter form of unhappy decisions are of greater importance, for those are the one we feel worse about but have more to gain from looking at. I call these, for now, regretful decisions. The former type of decisions, of which we may feel sorry but all things consider we do not regret, are not very interesting – for it is, I think, quite a consensus among people who think about decision theory that the so-called ‘test of the result’ is an unimportant one. If you made the right decision and things turn out wrong, you shouldn’t think about it too much – there’s nothing you could do and nothing you could have done. If you took a relatively safe gamble (for in real life there are no sure gambles) and it didn’t work out as it was most likely to – there’s nothing to regret. This is the first psychological problem we must overcome – we have a tendency to evaluate actions according to their result. As a moral theory this idea has been powerful for a long time, and though it is often scolded by high-brow academics it is still very strong. As a decision-making theory, it’s downright silly. Nevertheless, we don’t only beat ourselves over right decisions that turned out not to lead to good results, but we judge and punish others – public servants for example – using result-based evaluation. This is simply a bad move on our part.

A second mistake is to confuse decisions of the two kinds. This is slightly different than the previous point - because we put so much weight on the results we tend to be mistaken in our own appreciation of the decision. Not only do we regret what we shouldn’t but we may also make wrong inferences about our decision-making mechanism and make bad changes. We may, coming to a similar situation in the future, make a different decision. This is just damaging ourselves twice and is very unfortunate when it happens. There is a subtlety involved – for my account is based on the idea that a decision should be evaluated on the basis of its plausibly expected results and not on its actual results in a particular occasion. Somebody may say, and rightfully so, that any such evaluation of expected results is necessarily uncertain while actual results from past experience are certain. I am the last one to oppose learning from one’s experience and the fact that something happens in the past certainly points its possibility – but surely not to its certainty. The uncertainty of the future remains even in face of the certainty of the past and it’s only people who treat time like a forth-dimensional continuous and uniform line that obscure this fact. In any case, this is a crucial fact for decision-making theory – every time you make a decision, the future is equally uncertain.

Finally we turn to regretful decisions – which I believe are the most interesting case. They present a problem – on the one hand, they present an opportunity to learn. If I made the wrong decision though I had all the necessary information, I would want to know why I did it. That’s even more pertinent if, as is usually the case, I tend to make this mistake often. If I can look at all my mistakes and look for systematic errors, I may be able to avoid them in the future – by avoiding particular types of decisions (under pressure or in the face of somebody who is doing their best to make you feel guilty) or just try hard to not to the mistakes I know that I have a tendency of doing. On the other hand, the exercise of going through my own mistakes is bound to take its toll on me. Indeed, I can’t think of many things that are more like beating myself over the head repeatedly with a flat object or just slapping my hand against my ever growing forehead repeatedly, possibly exclaiming “D’oh!”. This isn’t an easy trade-off, and despite my excessive irrational aesthetic strive for perfection I admit that it may be that it is often preferable to not dwell on mistakes and move on. The chance that I can actually change my tendency to make the same mistake again are not worth the self-inflicted pain of the interrogation.

Indeed, presented with this kind of calculus it may seem that we would need to make a decision whether or not to look into our decision, and of course this decision may be a mistake and we would enter a recursive process in which we would need to decide if we want to review the way we review our decision. Of course, this is not cyclic or problematic – I’m assuming that we would easily stop at the third or fourth order, deciding that it’s not worth our while to keep deciding whether or not we should review or decision  making and stop at that. Indeed it seems self-defeating to think that we would go on and on forever, because at every stage we consider the process as costly and the returns are diminishing. Nevertheless, I don’t really like this second order calculus with its implications; regret is, after all, an emotion that we cannot completely control, and many people really would like to avoid it. Perhaps then, just on this basis, perhaps we want to examine regretful decisions – so that the next time we feel regert on our decision we won’t regret not examining them.

Science and Boredom

One the problems of science is that much of what is scientifically interesting is in actuality extremely humanly boring. We can gain insights, get closer to the truth, learn something about the world, gather and even create knowledge - by doing very mundane simple things that are neither innovative nor novel, that are time consuming and cumbersome and in many instances - plainly dull.

Say somebody developed an interesting system of gathering and categorizing information about a certain type of human behavior. Say that she or he did it about fifty years ago and that _then_ it was innovative, exciting and groundbreaking. Since then, many have discussed this system, criticized and reconstructed it. With fifty years of improvement and discussion, it has become standard. So much have been said of it, it's hard to say add anything without repeating. Applications are abundant and though each researcher tweaks with it a little bit and thinks he or she reinvented the world, it has been standardized to great extent.

Now, it is probably very easy to criticize this mainstream method. Its many usages and past criticism only make it easier. It's disadvantages are well known - just find your favourite tree and bark at it. Whilst easy to criticize, the method is probably not easily improved. So much has been done that apart from minor improvements, which may require much effort, and local adjustments - it is unclear what more can be done.

Nevertheless, it is probably useful to keep applying the same method over and over again. History, to use a platitude, never stops. The while spent learning and developing the method has probably produced many new instances worth while exploring with it. Things happen all the time, and we want to continue learning about them. It is a never-ending process which can be justified with any given, productive method. Developments in technologies may help us use the same method on a larger scale, with more people and events and so forth. We can reapply the method in different places, in different times, dig into the history or depict the ever-changing present. And these applications will not be innovative - nothing more needs to be invented. This does not mean that it will be easily or that the people who do it need not be smart; even with the best hammer at hand, an incompetent housekeeper will hit his or her own finger. And it hurts. Not just the finger.

Of course, some may say that there should be a division of labour - some scientists should reinvent the methods and theories while others, 'worker' scientists, should apply and reapply, adjust and accommodate as needed. The problem with this fine idea is that most people would consider themselves the innovators, in the same way most people think they have more sense of humour than the average person. Or perhaps, I just don't go out of my bubble enough.

Sure, no problems, whatever you want

We don't mean what we say, nor do we say what we mean.

That is a basic feature of communication that is usually unnoticed. It is related to the fact that there is no unique definition of the concepts we use in language, and to the way we communicate on many layers all at once. Nothing we say simply conveys a message relating to the context of the sentence we speak, but it always includes something of our mental condition at the moment in which it is uttered, the relation to the listener and other features of the context.
For instance, say you wish to borrow a book of mine. Albeit my lack of attachment to private property, it is possible that you know that regarding my books I display all those primordial tendencies that possession can arouse. Say the conversation goes like this:

"Can you borrow your copy of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?"
"Sure, just make sure you bring it back."
"Oh yeah, no problem. Of course I will bring it back."
"Great, then you can have it."
"Thanks. (pause) You're sure it's alright?"
"Yeah, sure. (pause) Just make sure you bring it back."

I take it that you agree that this conversation seems reasonable, though if we only said what we mean and meant what we say, it would probably take the following form:

"Can I borrow your copy of HHGTTG?"
"Yes, provided you give it back."
End of conversation.

The second conversation covers just the same amount of 'meaning', conceived in a narrow sense of references, as the first one. However, the second conversation misses the richness of communication encapsulated in the seemingly redundant repetition of the first, likely conversation. In addition to asking the book from me, you want to know my attitude towards the book or books generally, as to make sure that I mean what I say when I say you can have it. You would be happiest if I just replied enthusiastically "Sure! You can have it for as long as you want!", which would seem strange despite the joy I take in the spreading of a good piece of writing. I, on the other hand, would like to convey the message that I am happy to lend the book provided you give it back. I don't want to make a big deal out of it, but I do want to make sure that you know that even though I have not opened this book for years I would really be upset if you failed to give it back and it would be missing from my library.
Making sure we understand each other is an important feature of communication.

Ironically, it usually entails repeating points we have already made rather than making new ones.

Thoughtful Account of Puny Business

What do you do when you get a letter that is addressed to the previous occupant of your apartment?
There's a sequence of succeeding dilemma. The moral dilemma: is it my responsibility to deliver it to the person? The practical dilemma: how the hell do I find this person now? The practical-moral: does it matter how important the letter is? Do circumstances matter? The cognitive dilemma: do I spare the resources to think about it consciously? and lastly but not leastly, the existential dilemma: what kind of person does it make me?

When I get such a letter I take it from the box, hesitantly near the paper recycle bin. I bring it home and place it on the counter. I give it a few days, months or years - depending on the frequency of apartment cleaning, the continuity of lodging and occasional frenzies. I then throw it away angrily with whatever other junk that has found itself to that corner, usually completing the full emotional circle of guilt, helplessness, anger and purifying indifference.

Here's a rationalization: most letters that arrive in the mail useless. It is highly unlikely that the letter is of some importance to the recipient. If it is, chances are he will look for it and contact the sender and ask them to re-send the letter or give them a proper address. If the letter contained a unique document of sorts, they will come looking for me (or send a letter). Of course it is possible that recipient doesn't know about it. In which case there are two options - it is either true or not true that the sender awaits a response. If it is, then the sender will to contact the recipient (by, perhaps, sending another letter). In the scarce case where the sender sent an extremely important letter and does not await any response - the letter will indeed be lost and I have contributed to it by inaction. However, given the unlikeliness of this event and the effort that needed in order to ascertain that this is indeed the case, I think it is reasonable to not expect me to do so (unless there are some extraordinary circumstances like a notice on the letter saying 'this is really important and I am not waiting for a response') unless I am an overly enthusiastic/passionate/bored person. If the letter is important to the recipient and/or the sender they will come looking for it or send another letter, in which case I will happily reach out to the pile of dust and give it to them. There is a reasonable period of time in which they will do so and if they fail to do it after an significant time, it is reasonable to assume that this is not the case. So unless the previous tenant had his grandmother's irreplaceable wedding certificate which he know needs to get character reference from the Police, without which he cannot pay the costumes for the package he needs to receive - I will probably not help him very much.
Why even bother? well, in the case that it is a unique and irreplaceable item, I don't want to have it on my conscience. Why then, not try harder? Well, given that I live here over six months, any previous tenant is responsible to have his mail forwarded to her or him or make sure that important irreplaceable items are sent to his or her right address. Why not leave at the mail box? what good would that do? Why not return it to the sender? I'm not sure it even works, I've never done it before. Where do I even put it? why would the delivery postman take it? Even if it does reach the recipient, will they even do something with it? after all, they may think that they've discharged their duty by sending it. After all, they sent it here in the first place - they must be thinking this is the right address.

This story, however persuasive, is not why I do what I do with letters that arrive at my mailbox. But it may be why I don't do anything else.

One more thing about Love

Here's something I think about Love.

In the classic love stories, Love is transcendental - it's beyond our control and understanding. Love is something that happens to us and we have nothing to do with it. We just stand there and watch, as if from out of ourselves, as it happens to us and we are carried away by love.

But Love is not just that. It is also something that we do. By saying we love somebody, by loving her - we are loving and endorsing our love. Love is not just what happens to us, it's also what we do with it. We externalise love by loving, we make it so. At one point something happens to us but then it is us who love in order to continue loving. Without the side effects of Love, without the caring and the sharing and the little details and the contact - there is no Love. Love does not exist without the act of Loving.

It is true you cannot bring about Love at will. But Love is not an intervention of an outside but a projection of a human emotion. Like most forms of life, its birth is a miracle but its survival depends on nurture, caring and... love.

What's Wrong with this Picture?

Here's a paradox:

Rule no. 1: Every rule has an exception, except from this rule.

They say, this rule can't be true. If it is true that every rule has an exception, than this rule must have an exception. Which it does - this rule is an exception, as it says, since it doesn't have exceptions. But if it doesn't have exceptions, how can it have an exception that is exemplified in itself?

But what some people miss is that at the same time it cannnot not be true. This is why it's a paradox and not just a false sentence. A paradox at the basis of set theory is what prevented from some mathematicians and philosophers to base Mathematics on logic. But that it precludes math means not that it precludes life. For, unfortunately, life is not math. Some may disagree. But human life is filled with paradoxes and it seems right to me that it is possible to base a life plan on something that, as I said, cannot not be true. I would not ride a spaceship built with that logic and please, if we schedule lunch - make sure that you did not schedule something else at the same time. In may fields of life, consistency is very important. But for these great questions of life, for these big issues that we grapple with anyway, does it not make sense to adopt a paradoxical approach?
When I was younger, I used to say that I'm principally unprincipled. To me, it meant that I am a person of principles and that my principles is not hold any principles so strongly that, as required by the spirit of the matter, I will never revise. How can I then hold that single principle and not revise it? Well, I cannot and am actually open to revise it. But for now, I have not - or so I said then.Does it not make sense?

Why, hang it all

What is the motivation? Why do it at all? Funny question, and I find my answer to it even funnier. My answer - because it never is going to be good. Of course, some things are better than others. Some other things are arguably good enough or meet whatever standards we determined for a particular purpose, but overall - nothing is ever going to be good in the final way, good in itself.
There is nothing pretty about justice. Justice is nothing more than the struggle to make everything better, which it can always be. In a way, there is nothing non-ideal about justice, it is always about something that we don't yet have.
Just as I don't think we will be able to explain it all, to have a final scheme of the natural laws - I don't think we can ever form the just society or live the good life, in the final and 'nothing better' way. While some bridegrooms would be depressed by this sort of thing, I find it encouraging. To me, that just means that they will always be more to be done. So why do it at all? Because there's more to be done.