Absolute Knowledge

Here we go again.  Another oft used term that I feel is poorly understood by the community as a whole, and certainly by those who have a tendency to use it.

Believe it or not, in my experience, people's issues with the concepts surrounding this term stem less from the word knowledge (though there are issues there), and more from the word absolute.  (I know, absolutely shocking!)

Really though, it couldn't be simpler.  While the effects of absolute knowledge may be complicated and intricate, the definition is not.  If you have absolute knowledge, you know everything.

EVERYTHING.  This, I think, is where people start to struggle.  Everything is a fuckin' lot of things.  It's not tons of things, or most of things; it is all of the things.

When I say all, I seriously mean all.  All is bigger than the universe.  All is bigger than a googol (not to be confused Google, though they're close) which is a number that is roughly twenty orders of magnitude larger than the number of atoms in the universe.  All is bigger than infinity.

All includes everything physical.  It includes everything not physical.  It encompasses the universe, and whatever lies outside of it.  It counts other universes.  It includes alternate dimensions.  All counts time in its entirety, both past and future.  Even moments of time that didn't actually happen!  All means every possible outcome for every possible situation that every possible thing has encountered in ever.  All means every impossible outcome for every impossible situation that every impossible thing has encountered in never.

Get the picture?

Alright, so now what?  Well, for starters, fuck school, amiright?  Sure.  But while you're at it, you might as well forget everything else.  Absolute knowledge ruins everything you do.

If you knew everything, then you'd already know how this post ends, so you wouldn't need to keep reading.  (Seriously though, you don't know everything so keep reading, you arrogant bastard.)

 

Everything you would do would be a repetition.  Just like how you remember things you've done in the past, you would have knowledge, or "memory," of things you will do in the future.  When time catches up to that moment (supposing time still holds any meaning for you at this point) you will know everything that will happen, in the order it will happen, exactly perfectly.

At best this means that the entire rest of your existence (potentially eternity) will be spent doing things you've effectively already done.  Your life is now dictated by fate, so to speak, like a familiar and well-rehearsed play. Do this at this time, then this at this time, with you unable to make any changes.  Any "changes" you wanted to have made would already be known well ahead of time, and part of the play from the beginning.

At worst?  You basically cease to exist.  A kiddie ride car on rails can hardly be considered a real car.  Sure you're moving toward a destination, and yes, you did make the choice to travel to that destination, but you don't have to do anything to make that happen.  It just sort of happens to you.  You don't get to do anything that hasn't been plotted out along this pre-determined path.

Absolute knowledge is not a good thing.  It's an impassable brick wall.  It is a force that destroys your, and anyone else's, ability to find anything new, to learn, to progress.

Imperfect knowledge is what should be embraced.  It means we still have the potential for discovery, the potential to forge on into new worlds of possibility.  We still have the ability to create things never before seen, never before known. 

 And without that, what do we really have?

Perfection

I think perfection is a grossly misunderstood concept.  It is something people strive for, something to achieve.  It is an ideal that is lauded as worthy of pursuit.  But boy howdy are people wrong.

First of all, perfection is an ill defined term.  We have the colloquial use of the term, such as, "Man, that cheesecake was perfect!"  Yeah, what you mean was the cheesecake was awesome, and you're being hyperbolic.

Okay, well, there's also the version of perfect that is used to describe the ultimate version of something.  So, let's talk about the ultimate cheesecake.  There are a lot of different ways to make cheesecake.  Who gets to be the authority on which is the best?  Everyone has different tastes.  So what metric would we even use to determine that?  Perhaps the objectively perfect cheesecake is only actually enjoyed by a few individuals?

What about people that don't like cheesecake?  What if their version of the perfect cheesecake doesn't even taste like cheesecake?  Is it even really cheesecake at that point?  We can't really start redefining things like that because then apples are steak and your car is a safety deposit box, and now everything is all fucked up.

And what about things even less objective than foods?  What about music?  What is the perfect way to play Bach's Brandenburg concertos?  Is it hitting every note with the right meter and length, or does it require a certain level of passion and flair?

Does time matter?  Is it possible for one to become perfect at something?  Consider the term defined as "without flaw and fully correct in every detail."  If that is the case, wouldn't past imperfections at a given activity apply?  Is "you weren't always perfect" somehow less of an issue than "you won't always be perfect?"  If making mistakes in the future would be grounds to invalidate your claims of perfection, why wouldn't past mistakes matter?
 
Okay, we're starting to walk down a path to a much larger existentialist discussion there, so lets take a step back and explore a bit more simplified version of the idea.  Let's take a simple activity like shooting free-throws in a basketball game, and say perfection is making everyone.  Let's not even worry about whether or not you'd still make a free-throw outside during a hurricane, or if you'd still make it if an MMA fighter was punching you in the bicep mid shot, though those are valid concerns.  Let's just talk about you in normal situations, making every free-throw you shoot.

Now what?  Well, if you are the only one aware of the fact that you're perfect at this, then things are pretty awesome.  You'll make every free-throw and be known as the clutch guy that can really deliver in those pressure moments.  People start saying cool shit like, "you've got ice water in your veins."  You're the hero.  Sweet.

But let's assume that everyone knows you're perfect at shooting free-throws.  Now things get way different.  Supposing anyone was stupid enough or unlucky enough to actually foul you, why would you even shoot the damn free-throws.  Everyone knows you're going to make them.  Do you stand at the foul line and make everyone watch while you go through the motions, or do we just chalk up two point on the board and move on with the game?  You're damn right it's the second one.

Your perfection at shooting free-throws has essentially made that skill wholly unnecessary.  You no longer have need to shoot a single free-throw ever again.  There's no real need to shoot them during a game, and you certainly don't have to practice.  Wait, remind me what your consecutive free-throw record was again?  Oh, it's all?  ALL!  Well done.  Good luck beating that record.

Your perfection at free-throws doesn't just annihilate the skill for you; it cheapens it for everyone else.  The best anyone else could hope for is an attempt at reaching perfection as well, which would do no better than to put them on equal terms.  So now, for all eternity, people in the future will either be equivalent, or worse, but no better.

Which brings me to my point: perfection equals mediocrity.  With perfection on the board, we have "this" and we have "shittier than this."  That's it.  If you look up the word mediocre, you'll find things like, neither good nor bad, undistinguished, commonplace, ordinary.  You want to know what dictionary.com lists as antonyms?  Extraordinary, superior, uncommon, and my personal favorite, incomparable.

My fear surrounding perfection has always been about that wall.  That point that you hit where you're done, and you can't go any further.  Without progression, I don't see the point in continuing to do things.  Not progressing means the things you are doing are mediocre, and being mediocre is lame and not worth wasting your time on. 

Let's not strive to be perfect; let's strive to be better.