I have this theory I like to call the "Friendship is Overrated" theory. Essentially, it's an anecdotal type theory where I posit that people whom we used to call friends, close friends even, are no longer our friends. At the time that we were close, we felt that they would always be close. But as we all know, people evolve, not necessarily on similar paths and so, for whatever reason, we don't talk anymore. Organically, but still. And so, if we were, at time T, willing to bet that a given friend V would always be our close friend, but at time T+a, where a>0, V is no longer our friend, what does that say?
Assuming that the friendship faded off organically, the implications that come to my mind are as follows. Firstly, neither of us are 'bad' friends. Secondly, at least one of us evolved in ways in which the other person no longer brought utility to the other. Otherwise,there would be ongoing reciprocity in the friendship. [Note: Let's not pretend that we're friends out of some selfless benevolence. We're friends because you give me utility (satisfaction) when you hang out with me and I give you utility when I hang out with you.] Thirdly, if I thought you were so important then, but are no longer important now, then that implies all friendships (or all relationships) are transient. This means that I overrated your importance to me - I thought I would want you as my friend for a long time, but it turns out, I don't. And so, even our closest friendships can be transient, and just by extending the logic a little, overrated.
Anyway, this chain of reasoning is all well and good, fairly straightforward. What's more interesting is why do we overrate friendships? Or, maybe a bit more simply, why do we feel that our close friends will always be close to us at any given point, but as it turns out, they won't be some time in the future? I think an important reason to consider in answering this question is that people tend to think of themselves and their friends as constants.
We live with ourselves every day. And every day, we evolve one way or another, incrementally. The thing is, with incremental changes daily, we hardly notice them. It's kind of like how if you see a person day after day, you may not notice right away that they're actually getting taller or whatever but if you see a person maybe one year apart or so, the change is a lot more obvious. I think the same is true of personalities. Unless something super drastic happens or some form of mental illness, I don't think someone transforms from mellow to hyperactive in a day or from lazy to hardworking or from a friend who gives us satisfaction to a friend who doesn't. The binary-ness of it rarely ever happens. But all this implies is that we're not constants. Yes, we may have some of the same traits as we did before, but to think that we're the same person from a year or two back is rather preposterous. I find it difficult to believe that anybody can have no new experiences between, say, the 1st of January 2012 and the 1st of January 2013.
And so, if we're not constants, how can we expect our decisionmaking to also be constant? For example, if going drinking was my standard response to a long day back in 2009, will it always be my standard response? I doubt it. If at one point I chose to not cheat on an exam, will I always not cheat on an exam? Can't guarantee it. I think it's in rather poor form to say things like, "I'll always choose X over Y" or "I would never make that decision." Sure, you would choose X over Y NOW, or never make a given decision NOW, but should you really hold your future self to this? Let's be clear, assuming you live at least another 20 years or so, the You in 20 years time will be a different person to the You now. This is across time. If we control for time, and bring the You in 20 years time to present day, you'd be two different people. And so it should be treated. What I want now more than anything else may not be even be on Future Me's list of wants. When we make promises, or when we say things that include the term "ever" or "never" or that sort of thing, we are actually holding our future selves to it, not ourselves.
But all this is rather clear cut. I don't think anybody believes that we don't evolve. But when we make decisions, we seem to treat ourselves as constants, despite knowing that we do change or that our friends change. So, how then should we treat our decision making?
I bring you the people as response functions concept.
I read it about a week ago and have been meaning to write about it. It's quite interesting and, I think, fairly novel. It brings a neat change to our beliefs that our decisionmaking is constant. Let's mathematicize this thing.
If it was true that our decisionmaking was constant, i.e. we don't actually ever evolve, the function would be something like:-
Utility = Max(D1, D2, D3....Dn), where D represents the decision which will maximize our utility.
But if people are response functions, meaning they respond differently based on different permutations of themselves whether across time or across space, the function would then look something like:-
Utility = Max(D1, D2, D3...Dn | Ti, Sj), where T represents the Time we're in and S represents the Space we're in, i and j are both elements of a set of all times I and a set of all times J respectively.
Essentially, the functions says, the utility-maximizing decision depends on which Time we're in and which Space we're in. For example, if I had been born in, say, Kuala Krai versus being born in Kuala Lumpur, I would probably have evolved differently. I certainly wouldn't be who I am now, for better or for worse. My decision making is therefore responding, albeit not consciously, to the Space in which I was born. Likewise, if you catch me on a bad day (Tuesday - I fricking hate Tuesdays), my decision to be pleasant to you or to be sarcastic as holy hell toyou may differ. My decision making is responding to the Time in which we find ourselves. I would be remiss to believe that I would make the same decision if I were born in Kuala Krai or Kuala Lumpur and I would be remiss to believe that I would make the same decision if it were a Tuesday or a Friday.
This is not to say we should never commit to anything. Or that it gives us an excuse to break our commitments. I do believe that if we commit to something, we should try our best to see it through. Otherwise, don't commit. But, at the same time, it does help in understanding the decisions we make and the decisions that others make. For example, if person V chooses not to contact me anymore, or that we fell out of touch, it's probably because I no longer give person V utility in the current Space and Time. Which is fair. Nothing personal. More importantly, it should make us cognizant (am trying to re-phase in American English) of the notion not to blame other people for changing because, hey, we changed too. "You've changed, I can't relate to you anymore" is probably one of the most illogical accusations people can throw.Just remember, people aren't constants, and since you're people, you aren't a constant either. We're all really just a processor of response functions.
Assuming that the friendship faded off organically, the implications that come to my mind are as follows. Firstly, neither of us are 'bad' friends. Secondly, at least one of us evolved in ways in which the other person no longer brought utility to the other. Otherwise,there would be ongoing reciprocity in the friendship. [Note: Let's not pretend that we're friends out of some selfless benevolence. We're friends because you give me utility (satisfaction) when you hang out with me and I give you utility when I hang out with you.] Thirdly, if I thought you were so important then, but are no longer important now, then that implies all friendships (or all relationships) are transient. This means that I overrated your importance to me - I thought I would want you as my friend for a long time, but it turns out, I don't. And so, even our closest friendships can be transient, and just by extending the logic a little, overrated.
Anyway, this chain of reasoning is all well and good, fairly straightforward. What's more interesting is why do we overrate friendships? Or, maybe a bit more simply, why do we feel that our close friends will always be close to us at any given point, but as it turns out, they won't be some time in the future? I think an important reason to consider in answering this question is that people tend to think of themselves and their friends as constants.
We live with ourselves every day. And every day, we evolve one way or another, incrementally. The thing is, with incremental changes daily, we hardly notice them. It's kind of like how if you see a person day after day, you may not notice right away that they're actually getting taller or whatever but if you see a person maybe one year apart or so, the change is a lot more obvious. I think the same is true of personalities. Unless something super drastic happens or some form of mental illness, I don't think someone transforms from mellow to hyperactive in a day or from lazy to hardworking or from a friend who gives us satisfaction to a friend who doesn't. The binary-ness of it rarely ever happens. But all this implies is that we're not constants. Yes, we may have some of the same traits as we did before, but to think that we're the same person from a year or two back is rather preposterous. I find it difficult to believe that anybody can have no new experiences between, say, the 1st of January 2012 and the 1st of January 2013.
And so, if we're not constants, how can we expect our decisionmaking to also be constant? For example, if going drinking was my standard response to a long day back in 2009, will it always be my standard response? I doubt it. If at one point I chose to not cheat on an exam, will I always not cheat on an exam? Can't guarantee it. I think it's in rather poor form to say things like, "I'll always choose X over Y" or "I would never make that decision." Sure, you would choose X over Y NOW, or never make a given decision NOW, but should you really hold your future self to this? Let's be clear, assuming you live at least another 20 years or so, the You in 20 years time will be a different person to the You now. This is across time. If we control for time, and bring the You in 20 years time to present day, you'd be two different people. And so it should be treated. What I want now more than anything else may not be even be on Future Me's list of wants. When we make promises, or when we say things that include the term "ever" or "never" or that sort of thing, we are actually holding our future selves to it, not ourselves.
But all this is rather clear cut. I don't think anybody believes that we don't evolve. But when we make decisions, we seem to treat ourselves as constants, despite knowing that we do change or that our friends change. So, how then should we treat our decision making?
I bring you the people as response functions concept.
I read it about a week ago and have been meaning to write about it. It's quite interesting and, I think, fairly novel. It brings a neat change to our beliefs that our decisionmaking is constant. Let's mathematicize this thing.
If it was true that our decisionmaking was constant, i.e. we don't actually ever evolve, the function would be something like:-
Utility = Max(D1, D2, D3....Dn), where D represents the decision which will maximize our utility.
But if people are response functions, meaning they respond differently based on different permutations of themselves whether across time or across space, the function would then look something like:-
Utility = Max(D1, D2, D3...Dn | Ti, Sj), where T represents the Time we're in and S represents the Space we're in, i and j are both elements of a set of all times I and a set of all times J respectively.
Essentially, the functions says, the utility-maximizing decision depends on which Time we're in and which Space we're in. For example, if I had been born in, say, Kuala Krai versus being born in Kuala Lumpur, I would probably have evolved differently. I certainly wouldn't be who I am now, for better or for worse. My decision making is therefore responding, albeit not consciously, to the Space in which I was born. Likewise, if you catch me on a bad day (Tuesday - I fricking hate Tuesdays), my decision to be pleasant to you or to be sarcastic as holy hell toyou may differ. My decision making is responding to the Time in which we find ourselves. I would be remiss to believe that I would make the same decision if I were born in Kuala Krai or Kuala Lumpur and I would be remiss to believe that I would make the same decision if it were a Tuesday or a Friday.
This is not to say we should never commit to anything. Or that it gives us an excuse to break our commitments. I do believe that if we commit to something, we should try our best to see it through. Otherwise, don't commit. But, at the same time, it does help in understanding the decisions we make and the decisions that others make. For example, if person V chooses not to contact me anymore, or that we fell out of touch, it's probably because I no longer give person V utility in the current Space and Time. Which is fair. Nothing personal. More importantly, it should make us cognizant (am trying to re-phase in American English) of the notion not to blame other people for changing because, hey, we changed too. "You've changed, I can't relate to you anymore" is probably one of the most illogical accusations people can throw.Just remember, people aren't constants, and since you're people, you aren't a constant either. We're all really just a processor of response functions.
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