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Edsger Dijkstra never owned a computer. He wrote every paper by fountain pen, in a script so precise that colleagues collected the pages, and he numbered them EWD for 40 years. He walked into a Northwestern lecture hall and argued that programming is a branch of mathematics, not a...

99,205 görüntüleme • 2 ay önce •via X (Twitter)

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The cold is British. They just never told you. ❄️🇬🇧 Every air conditioner, every fridge, every freezer on earth, the cold inside all of it was first made by a Scotsman. In 1756. ❄️🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 His name was William Cullen, a doctor in Edinburgh. In a warm room, with no ice and no winter, he drew the air from a glass of ether until it boiled cold and drank the heat from the water around it, until the water froze. No one had ever done it before. Then he wrote it down and walked away. No machine, no patent, no fortune. Just the proof, on a bench. It sat there the better part of a century. A British bench built the first machine that worked, and a Scot carried it across the world to Australia, where it froze meat and cooled beer. But cold was only half the story. ❄️📖 To master the air itself took another Scot. When the Houses of Parliament burned down in 1834, David Boswell Reid made the new building breathe, its gothic spires its lungs. At St George's Hall in Liverpool in 1851 he built what is often called the first air-conditioned building on earth. It should have made him. He died forgotten in America instead. 40 years on, Willis Carrier built the machine and earned his name as the father of modern air conditioning. He earned every bit of it. But he did not make the cold. The cold was British. America took that inheritance and cooled the world with it, and that is no theft. That is what an inheritance is for. We are the home of British heroes. Not built by ads, not by the government, built by us. There's a place for you with us. Be part of us. ☝️🇬🇧 Be Proud Of Us. 🙏🇬🇧

Proudofus.uk

56,349 görüntüleme • 3 ay önce

Beethoven could not hear the music he wrote. At the age of 28, he realized he was no longer able to listen to a flute being played in the distance, and he spent the rest of his life composing the most enduring music in Western history in almost complete silence... He had been a working musician since childhood. His ears were everything. In 1798, in the middle of a heated argument with a singer, he noticed for the first time that something was wrong. The sound was thinning at the edges. He could hear voices, but high frequencies were beginning to disappear. He told no one for years. By 1802, the truth was no longer deniable. On his doctor's advice he moved to Heiligenstadt, a quiet village outside Vienna, hoping the country air would help. It did not. There, alone and surrounded by farmland, he wrote a letter to his two brothers that he never sent. It was found among his papers after his death. We now call it the Heiligenstadt Testament, and it is one of the most devastating documents ever written by an artist about himself: "You men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. You do not know the cause of my seeming so... what a humiliation, when one stood beside me and heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone heard the shepherd singing, and again I heard nothing." He wrote, in the same letter, that he had thought of ending his life. And then he wrote the line that explains everything that followed: "Only my art held me back. It seemed impossible to me to leave the world before I had produced everything I felt called upon to produce." He went back to Vienna. He went on composing. Over the next two decades his hearing continued to fade. Friends began writing their words down in small notebooks instead of speaking them aloud, and waiting while he read. Modern scholars call these the conversation books. Around four hundred of them survive. To compose, he developed his own methods. He bit one end of a wooden rod and pressed the other against the soundboard of his piano, letting the vibrations travel through his jaw to his inner ear. He had stumbled, through trial and error, onto the principle that modern science calls bone conduction. The cause of his deafness has never been settled. What we do know is this: he realized he was losing his hearing at twenty-eight, and he could have stopped. He wrote the letter, he held the thought of dying in his hand, and then he put down the pen and went back to work. Most of what he is remembered for was composed after that moment: The Fifth Symphony. The Seventh. The Ninth. The Missa Solemnis. The late quartets. All of it was made by a man who could no longer hear most of what he was writing. There are people who give the world what they receive, and there are people who give the world what they were never able to receive. The most enduring beauty in human history has almost always come from the second kind... -- -- -- If you enjoyed this, I write a weekly newsletter read by over 50,000 people who love rediscovering the beauty of the past. You can join us here: I write about beauty in all its forms. If you'd like to support my work, a paid subscription is what makes it possible.

James Lucas

155,191 görüntüleme • 4 ay önce

The man who invented modern fantasy didn't publish his first novel until he was forty-five. By that age, J.R.R. Tolkien had already built a respectable life. He was an Oxford professor, an expert in ancient languages, with a wife and four children and a settled academic career. He was exactly the kind of man who might reasonably have decided that the shape of his life was already fixed. The work he would be remembered for, he had not yet even begun... The story, which Tolkien told himself, is that one summer he was grading examination papers, when he turned a page and found that a student had left it blank. Without quite knowing why, he wrote a single sentence on it: "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." He did not know what a hobbit was. He had spent years inventing languages and mythologies as a private passion, and telling stories to his own children, never imagining any of it would reach the world. But that one line began to grow. It became a story, and then a book, and in 1937, at the age of forty-five, Tolkien published The Hobbit. It was a success, and his publisher asked for a sequel. Tolkien warned them it might take some time. It took 17 years... He wrote it in the margins of a demanding full-time job, revising endlessly, doubting it often. When The Lord of the Rings was finally published, in 1954 and 1955, he was in his early sixties. That book, begun as a middle-aged professor's private side project, went on to sell well over a hundred million copies, to invent modern fantasy as we know it, and to reshape the imagination of the entire world. Tolkien already had a full and respectable life behind him. And still, the thing he is remembered for, the thing that outlived him and reached hundreds of millions of people, was something he began at forty-five, at an age when it would have been the easiest thing in the world to tell himself he had already missed his chance. He didn't. It's never as late as it feels.

James Lucas

94,697 görüntüleme • 3 ay önce

A pilot put a passenger jet down on a river and got every person on board off alive. Within days, investigators were asking him what he had eaten for lunch. He told them a tuna sandwich. Then they asked whether he had had a candy bar. Whether he had had a soda. That is not small talk. There is a precise reason those 2 questions could have ended his career, and Tom Hanks lays it out in about 4 sentences. The pilot is Chesley Sullenberger. Hanks played him, spent time with him first, and says the man walked him through the entire script telling him which parts never happened. As Hanks was told it, the stake was money. If the board could establish that the pilot did 1 thing wrong, the insurance on an airplane he puts at 17 million dollars would not have to be paid out. Every question in that room was built for that. It went on for the better part of a year. In the film it takes days, because films cannot afford a year. What was happening to him has a name in psychology. Baruch Fischhoff described it in 1975 and called it creeping determinism. Once you know how something ended, the ending looks like it was always coming, and every road you did not take looks like it was sitting right there, clearly marked, the whole time. Which is why the question "why did you not do this instead" is close to unanswerable. It is asked by people who know the ending, to a person who did not have it. There is a second effect underneath, well documented in aviation and in medicine. The person at the centre of the investigation frequently comes out of it in worse condition than the people he saved. Researchers gave that person a name. He is the second victim. Hanks is 67 when he says this, and what he admires is not the landing. It is a distinction he makes in 1 sentence near the end, and it is the whole reason he told the story at all. He saved everyone on that plane. Then he spent a year proving he had not eaten a candy bar.

Stefan.

210,938 görüntüleme • 1 ay önce

Warren McCulloch modeled the first neural net in 1943 and asked only 1 question his whole life. He was 19 in 1917, raised for the Episcopal ministry, soaked in theology, until mathematics seduced him. His defense was that the ideas in the mind of God are logic. The question never changed. What is a number that a man may know it, and a man that he may know a number. He cracked the first half and admitted on camera the second half never came. So he settled for a frog, opened its eye at MIT and asked what it tells a frog’s brain. He said your brain is not a sequential machine and not a parallel one either. It is the mouth of the Nile, every stream mixed with every other stream before the water reaches the sea. Anastomotic, the old Greek word, the only one he had for it. Then he said the part nobody quotes. You run well to 16, and after that thousands of neurons die per day. He guessed 10% of the big cells in his own cerebellum were already holes filled with glia. He built the theory to survive that, a cell dying, firing pip pip pip, quitting, the system holding. His family still reaches 100. The interviewer pushed and said a machine will never love your 2 grandchildren the way you do. McCulloch answered that if he could do it, a mechanism could do it. Man won’t survive forever, he said, the sun makes that improbable, something else comes. The machines would be standing on our shoulders. He said it beside a lake he built himself 30 years earlier by damming a stream. His last words on the tape were don’t shake the table.

West Lord

79,616 görüntüleme • 2 ay önce

In 1950 a scientist at Bell Labs admitted, out loud, that he was envious of the geniuses in the offices around him. He was sharing an attic with Claude Shannon. So instead of resenting them, he spent the rest of his career studying exactly what separated the great ones from everyone else, and near the end of his life he laid the whole answer out in a single talk. His name was Richard Hamming. He was honest about where he started. At Los Alamos, he called himself a janitor of science, one of the people who kept things running while the important decisions happened without him. He was, in his own words, plain envious. And rather than swallow it, he turned it into a question. What actually is the difference between the first-class people and the rest of us? His first answer is uncomfortable, because it removes every excuse. It is not luck, though luck plays a part. It is not raw IQ, since plenty of the greats did not test especially well, and Einstein spent seven years in a patent office before anyone noticed him. What it comes down to, again and again, is that the able people simply work on important problems, and they work on them relentlessly, while everyone else stays busy with whatever happens to be in front of them. Then he tells the story that stays with you. For years he ate lunch with the physicists, the Nobel winners, and learned how they thought. One day he turned to a chemist at the table and asked, if what you are working on is not important, and not likely to lead to anything important, why are you working on it? The man was offended. But months later he stopped Hamming in the hallway and admitted the question had gotten under his skin. That chemist went on to run his department and join the National Academy. Of everyone else at that table, Hamming says, he never heard of a single one again. He noticed the same pattern in something as small as an office door. The people who worked with their doors closed got more done in the moment, but ten years later they no longer knew what was worth doing. The ones who left their doors open stayed connected to what actually mattered, even at the cost of constant interruption. And underneath all of it was a habit most people never build. He set aside Friday afternoons, every week, for nothing but great thoughts. No task, no email, just the question of what the important problems in his field really were, and whether he was working on any of them. He was not claiming to be the smartest man in the building. He knew he was not. That was the entire point. He watched the smartest men closely, took what he could use, and made himself into someone who did work that lasted. As he put it near the end, no one ever told him these things. He had to find them alone. You have no such excuse.

Zyron

16,163 görüntüleme • 2 ay önce

A man who has made 19% a year for forty-five years spent most of them telling people Warren Buffett was just lucky. Then he listened to a podcast and apologised on air. "Wow, this guy is a genius, and I've been the biggest fool all along." That is Paul Tudor Jones. His original argument was never stupid, which is the part worth staying for. Buffett, he thought, was in the right place at the right time, riding the longest bull market in history. Put the same man in Japan starting in 1989 and see how well the genius holds up. It is a real objection. The Nikkei peaked in December 1989 and did not get back there until February 2024. Thirty-four years underwater. Buy and hold would have ruined you. He changed his mind anyway. He now calls Buffett the OG of compound interest, and then he says the line that should stop you. "He understood the power of compound interest at age nine, while I brilliantly avoided it throughout my entire career." That is not a man who failed at anything. So what exactly did he avoid? Selling. Run the same 19% two ways. Hold everything and pay capital gains once at the end, and forty years turns a dollar into 842. Realise your gains every year and pay tax as you go, and the same 19% turns a dollar into 287. Identical returns. Roughly three times the money, purely from not touching it. That is the price of being right often instead of being right once and then waiting. And here is what makes this honest rather than a lecture. Jones knows all of it now and still cannot do it. He says plainly he could not sit through a 50% drawdown, that his own wiring will not permit it. He wondered aloud why he couldn't just believe in America and ride it out. He can't. Fifty years of reflexes do not get argued away by arithmetic. So the lesson is not to go and be Buffett. It is to work out which one you actually are before the market tells you, because the two strategies are not interchangeable and neither are the people who run them. He is 71. He apologised to a man he had doubted for decades, and then admitted he would probably do it the same way again.

Veles

48,073 görüntüleme • 2 ay önce