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Next in who after the Ramanujan Series? If Ramanujan was the Source Code, Mudumbai Seshachalu Narasimhan (1932-2021) was the Compiler. He took the raw energy of Indian mathematical intuition & turned it into a formal, global language that even the top physicists in the world now use to explain...

13,502 Aufrufe • vor 4 Monaten •via X (Twitter)

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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

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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

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Try to name one leader alive today who would do this. In 325 BC, in the middle of a desert that was killing his army, Alexander the Great was handed the only water his men had found for miles. He had brought them there himself. Coming home from India there were safer roads, but he chose the Gedrosian Desert, in what is now southern Iran and Pakistan. The Greek historian Arrian is clear that he knew what he was doing. He went that way because almost nobody had ever brought an army through it alive: legend said the queen Semiramis came out the other side with twenty men, and Cyrus the Great with seven. Alexander wanted to beat them both. The crossing took sixty days. Arrian writes that the suffering on that march was out of all proportion to anything his troops had endured in Asia. They moved at night, and men fell asleep where they collapsed. The sick were left at the roadside, because there was nobody to carry them and no time to stop. Somewhere in the middle of it, a few soldiers went looking for water and found a tiny trickle in a gully. They scraped up what they could, tipped it into a helmet, and carried it back to their king... Every man watching him was dying of thirst. So was he. "Alexander, with a word of thanks for the gift, took the helmet and, in full view of his troops, poured the water on the ground." There was not enough for all of them, so he would not take what he could not give. And Arrian records what that did to an army of men who could barely stand: "So extraordinary was the effect of this action that the water wasted by Alexander was as good as a drink for every man in the army." They got up, and they marched. We now live in an age of leaders who start wars their sons will never fight, who ask for sacrifices they would never dream of making themselves, who are always the first to be spared and the last to pay the price. Alexander was often ruthless and deeply flawed, yes, but he was a true leader and he knew that real power has never come from standing above your people, but from going thirsty beside them…

James Lucas

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🇬🇧🔬 Open your kitchen drawer. Pick up a knife. The metal you are holding was invented by a Sheffield steelworker's son. His name was Harry Brearley. He was born in Sheffield in 1871. He left school at 12 and went to work in the same steelworks as his father. ⚙️ He educated himself in chemistry at night, by candlelight, in evening classes. By his early forties, he was running the Brown-Firth Research Laboratory. In 1912, the British military gave him a problem. Their rifle barrels were wearing out too quickly from the heat of repeated firing. They needed a steel that could survive higher temperatures. He was solving a different problem. On 13 August 1913, Brearley cast an alloy with 12.8% chromium. He took a polished sample. He left it on a workbench. Weeks later, he came back. 🔥 Every other sample had rusted. His one had not. A steel that would never rust. He took it to his employers. They were not interested. He took it to the Sheffield cutlers. They told him it could not be sharpened. The talk of the town was that Harry Brearley had invented a knife that would not cut. He persisted. ⚖️ He found a cutler called Ernest Stuart at the Portland Works who tested the steel with vinegar and lemon juice. The blade did not stain. Stuart suggested a new name for it. Not rustless steel. Stainless steel. Within a decade, Sheffield was the stainless steel capital of the world. Within a century, stainless steel was in every kitchen, every hospital, every operating theatre, every kitchen sink, every skyscraper, every spacecraft. 🚀 Harry Brearley never grew rich from his invention. He did not invent for money. He invented for the country. He died in 1948, still in Sheffield, still working class. ✍️ Every modern thing that does not rust began in a Sheffield laboratory. By accident. In the hands of a steelworker's son. 🇬🇧 The British write their own history. They always have. Help us remember who we are. Help us remember every British achievement. 👇🙏 👉 👈 Be part of us. ☝️🇬🇧 Be Proud Of Us. 🙏🇬🇧

Proudofus.uk

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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

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In 1988, Jim Simons flew to Berkeley to beg a math professor to fix his hedge fund. The professor had never traded a stock. He had spent his career on coding theory and mathematical board games. He agreed to help on the condition he could leave when he wanted. He delivered 55 percent net in his full year running it. Then he handed the whole thing back and went home to teach undergraduates. His name was Elwyn Berlekamp. He is one of two people who ever ran what would become the most profitable trading operation in history. Simons was the other one. MIT math PhD, 1964. Berlekamp wrote foundational papers in coding theory that still run every CD, DVD, satellite link, and QR code on Earth. The Berlekamp-Massey algorithm, published 1968, is why every scratched CD you owned still played through to the end. He also co-wrote "Winning Ways for Your Mathematical Plays" with John Conway and Richard Guy. Four volumes. It became the foundational text of combinatorial game theory. Berlekamp thought about board games the way most mathematicians think about theorems. He proved endgame results in Go that professional masters had assumed were unprovable. His 1994 book "Mathematical Go" reduced the last moves of a Go game to a formula. Top-ranked professionals started studying it. Simons had a problem in the late 1980s. His trading partnership was falling apart. The fund was losing money. He flew west to see the game theorist. Berlekamp bought a controlling stake, cut what was not working, and rebuilt the trading logic from combinatorial game theory principles. The fund returned 55 percent net after fees in his full year running it. In December 1990, Berlekamp sold his stake back to Simons and walked out. He wanted to go back to Berkeley. In interviews he said the same thing many times, in different words: Berkeley was where he belonged. Simons kept building on the system Berlekamp rebuilt. It became the Medallion Fund. Over the next 30 years, Medallion compounded at roughly 66 percent gross per year. It is the most profitable trading strategy in the history of finance. Berlekamp took his cut in 1990 and never went back. He spent the rest of his life at UC Berkeley. He gave a lecture called "Mathematics and Go" that is on YouTube. He died in 2019, aged 78. The paradox is not that Berlekamp made a fortune. It is that he had the door to the biggest fortune in trading history held open for him and walked out. The math was fun. The billions were not.

Veles

72,810 Aufrufe • vor 1 Monat

Issues of paternity have shaped our society for generations, especially in Zimbabwe. They did not start today. I remember going to a funeral with my father in the 1990s, and as we sat around the fire the men began sharing stories. One of them has stayed with me ever since. A Zimbabwean doctor had married a nurse, and they struggled to have children. As usual, when there is no child, the blame was placed on the woman. She went to see her own doctor, who told her plainly that she was not the problem, and advised her to bring her husband for testing. The husband refused, as many Zimbabwean men tend to do. Their marriage eventually collapsed, with the man insisting he could not be the problem because he had a child with another woman before marrying the nurse. That woman, he said, was also a doctor, and he was raising that child. After the divorce, the nurse remarried another doctor, and she immediately fell pregnant. Because it was a tight medical community, the whole situation became a talking point. The ex-husband had loudly declared that his former wife was barren, yet here she was having one child after another, three in total, with her new husband. Meanwhile, the ex-husband remarried, and again there were no children. One day the ex-husband and his former wife met at a gathering. During a casual conversation, as people who once knew each other, she told him directly that he was raising a child who was not his. She told him that he had no capacity to father a child and that if he finally went for tests, he would discover the truth. She reminded him how he had insulted her and her parents, and how he had refused to listen. The revelation shook him. He went for tests, and it was confirmed that he was the problem. He had spent seventeen years looking after a child who was not his. The moral of the story is simple, and I always stress this when mentoring young people. When in doubt, check. In fact, even without doubt, check. A DNA test at birth saves you from future heartbreak. Many men are raising children who are not theirs. Some women know exactly what they are doing. Others genuinely do not know because their relationships overlapped before they settled down. In those cases, even the woman cannot be sure who the father is. So when you have a child, get a DNA test. If you ask for one and a woman becomes defensive or resistant, that is a major red flag. At that point, the test is no longer optional, it is necessary. That is the reality of life today. As they say, trust is beautiful, but DNA is confirmation. In this life we live, hope is not a strategy when it comes to your children, so test your child and protect your future, as the saying goes. I have DNA stories that I could share for a whole year. If compulsory DNA testing was demanded of all of us today, you will be shocked by what will come out. This brother in the video is now going through denial. He has been told the truth, but he is still in shock, which is why he is asking for silly things from this woman. It is hard for any man to discover that the child he believed was his belongs to another man. That is why DNA testing is a necessity and why it should be compulsory.

Hopewell Chin’ono

67,842 Aufrufe • vor 9 Monaten

Who Do You Think The 3rd Person Is? Bill Gates? Klaus Schwab? Someone Else? “Nostradamus saw in his future three men that he called antichrists. One was Napoleon, the second one was Hitler, and the third one is the one that is to come, who is said to be the worst of all, because he will learn from the mistakes of the others. A very dangerous person. He didn't like the term antichrist. He said it was a Christian term, and it was not exactly what he meant. But he said, if you think of Christ as representing people, humanity, then antichrist is someone who does terrible things against humanity, against people. And it can be the type of personality like Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun, the type that doesn't care anything about what it's doing, it only wants power. So this is what he meant by an Antichrist. But the third one, he gave us a great deal of information about him because he wanted us to do something to stop the man. He said in the Bible, in the book of Revelation and other books in the Old Testament, the people saw the same things that he saw their symbolism they could understand in their time, but they all saw the same thing. And the man he refers to as the Antichrist is the number 666 in the Book of Revelation, called the Beast. Of course he said 666 also refers to his connection to his computers. So there's a lot more to it. But he has been predicted as far back as Bible times. So he said he has a destiny to fulfill. He has to come, but after he comes, what happens after that is in the hands of mankind. Do we allow it to go through the worst case scenarios or can we lessen it? That's the point fulfill. We were given a lot of information about this man because he is so important. We have his horoscope. He was born on February the 4th, 1962 in Jerusalem, but he's not Jewish. And his parents were killed during the Israeli war and when he was about six or seven years old, and he was raised by his uncle. His uncle is a very evil man, and we have had many people see him, and we have in my work, and we had one woman who was able to put together a police composite picture of the uncle and of the antichrist. She was a psychic who had worked with police on many cases, so she knew how to do the police composite kits. But the uncle took the young boy him as his own. What the young boy doesn't know was that the uncle had his parents killed, so he could have him for himself. And he has gotten together a very powerful group of rich Arabs in the Middle East, and they've been taking care of this young boy and grooming him for the role he is to take. It's a very powerful group of people that control everything that happens in the Middle East. They're the puppet masters behind the scenes. Nusrat Dhamma said, by the time seven puppets arise in the Middle East, you will realize what is happening that they are not the real leaders of the countries, but they are the puppets being manipulated by the puppet masters behind the scenes. The young Antichrist went to college in Egypt, and we were working on this at the same time he was in college, so we were shown several scenes of him in college. We knew where he was living. We had all this information.”

Wall Street Apes

1,338,694 Aufrufe • vor 2 Jahren

1999. The boy in the green Aga Khan sweater sat at the front of the class, his hand up before his classmate even finished the question. He knew the answer. His name, according to the register, was George. Outside the gate, royal guards waited. But in here, he was just a boy who loved answering SST questions. He was seven years old and the world's youngest king, but right now, none of that mattered. The teacher had asked a question about yesterday's homework, and his hand was already in the air, fingers stretched toward the ceiling like he could grab the answer from the air itself. His green sweater was slightly too big at the sleeves, the way school uniforms always are when you're still growing into them. He sat at the front, not because anyone had put him there, but because that's where you sit when you want to be seen, when you want to be called on, when you have something to say. The other children knew him as George. Some of them knew about the crown, of course, you can't exactly hide being the Omukama of Tooro when your guards wait by the gate, but children are practical creatures. A king who shares his lunch is just a friend. A king who laughs too loud in the playground is just a boy. And George laughed loudly. He ran fast. He argued about whose turn it was on the swings. He was, in every way that mattered, exactly like the rest of them. When the bell rang, he didn't walk out like a monarch. He spilled out with the others, bag hanging on one shoulder, green sweater untucked, already talking about what was for lunch. The guards were there, as they always were, but they kept their distance, and he kept his joy. At home, the real kingdom awaited: the balcony with the miniature pool table, where his sister Ruth was already waiting. She was older, watchful in the way sisters are, the keeper of his small secrets and the only person who could beat him at pool without him minding. Their laughter filled the house. Ruth would straighten his collar or hand him the cue, and he would line up his shot with the concentration of a chess grandmaster, tongue poking out slightly. The weight of Tooro, the councils, the ceremonies, it all stayed outside. In here, it was just the two of them, brother and sister, building their own small world on a balcony in Kampala. Then the evening came, and with it the dogs. Three German shepherds who knew nothing of thrones or titles, who only knew that the boy with the smole was their favourite human. He ran into the garden, and they circled him, barking with delight, and he ran with them, arms wide, laughter spilling into the fading light. He was not a king in that moment. He was not the heir of centuries. He was just George, seven years old, running with his dogs, alive and bright and burning with the simple joy of being alive. That was 1999. The boy in the photograph, the one raising his hand, the one in the green sweater, he grew up. He became the man his people needed him to be. He carried the weight, wore the crown, answered the call. For thirty-one years, he was their king. But those who loved him best will always remember the other George, the one who sat at the front of the class, who played pool with his sister, who ran with his dogs at dusk. The kingdom announces that Rukirabasaija is gone. But George? George is still there, in the green sweater, hand in the air, ready with the answer. He always had the answer. He always will. The boy in the green sweater. The hand in the air. The dogs in the garden. The sister on the balcony. These are the things that crowns cannot contain and history books often forget. But they are the truest things. They are the things that made him loved. #ughistory #Tooro Tooro Kingdom Calvin Armstrong Rwomiire Akiiki

UgHistory

209,548 Aufrufe • vor 4 Tagen