P. 45-46
Underlying all these cases there is a geometrical principle, reminiscent of the principle of least action, but more general. This principle may be formulated as follows: the evolution of any natural system is governed by transformations of the mathematical wholeness and by a tendency, inherent in these transformations, for the whole to unfold in a particular direction.
     In more detail, I postulate that every natural system has a disposition, a tendency caused by the most simple way forward for the system to move in the direction which preserves wholeness. I do not mean that it preserves wholeness in some pious emotional sense, nor that it "wishes" to preserve wholeness. I simply mean that wholeness, which I have defined as a structure of symmetries and centers (Book 1, chapter 3 and appendix 1), will always have a natural dynamic of such a nature that as many as possible of these symmetries (and especially some of the larger ones) are preserved as the system moves forward in time. As the system evolves, it destroys these symmetries and larger centers AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE. It maintains as much of the structure of symmetries and centre as possible, and destroys as little of the structure of symmetries and centers as can be managed while yet moving forward.

P. 42
. . . is there a pattern-like tendency which makes transformations toward coherent patterns (based on the fifteen properties) which then tend to produce coherent mechanisms for geometric reasons --- and the selective process then finds a use for these beautiful and coherent mechanisms to gain advantages.

//

Alexander describes in book 1 his theory of how 'beautiful' and 'coherent' are one and the same. Rather, in that book, he says 'function' and 'ornament'. I would go back to check that out if I hadn't returned it to the library already. I can see him building upon this principle here. If there is something inherently functional about good geometry, it is much easier to imagine a geometry-producing principle in action at all levels than a functionality-producing one.

(Actually, the principle of least action is more functionality-producing in character than is the 'unfolding' principle which he gives later. I've never thought of the principle of least action as unscientific.)

I just thought this was very funny:

P. 42
. . . many scientists have been spending their energy trying to insist, "no it is not God's design, Mr. Creationist, it is by a series of step-wise changes, gradually evolving," instead of answering the difficult question about how the very sophisticated machinery was actually arrived at, step by step. Of course (for me anyway) the question is not "Was it God's design, or was this step-by-step?" No doubt it was step-by-step. But how does step-by-step actually accomplish its results when the result requires sophisticated and complex global geometry to work.

P. 35
Throughout centuries of study of nature, many, many cases of emergence of form from the whole have been observed and studied. . . . Generally speaking, the emergence of form in the world has been seen and understood as a relatively straightforward mechanical emergence of the product of different causal laws.

[pingback: telling stories to remember life]

Could I say that folding specific sharp memories into my gradual cloud of inspiration is to "keep working on the valley"? This abstract concept is difficult to get a handle on, and a short, sweet idiom is a great way to help with that. It's funny, I'm turning this idea about avoiding mistaking things for guiding principles . . . in a guiding principle. But I don't think Zeigfreid was trying to say that guiding principles and inspiration are bad, not at all. If it's bad to mistake something for a guiding principle, then the purpose of making that mistake less might be to get those mistaken principles out of the way for the real ones.

What makes a good guiding principle? I don't know. But I do think if I encounter something too specific which I don't want to stick out as a cutting edge or a sharp point, something important that I want to soften and allow to recede in my mind into just an ordinary memory, I might say I am "working on the valley". . .

I don't know. It's not perfect yet.

Longer works, more perfect* works, are more capable of being The Mirror of the Self, of being a strong center, a whole.

I quickly discard concepts that are too trivial, too disconnected. I'm not too good, I might say, at producing or caring about trivial connections. Nothing quite sticks like a mirror of the self. . . and a long game, a long story, a long work, it can contain trivial content, it can be weak, but it can also be much stronger. The larger a space is, the more alive it can potentially be. In the sense given by Christopher Alexander in The Nature of Order, there must be some objective limit to the strength of life attainable by a fixed number of centers; although more centers does not mean better, and more space does not mean better, I believe it must mean that more space and more centers increase the maximum possible strength of life within that space or among those centers. Longer games, longer books, longer works . . . have more space for more centers, and it is exactly this which makes them capable, theoretically, of being more alive, and by extension being better mirrors of the self.

*What I mean is work that is more developed, more polished, more detailed. I don't mean without flaws, unless I define flaws in a circular sense, to recursively mean that which makes it a worse mirror of the self.

Aside:

It's not like I need a grand unifying theory in order to do things, though, right? If I'm hungry, eat. If I'm tired, sleep.

I want to remember Zeigfreid's message in this moment; I feel it has some relevance. "I have some original thoughts, and I think I'll keep working them for their own sake and let the vague cloud of my own fond memories just be a natural, gradual part of my aesthetic instead of mistaking it for inspiration, or a guiding principle".

This quote was an expansion of the earlier statement, a clarification of what he meant by "I'll just keep working on the valley." I'm going to try neologizing an idiom. To "keep working on the valley" . . . is to . . . "let the vague cloud of my own fond memories just be a natural, gradual part of my aesthetic instead of mistaking it for inspiration, or a guiding principle" . . .

I don't know if that's quite sticking. I've enjoyed reading books. I've enjoyed having big meaningful books in my life, because they are vessels containing wealths of not just information, but beautiful information, useful lessons, insights. I've wondered for a while what the purpose is of making long games. I tried making short games, but nothing quite sticks like a long game. Why is that? It's the same for stories. Long stories. Long, long books contain a great deal of life. Short stories, short games, don't. It's the mechanical thing again... I need to capture this thought... Ah, having this forum has changed my life.

It was Paradise's second birthday last month, and we celebrated by playing zk map together, fifteen or twenty of us, or so.

There, I've summarized it. That was enough for me to remember the event, in broad strokes. It helps me to find my way back to the memory. But I can always go into more detail, ever more detail. I don't know what changed, but I feel as though my memory is becoming more accessible to me than it was before.

But now that I'm here, how in the world does anyone decide what details to include? where, when, and whether to tell their stories? to whom do people tell their stories? why do people tell their stories? Do I talk about my experience? the past? the future? Do I ask others present about their experiences in order to capture some larger truth about the event as a whole?

My brain hurts. The ocean is too deep.

I used to post on social media and write blog posts a lot, and I've almost completely stopped now. I use this newforum often, though. A few internet-friends wrote up their 'games of the year 2022' and more than once I started writing a 'books of the year 2022' post, and even my own 'games of the year 2022' (I had a few genuinely wonderful experiences last year, as much as I have been down on 'games' and it was nice to realize that), but it never seemed like something worth finishing, or maybe not worth finishing in that format.

These events and experiences, all the things that occur in life, I want to relive them, remember them. They are etched in there. But I know that it's possible to fail to express an idea. I want to be able to tell not a story but the perfect story, express something in the perfect way, in a way that respects the importance of everything that is being told. Maybe this is my perfectionist agenda in action. I don't mind if it is. I'll embrace it.

I remain a huge fan of The Valley.

Regarding the basho quote, "Don't follow ancient masters; seek what they tried to seek.":

Quote from: ZeigfreidI think of the game designer who makes a Pokemon clone. I know them, they are me, but they are also not me and I only know myself. . . . they assume that this vague cloud of connections [and love of Pokemon] in their brain box is the feeling of wanting to make a Pokemon game.
And that's why they add tall grass.
They are following the masters because I think they don't know what else to do.

Quote from: Zeigfreid. . . if you identify as a game designer and your mind is full of fond memories of this or that, it's maybe only natural to interpret this mental state as an aspiration. What else would an aspiration feel like?

Quote from: Zeigfreid. . . I'll just keep working on the valley . . . What I mean is, I have some original thoughts, and I think I'll keep working them for their own sake and let the vague cloud of my own fond memories just be a natural, gradual part of my aesthetic instead of mistaking it for inspiration, or a guiding principle

P. 19, under NOTE FOR THE SCIENTIFIC READER

In what follows, I shall argue that the emergence of new structure in nature is brought about, always, by a sequence of transformations which act on the whole, and in which each step emerges as a discernible and continuous result from the immediately preceding whole.
     This thought [is] obvious if taken naively, but profound and difficult if taken literally as a piece of science. . .

I'm coming around steadily to Alexander's way of thinking, now that we're out of the first book. "Life" is a feature of space, an objectively measurable characteristic. But the interesting thing is that the objective measuring tool most available to us is also tightly bound to subjectiveness: it is our own minds. The objective measure of this property, "life," is our human pattern recognition. Our senses, our brains.

Regarding order: I realized I have been --- erroneously --- thinking that it is impossible to tell whether the world follows the aforementioned 'fifteen properties' or whether we are merely pattern-recognizing machines, spotting 'nature' and 'centers' automatically, everywhere. But it finally occurred to me that of course that cannot be the case. It's as easy as picturing an artificial construction of non-natural character; it's extremely easy to produce a (simple) structure which would not occur in nature.

More importantly, it's extremely easy to produce a structure which does not follow the fifteen properties. Alexander gives many examples himself in Book 1 and I expect will provide some more throughout this book, whether he draws attention to them as examples of such or not. It's trivial to notice that it is not merely the presence of noise or detail or any simple character which activates our pattern recognition . . . it is something morphologically specific which we are tuned to detect and which is also produced everywhere throughout our reality, across our universe, on our planet, and in our lives.