Six Degrees of Separation

I read somewhere that everybody on this planet is separated by only six other people. Six degrees of separation between us and everyone else on this planet. The President of the United States, a gondolier in Venice, just fill in the names. I find that extremely comforting, that we're so close, but I also find it like Chinese water torture that we're so close because you have to find the right six people to make the connection. It's not just big names—it's anyone. A native in a rain forest, a Tierra del Fuegan, an Eskimo. I am bound—you are bound—to everyone on this planet by a trail of six people. It's a profound thought: how Paul found us; how to find the man whose son he claims to be, or perhaps is, although I doubt it. How everyone is a new door, opening into other worlds.
-- John Guare, Six Degrees of Separation

I'm just a single voice
What can I do to erase

All this misunderstanding
All this anarchy
Six degrees of separation
Sometimes it's so hard to see
That we are not alone in this
-- Corrinne May, Free

"Six Degrees of Separation" is a concept that everyone in the world is linked to at most six degrees. As the Wikipedia article mentions, Frigyes Karinthy proposed this notion back in 1929.
When I ponder on why people find this concept appealing, I think it can be summarised concisely as thus: the notion of shrinking 6.5 odd billion people to 6 degrees -- what a dwindle! Our enormous globe, suddenly implodes to network of no more than six connections between the nodes. This big shrink, this oversimplification can be understood without taxing the minds. There is no need to imagine how do billions of people crowded together look like, like the spell of dizziness when you look up at the vast expanse of the sky, whose boundaries you cannot fathom.
However, while offering a concept even a child can understand, it is also almost impossible to prove or disprove this notion.
Let's scrutinise this concept closely:
As of 2006, the estimate for the global population stands at 6.53 billion. Now, let us assume one-way network. This means we zoom at one person and view the network of acquaintances around him. If we let average numbers of a person's acquaintances to be n, then
n^6 = 6.53 x 10^9
Solving for n, we get roughly 43. So, on average, a person only needs to know 43 people for the whole world to be interconnected. So few?
We have to take a look at some assumptions:
Firstly, this assumes that there is no social barriers. Anybody is free to mix around with anybody. With the current globalisation era, the reality is becoming closer to the assumption. Still, special circumstances like cultural isolation, geographical restraint, language barriers, etc. may come into play here.
Secondly, society is dynamic. Relationships are broken, created, renewed; and we are always moving about, geographically or otherwise, as in births and deaths. The figure 6.53 billion is a frame freeze, which vacillates across space and time. While it is true that statistically speaking population size doesn't vary that much, we are talking about the dynamism of the exchanges of communication, which cannot be easily included in the equation.
Thirdly, we assume that all relationships are on acquaintance level. In actuality, we have stronger and weaker relationships than that. You see, if we have strong relationship, say family, we tend to stick more to the stronger relationships, while the assumption suggests that you stroll in the park and make acquaintances to strangers along your way.
Fourthly, we assume that on average we have the same amiability level. In truth, there are introverts and extroverts and the spectrum in between. And this is of course related to the previous assumption. Our personalities influence on the combinations of strong or weak relationships that we have.
...
In the end, even with the assumptions laid bare, it is still impossible to see whether the fact that everyone is separated by at most 5 people in between, is true. In the end it is just romanticisation, an idealisation, like a pretty gift wrapped in fancy ribbons, but without utility whatsoever.
I believe what the world unity can not only be achieved by merely an ideal. When we get right down to it, we have to eliminate prejudice, promote equality, educate the people, help one another in need, play a joke on each other a little,
while keeping in mind that we are all tightly connected, every two of us having no more than five people in between.
Update: How about taking a look at the Internet itself to picture the complexity of connections? Wait patiently for it to load...

Context is all

“Context is all” (Margaret Atwood). Does this mean that there is no such thing as truth?
The above question is one of the ten prescribed topics for TOK essay, IB Nov '07 session.
I don't know why but I have since regretted not picking this question for my TOK essay. It is one of the shortest -- it gives a lot of space of interpretation. That's the tantalising part. And the difficult part, too.
Enough wallowing in regret, then; let me try to tackle this, without the restriction of the mark scheme.

To comprehend such a statement, it is only appropriate for us to be acquainted with the context surrounding this statement.
This statement appears more than once in Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. Set in dystopian post-nuclear age , the novel gives a glimpse through the eyes of Offred, a handmaid. For Offred, what utterance of "context is all" could mean? I believe for the bulk of it, she demanded context to make sense of her surroundings. You see, Republic of Gilead where Offred lived in, was still in the midst of transforming to a dystopia. Offred could recall her life before in (presumably) the United States. The sudden change in situations confused her. Life didn't used to be like this, so what now? That is the state of mind Offred is in. When her old life, her 'context', has been snatched away, she needs a new one.
But, what exactly is context? We have the vague idea of it. A bigger picture, a larger body of knowledge, the plane on which we define things. Let's extend the metaphor about the picture a bit more. Say you have a jigsaw puzzle. Take a piece. Describe. Well, it has interesting shape and fancy colours, but otherwise it is a piece of crap. Assemble the whole thing and tadaa...! You've got yourself a clear picture (Disclaimer: depends on your jigsaw puzzle picture. If you bought an abstract picture then not my fault). Same thing with pixels: A pixel means nothing but with other pixels on the screen, then you have some meaning to it.
One way to look at it is to differentiate between two things that may make up a context: the laws and the facts (or truths, if you like, but that word is so philosophically loaded that one is reluctant to use). For example, let's look at Euclidean geometry. The "laws" are the five axioms postulated by Euclid. Those are the rules of the game. Now, restricted by these rules we can construct infinite geometrical shapes -- these are the "facts". So you see that the laws provide the plane of existence (pun on Euclidean plane geometry intended) on which it supported the existence of the objects, the facts. You could immediately see how this explanation makes perfect sense to mathematicians and scientists: Yes. Precisely because they deal with laws and objects governed by those.
Another way to look at what context really is, is back to our jigsaw puzzles. Coherence is the keyword. Mismatched jigsaw pieces can only mean that there are other pieces form other set contaminating yours (of course there alternatives like your or the manufacturer's stupidity, but well you don't want to consider them, do you?). This approach is clearly different from the previous one. Some facts that agree with each other can make up a larger body of knowledge. For instance, two facts: "A attended Dr. X's class yesterday" and "There was Dr. X's class yesterday". Coherent, isn't it? Let's say we change the second statement to "Dr. X's class was cancelled yesterday", then the first statement must be false; a mismatched jigsaw piece, or something else entirely.
To unify the above two approaches, picture it this way: there are laws which are the foundations of all truths. But these truths are interconnected in intricate way with one another, like a mesh; they are not beads neatly arranged on a plane; picture the beads in a kind of neural-level-intricacy network. Now, for convenience, sometimes it is easier to take a look at a bead by zooming at few beads surrounding the one being viewed. This is our jigsaw puzzle. Or look at the more fundamental, in the truest sense of the word: the laws. (To complicate matters, these laws are actually are layered cakes also. For example, in Euclidean geometry we have 5 axioms, then we still derive a whole lot of theorems, which in a sense, are also laws.)
It is worth reiterating here that contexts come in different sizes. You choose how big or small it is according to practicality. Actually, we can classify people according to how they use the above two approaches. Natural scientists look at the physical laws that govern physical bodies. Human scientists limit their scope of context to society and history. Psychologists restrict it even more to human minds and interactions. Mathematicians also look at the fundamentals like natural scientists; but then they go and create their own contexts (e.g: imaginary plane).
By now you should have already understood that the word 'context' also carries hefty epistemological weight.
So: context is all. Without context, independent "truth" cannot be considered truth. There must be a framework surrounding it, supporting it, then the "truth" is construed. Here is a good example:

What is this? (Warning: trick question)
The answer? You've guessed it. Depends on the context.
To Greeks and physicists, it is clearly a lambda, as in λόγος 【logos】 isn't it?
But my Chinese friends beg to differ. It's rù as in 进入【jìnrù】 (enter; get into).
Who is correct? Both are correct in their respective contexts, aren't they?
Lastly, let's address that old philosophical question:
If a tree in the woods fells and no one is around, does it make a sound?
Assessing from utility and usefulness point of view, the answer is: it doesn't. Or more precisely: I don't give a damn, because it makes no difference whether it does -- there is no added value whatsoever. This sounds like a jest, but anthropocentric view like this is actually more common than what most people think. To simply limit one's context to what are useful to humans is certainly practical, but it is dangerous when one is unaware of it.
To a physicist, the answer is quite clear: it does. Sound waves travel through the medium of air. Our ears are just detectors of these sound waves. If there are no human ears around, then just use other kind of detectors to confirm the vibration in the air that is the sound wave.
Do you see how the above example make use of the different scopes of contexts?
Back to our heroine Offred. She desperately needed context: to construe things around her; to glean truths from lies.
I believe we also desperately do.

My version of dystopia
is the world without you.

Farther/Further

Note: this post is meant for my student; pardon me for mentioning the obvious

'Farther' and 'further' are comparative terms -- how to choose which comparative form of 'far' to use?
First, it is very important to distinguish between literal and figurative meanings. Literal meaning refers to the dictionary definition, while figurative meaning refers to similar idea found in the literal meaning, but the meaning is applied somewhat differently. Let's have an example: 'box'. Dictionary meaning? In 3-D it usually refers to containers having six sides of rectangles or squares perpendicular to each other, or in 2-D, simply a square or a rectangle. Figurative use? 'Think out of the box'. Here we do not have a physical object or drawing of a 'box' as defined above. Here we are merely borrowing the idea: a box is usually rigid and containing/limiting something. Now apply this idea of rigidness and limitedness to the mind/thought: 'Think out of the box' simply means that one has to set no limit to imagination and be flexible; in other words, be creative. See how convenient it is to borrow meanings to apply in another situation? This technique is commonly called 'figures of speech', which we use heavily, consciously or otherwise, everyday. This makes language not only dynamic, but also interconnected.
Now let's see what are the literal and figurative meaning of 'far'?
Literally, 'farness' refers to the state of physical distance that is deemed great. Used figuratively, it can refer to other distances that are not physical, for instance, "How far is your revision?". In other words, it can refer to: extent, time, degree, stage, etc. You get the picture.
'Farther' is used when the farness is literal, while 'further' is used when the farness is figurative. That's all? Yes, that's all!
One final note though, be aware that 'further' is much more heavily used than 'farther'. Remember that figurative meaning borrows idea, so the meaning is more flexible and broader than literal meaning. Consequently, 'further' applies to broader set of situations due to its flexibility. For example, we always say 'further down the road'. You may ask: Isn't this clearly physical distance? Why isn't 'farther' used? Now, this is because the degree of 'down the road' can be either in distance or in time, or even both! So here we are not sure whether it is literal distance or otherwise, so more likely than not it is 'further'.
Nowadays, 'farther' is rarely used. From above, you have seen that even literal farness can be conveniently grouped under 'further'. Usually 'farther' is only used when you want to emphasise that the distance is literal distance.
So, when in doubt, use 'further'.

A World Without X

I have been reading novels of dystopian genre recently (unintentionally): Orwell's 1984 and Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. A dystopia is the opposite of an utopia. So instead of fairy-tale paradise that society aspires to be in, novels of this genre take place in alternate world, in the future or otherwise, where things have taken turn for the worse.
Well, then suddenly it occurred to me: What exactly is a dystopia? How bad things should be to qualify as a dystopia? This train of thought came when I recalled about a short piece of work whose title I can't remember. The plot is very simple. But the setting is unforgettable -- it's a world where the sky is ash-gray and not blue and birds no longer exist.
For the two protagonists, who set on a journey without clear destination, there no longer exists the metaphor of flapping one's wings with the vast blue sky as one's backdrop. They don't have wings and even if they fly, it is suffocating to fly in dull gray sky, forever longing for the blue sky.
So now, what is dystopia? Without birds, can you still survive? Yes you can. It's not like humanity will die out or something. But you see, for these two characters, the absence of birds symbolises the absence of their own freedom. Free as a bird -- free as a what? A something that no longer exists.
So I'm concluding that everyone has his/her own version of dystopia. And one way to look at it is that a dystopia is lacking something. Something is absent; perchance a thing that we usually take for granted. In 1984, the language itself is eroded -- truths and thoughts are bent to the Party's will. In Handmaid's Tale, the ability to reproduce is reduced. But the thing is, to the people that are not the protagonists, these kinds of situation may not be dystopian. Winston realises how the Party is manipulating historical records and so conflict arises. Had he mastered doublethink (as he did at the end, unfortunately), then he would have accepted the situation as it is. Then there is no dystopia. Offred, one of few women still able to bear children, is exploited as a baby-making machine; she is barely treated as human being. Had she been the Commander or the Wife, she would be in a more favourable position. Then there is no dystopia. But there is no story to write about of course.
A world without something, of course, is an oversimplification of a dystopia. But isn't it an eye opener to know that taking something seemingly insignificant away can cause so much misery?

L is for Language

Death Note, anyone?
I'm not going to talk about death gods and their notebooks, but instead I going to talk about a name; that is, the name of the mysterious detective, L.
If you know a bit of the Japanese language, or an avid manga reader (like yours truly), then you may have known that the consonant L doesn't exist in Japanese. So how do the Japanese pronounce 'L'? That's easy: with 'R' sound instead.
You can quickly see some difficulties that the Japanese face when speaking English. Oh yes, firstly, they will tend to say 'Engrish'. Beside these, there are a wide range of possibilities for puns also.
Death Note contains some of the most amazing uses, or perhaps exploitations would be a better term, of this non-existence of 'L' consonant.
Firstly, the name of the protagonist is? Yamato Raito.
/raɪto/ is how most Japanese would pronounce both 'right' and 'light'. This is significant. One of the recurring themes is justice and fairness. Yamato Raito claimed that his act of killing people was justice; is he 'right'? Moreover, after his murder spree escalated to international level some people saw him as the 'light' that guides the world to be a better place, after the criminals are disposed of. Is he?
Now let's go back to our elusive detective, L. With that kind of elaborate consideration for a protagonist's name, don't you think the mangaka would choose a name with equally hefty significance? This one is pretty obvious, isn't it? 'L' is a consonant that doesn't exist. Isn't it the most appropriate name for a detective who always telecommunicates with changed voice without showing his face? Whose existence itself is doubted?
Considering all these, the most brilliant thing is of course later in the story Raito killed L and assumed L's role as world-renowned detective bent on capturing Kira. The self-righteous Light behind the mask of L, what more could you ask?