Chance doesn't exist - and then it does again

When planning my own projects, thinking about the future, or just generally trying to picture the results of my actions in some future state, I've found it generally useful to think that chance doesn't exist. For sure, this is not true, and borders on the fallacious logic that I so hate - but it still helps. Convincing myself that success is not dependent on chance, but only on my own performance, widens the horizon of possibilities that seem achievable. I quote here Anders Ericsson, professor of psychology at Florida State Univeristy:

On one hand it's encouraging: it makes me think that even the most ordinary among us should be careful about saying we can't do great things, because people have proven again and again that most people can do something extraordinary if they're willing to put in the exercise. On the other hand, it's a bit overwhelming to look at what these people have to do. They generally invest about five times as much time and effort to become great as an accomplished amateur does to become competent. It's not something everyone's up for."

I guess this is the key note I'm looking for, that basically the world is open to everyone. With practice and dedication, great things can be achieved. This is also the key reason why I'm always saying that people should do what they like best. Sure, it's no easy task focusing on something, but I feel confident it'll pay off sooner or later. (Looking at the text behind the link, I'm not sure if I can call the belief for no chance a very rationalist belief...)

After having done something, however, the concept of chance is quite important. It would be psychologically too much to try to find the fault always in oneself, so it's useful to have a concept to explain not-so-wanted results. In some discussions I've experienced, that some people claim the concept of chance gives us a chance to escape bad result and not improve ourselves. Well, in a way, it does. 

But there is still a fundamental difference between analyzing what you could have done better, and then saying you found nothing, or on the other hand blaming chance right from the start. It is after the self-reflection when chance can be brought into the picture, not before. If you've honestly done your best, there's no way to make it better that time. The point here is that chance will help you psychologically to accept that nobody's a Superman. Development is incremental, and there's no point in trying to see all the deficits in one go, it'd just make one feel terrible. Better to improve all the time in small steps. That's what the concept of chance helps me to do.

The Graz block courses

One more exam and I'll be finished with all my winter semester courses here in Graz. Levels of difficulty of the courses have ranged from a joke to one of the hardest things I've done. I have to say that the railroad design course, with its 500 pages of German material, an oral exam and a ~100h project work - for which I had to learn AutoCAD - was the benchmark in the latter section. At the other end of the scale would be some of the block courses I've attended.

A block course is something I've only got accustomed to in here. Usually it's a three-day course from 9 to 17, followed by an exam a week later. These courses generally have a small amount of theoretical content supported by several group assignments completed at the lectures. Usually the course has a maximum of 25 students, as these group assignments are generally presented in class, and any more students would make the concept impossible. The key is that the assignments should arouse new points of view in the students and hence help to create a culture of discussion. Success rates have varied from course to course.

The joke for me is that I usually get 3 ECTS for a course like this, and even with all my good faith could I defend the proposition that such a course is worth all those credits. But still, for an Erasmus it's a good way to hog up credits and save time for travelling! Despite its uses, the above is not the only (or even the main) reason why I enjoy such courses. It is the fact that it's possible to get really into something, even just for a couple of days. And I've enjoyed thoroughly the discussions with students and professors that I've had, both in and out of class.

I've toyed with the idea of incorporating similar courses in the Finnish system. Replacing any mandatory courses with block would not work, but maybe in the Master phase these could be used to provide some basics especially to minor subject students. In my experience sometimes people just have to work way too much on minor subject courses in comparison to their interest level. Surely it would be best for all to be able to concentrate on what really drives them.

Another option would be to have small courses that try to give light to a certain viewpoint or methodology to have such courses. Especially it could work for contemporary topics, or topics which still lack enough scientific background research to be included in the present day course books. I'm sure that in Aalto we have enough skills to know what those kinds of topics are.

Rediscovering the joys of literature

Halfway through my present university education, I've noticed a worrying side effect of my education. I've lost a lot of my literary sense. Powering through thousands of pages of course books has taught me to try to remember the main factual content right away. Skimming the pages of management books requires a good sense of what the key content is, at least if one wants to save a lot of effort in the learning process. This is a useful skill, especially when reading other factual texts. It never hurts to discern the main arguments of a writer right away, and skipping - or rather skim-reading - the extra stuff certainly is a valuable timesaver.

The problem is, I seem to have lost the sense how to read more emotional literature. Well, serious literature, at any rate. I can still pick up any thriller and read it with the same ease as ever before, but with the more heavy novels I'm in trouble. These books owe their effects to a process of identification and affection with the characters and/or situations. The point of such a book is to make one feel, and that feeling then provokes thinking. Trying to see behind the story while reading results in nothing sensible, since one needs to read the story first and think about it afterward. Trying to do these simultaneously makes no sense, since the story is a whole not reducible to its parts. The same thing is with movies, the scenes are part of a story, and in a good movie few scenes would make that much of an impact on their own. At the moment, with my course book reading style I get stuck, trying to see the idea behind some character way too early. It's as sane as trying to analyze the motives and desires of a person you've just met and hardly even know at all.

The books of this limbo world of sorts are not everywhere. Books, which are very literary, yet have a lot to say. This includes some obvious works in philosophy, like Nietzsche, but also a lot of classics. Not the kind of books to pick up amidst a tight schedule and stress. Exactly the kind of books I've previously avoided and am only now filling my shelves with. I guess that is why I've managed to avoid noticing this obvious lack for so long.

Luckily, now I have a lot of time to read, and besides a share of factual literature I'll pinch in pieces of the aforementioned genre. According to my high school Finnish and literature teacher, one can never go wrong with classics. Time to see if she was right!